He was going to write a story about it, and he had to get everything just right. The way the office looked, with the dust dancing in the sunlight through the windows, the scars on the desk from feet or cigarettes, the way the ceiling fan squeaked overhead.
He took a deep sniff and filed away in his mind the scent of coffee—really strong, and a little harsh—and the smell of the dust that sort of tickled the nose.
He tried to remember just how the phone sounded when it shrilled on the sheriff's desk, how the sheriff s chair scraped against the floor, how the deputy scratched his head, then his cheek, as he put papers away in the file cabinet.
He already had the sound of the sheriff's voice. It was deep and slow, and there was a hint of something in it. Humor, Connor thought, when he answered some of the calls. Other times it was brisk, kind of official. Once or twice he'd seen lines form between the sheriff's brows.
He sure did drink a lot of coffee, Connor thought, and he wrote a lot of things down. Connor had a million questions, but he held them in because he knew the sheriff was working.
Devin glanced up and saw the boy watching him. Like an owl, he thought. Wise and patient. A look at his watch told him he'd kept the kids hemmed in for most of their Saturday morning. He imagined Connor could sit there, quiet as a mouse, for hours yet. But he recognized the signs of trouble brewing in Bryan.
It was time to give them all a break.
'Donnie, you take over here. We're going to get some lunch at Ed's.'
'Yo.'
'The state boys call about the Messner case, you tell them I'll have the report to them by Monday.'
'Yo,' Donnie said again, and crushed his brows together over the filing.
'I'll pick up lunch for Curtis. Tell him, if he starts to make noises back there.'
'You got a prisoner?' Suddenly all of Bryan's boredom was washed away in the thrill of it. 'You didn't tell us.'
'Just somebody sleeping off a night on the town.' He was almost sorry he couldn't tell them it was a mad psychopath. 'I could use a burger.'
'All right!' Bryan darted out of the door. 'I'm starving. Extra fries, right, Con?'
'I guess.' Connor could hardly think about food with all the questions in his head. 'Ah, Sheriff, how come you have that police radio on all the time? I mean, it has fire department stuff, and things from out of your jurisdiction.'
'Because you can never be sure what might come over that you'd have to pay attention to.'
'When you know somebody, does it feel funny to have to lock them up?'
'Sometimes if you know them it makes it easier to settle things before they get out of hand.'
'Have you ever had anybody break out?' Bryan wanted to know as he danced backward on the sidewalk. 'Like, conk you over the head and run for it?'
Devin ran his tongue around his teeth. He had a wonderful image of poor old Curtis going over the wall. 'Nope, can't say as I have.'
'If they did, you'd have to shoot them, right?' The excitement of it leaped in Bryan's eyes. 'Like in the leg.'
'If they did, it's likely I'd know who they were, so I'd just go to their house and bring them back.'
'What if they resisted arrest?'
Devin knew what was expected of him. 'I'd have to rough 'em up.'
'Slap the cuffs on him,' Bryan said with a hoot. 'And back into the cage. Wham!'
'The town's quiet,' Connor said, 'because the sheriff keeps it quiet.'
Touched, Devin flipped a finger over the bill of Connor's ball cap. 'Thanks. We aim to serve.'
'Sheriff.'
Devin turned and watched with an inner sigh as the ancient and wiry owner of the general store and sub shop approached. The man could talk the bark off a tree.
'Afternoon, Mr. Grant. How's business?'
'Oh, up and down, Sheriff, up and down.' Mr. Grant paused, flicked a bit of lint from the front of his wrinkled brown shirt. 'I thought I should let you know, Sheriff... not that I poke my nose into what's not my business... With me, it's live and let live...'
That ended the statement, which Devin knew was habitual. Mr. Grant's mind wandered freely from pillar to post. 'Let me know what, Mr. Grant?'
'Oh, well, I was just taking a little air and happened to walk by the bank. Just past closing time, you know.'
'Yes, I know.'
'Seemed to me somebody was holding up the bank.'
'Excuse me?'
'Seemed to me,' Mr. Grant repeated, in his ponderous way, 'somebody was holding up the bank. Had a gun, sure enough. Looked to me to be a .45. Could be I'm wrong about that. Might be a .38.'
Before either boy could comment, Devin slapped a hand on each of their shoulders. 'Go on up to Ed's. Stay there.'
'But, Devin—'
'Do it, Bryan. Go on now, both of you. Stay there, and don't say anything.' He stared hard at Connor. 'Don't say anything,' he repeated. 'We don't want people getting upset and getting in the way.'
'What are you going to do?' Connor said in an awed voice.
'I'm going to take care of it. Get up to Ed's. Move. Now.'
When they ran off, Devin kept one eye on them, to be sure they obeyed. 'Mr. Grant, I wonder if you'd come along with me. Let's just take a look at this.'
'Fine by me.'
The bank was across the street and another half a block up. An old brick building with elaborate ironwork, it sat catty-corner from Ed's Cafe. A quick look showed Devin that the boys had indeed gone in. They had their faces pressed up to the window.
Devin scanned the street. It was Saturday, and there was considerable traffic. Enough, in any case, to cause a problem if there was trouble. He didn't intend to have any of his people hurt.
'Did you get a look at the man, Mr. Grant?'
'Some. Young, 'bout your age, I expect. Can't say as I recognized him. Looked a little like the Harris boy, but wasn't.'
Devin nodded. He spotted a dirty white compact with Delaware tags at the curb in front of the bank. 'Recognize that car there?'
Mr. Grant thought it over. 'Can't say as I do. Never seen it around here.'
'Stay here a minute.' Unsnapping the flap covering his weapon, Devin sidestepped up to the bank. The door was festooned with curvy ironwork. Through it, he could make out one teller behind the wide counter. And the man across from her, nervously waving a gun.
It was a .45, he noted. Grant had been dead-on.
He slipped away from the door. 'Mr. Grant, I'd like you to get on down to the office, tell Donnie I need some backup here at the bank. We've got an armed robbery in progress. I want you to tell him that, straight out. And that I don't want him coming up here blaring sirens or coming into the bank. I don't want him coming into the bank. Have you got that?'
'Why, sure I do, Sheriff. Be happy to oblige.'
'And stay down there yourself, Mr. Grant. Don't come back up here.'
He'd just started to move again when he saw Rafe approaching. Before his brother could lift a hand in greeting, Devin snagged him. 'You're deputized.'
'Hell, Devin, Regan just send me out for more diapers. I haven't time to play deputy.'
'See that car? White compact, Delaware plates?'
'Sure. I got eyes.'
'Put it out of commission.'
Now Rafe's brows lifted, and his grin flashed. 'Gee, Devin, I don't know as I remember how.'
