Killer Move

some of the stuff in Bill’s life, but I was not involved in anyone getting hurt. The plug was pulled once it starting looking like something had happened to David Warner. Someone clearly hasn’t got the message, though.”

“I talked with the Thompsons an hour ago,” I said, “and they were scared. The guy who shot up Bo’s is called John Hunter. He was a victim of the game twenty years back. Warner framed him for a murder he’d committed, some local woman called Katy, and—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Hallam said, holding up his hand. “You have evidence that Warner killed someone?”

“Not actual evidence, but this is straight from Marie Thompson. Why?”

“We found stuff at Warner’s house today. I’d believe that guy was capable of almost anything right now.”

Hallam’s eyes glazed over, as if he was trying to add, divide, and multiply a long series of numbers in his head. “I have to call this in,” he said, as if suddenly remembering that he was a cop.

“No, you don’t,” said a voice.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

It came from above. There was a man standing on the gallery upstairs. It was Sheriff Barclay.

Hallam gaped. “Sir?”

His boss started down the stairs in a slow, measured fashion, as if weighed down with the gravity of a serious situation. I was aware of Emily backing away, melting into the shadows.

“What in hell’s name are you doing here, Rob?”

“I . . . I received a call from Mr. Moore, sir,” Hallam said, defensively. “He said he had information pertaining to a situation developing in the Circle. Sheriff . . . I’ve been hollering for you on the radio for three hours. We’ve got . . . there are many things going on, not good things, and I have been trying very hard to contact you. Where have you been?”

“It’s been a very busy day.”

“Well, yeah. You know there’s been a shoot-out at Jonny Bo’s?”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. There’s four deputies on-site at this time, full medical support. It’s covered.”

“We found some very weird shit at David Warner’s house, too.”

“I know about that as well, Rob. It’s okay. Don’t worry. It’s all in hand.”

“In hand? Sir, I don’t . . . understand.”

Barclay glanced into the shadows behind me. “Where do you think you’re going, young lady?”

Emily had retreated to the entrance to the kitchen, gun down by her side. She said nothing. Just watched Barclay carefully. He smiled. “Why don’t you come back in here?”

“Do not trust this man,” Emily told Hallam.

I finally managed to speak. “Sheriff—how did you get into my house?”

“Round the back, of course,” he said, as if this was a dumb question. “Like a lot of folks in these communities, you don’t always remember to lock up. Which is a mistake, I should tell you. Just because you’re all part of the same club doesn’t mean you can trust each other to the bitter end.”

“But what are you doing here?”

“A neighbor called in a report of suspicious activity. Said you arrived here at four this afternoon and carried a bulky object into the building via the garage doors. A couple hours later you left, without said burden. Driving erratically.”

“That’s bullshit,” I said. “I haven’t been back since early yesterday evening.”

“So I thought I’d better check it out,” Barclay continued smoothly, as if I’d not spoken, as if he was telling Hallam a story. His hands were in his pockets. He looked so relaxed it was surreal. “Your name has been cropping up all over town, Mr. Moore. Has been for a couple days now. You’ve always seemed like a normal kind of guy, but I wouldn’t have been doing my job if I didn’t come take a look.”

“Which of my neighbors made this alleged call?”

Could one of them actually have done this? After being paid to by someone in the game? What chance did I have of convincing the sheriff of this, even if they had?

Barclay ignored me. He glanced at his deputy. “You’ve seen what’s in the pool, right?”

Hallam spoke carefully. “Sheriff, it did not seem to me that Mr. Moore was likely to have been responsible for . . . what’s out there. He took me straight to it. He did not present as the perp.”

“That’s a judgment call, Deputy. And as such my department, thankfully. The evidence actually suggests that Mr. Moore spent a portion of the afternoon out there by the pool, doing what you’ve seen.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Emily told Hallam. “That’s not what happened. You know it. There’s nowhere near enough blood out there, for a start.”

“Rob, are you going to take that woman’s weapon, or what?”

Emily took another couple of paces back, lifting her arm to point the gun. “Don’t even try it.”

“Deputy, now.”

Hallam turned reluctantly toward Emily and unsnapped his holster. “Ma’am—you heard the sheriff. I’m going to need to have that weapon. Please.”

There was a quiet click as Emily did something to the gun, fumbling the action because of her injured hand. From the way Hallam stiffened, I assumed the sound meant something significant. Never having held a gun in my life, I couldn’t be sure.

Emily’s gaze was calm and steady. “Seriously, Deputy. Not another step or I’ll put a bullet in your boss. Everyone be very still.”

Hallam was caught halfway across the sitting room, hand on his holster, not knowing what to do. He looked at the sheriff. Barclay said nothing, did nothing. I saw Emily judging the angle and distance from where she stood to the front door. The cops blocked her path, Hallam in particular. There was no way she could make it to the outside world. At least not via that route.

She backed up a little farther. I did, too. To cover this, I acted as if I was trying to calm things down.

“Emily—just be cool. Let’s explain everything to the sheriff. He’s a cop. He can help us.”

“Are you kidding? He’s part of this,” she said. “He must be. You told me the police helped frame Hunter, right? He told you that.”

I couldn’t tell whether she’d realized what I was doing—but we kept moving backward anyway, slowly.

“That was twenty years ago. Doesn’t mean the sheriff’s still part of it. He’s a cop, for god’s sake.”

Hallam tried to regain some kind of control. “Sir, stay where you are.”

Emily spoke over him. “Bullshit. They were always going to need a pet cop, to smooth over anybody who got riled at their life being screwed around—and to bury any illegalities along the way. If you’re going to play those kinds of games, you have to own the board, the whole island. That includes its sheriff.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Barclay said. “But like Mr. Moore says—let’s talk this thing out. That’s the sensible route forward.”

“Screw you. Did you really leave your back door open, Bill? Or do you think maybe this guy has keys?”

She put a little bit of extra weight on the words back door. I thought about it, hard.

Could I have left the back door unlocked? If the answer was yes, we could maybe get through it fast enough to escape across the backyard and over into the neighbor’s. If the door wasn’t open, we’d be screwed, cornered in the kitchen with nowhere to go.

I took another step backward, glanced through the kitchen. The back door was shut, of course, or we would have noticed it before. The key was in place, in the lock under the handle. But was it locked? I tried to imagine how long it would take to run to the end of the kitchen. The lock was stiff. Steph had asked me to oil the thing more times than I could remember, but updating Facebook and plotting my rise in realty had taken precedence. Even if it wasn’t locked, would we really be able to get to it in time? How likely would Hallam be to shoot?

Emily kept needling. “I’ve got keys, after all—and this guy is being paid from the same source.”