Bill waddled to the door. Cardinal turned to Ponytail. “For goodness sakes, Sue! Don’t you know any better?”
“We saw him handcuffed next to Isabelle’s body, and we thought—”
“No, you didn’t think! Gosh darn it!” Cardinal’s voice was high and thin, more of a whine than a shout. Sue looked ashamed. “You’ll be lucky to just be suspended. This man could press charges against you.”
“Him?” She sounded startled and outraged. She glanced back at the cuffs. “But Isabelle and the Breakleys —”
“He’s an innocent man, Sue. Innocent. Can I tell you how I know that? Because no one has proved him guilty yet. Even that befuddled old Lutheran from the public defender’s office could get him sprung now. When the sheriff comes, he may have to arrest
“I’m sorry, Steve.”
“Have you pronounced yet?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Go out to the ambulance and try to figure out where we’re going to find two paramedics to replace you.”
Sue went outside. Cardinal took a deep breath and took out his handcuff keys. “Mr. Lilly, I’d like to apologize for myself as a man and as a citizen of the town of Washaway. I expect better from our people, and I certainly don’t want you to think I put handcuffs on you so Bill could … do what he did. I’m truly sorry.” He opened the cuffs and put them away.
“I know you didn’t,” I said.
“Will you press charges?” he asked reluctantly, as though he would have to do the paperwork.
“I don’t know yet,” I said. I didn’t have any interest in suing the town, but the threat was leverage I wasn’t prepared to give up. “What did she say about the Breakleys? Did the fire spread to their house?”
“No.” I was tremendously relieved. “The whole family is dead, though. A seven- and a nine-year-old girl, both parents, and the girls’ grandmother. Sue and Stookie just came from the scene,” he added, trying to get a little sympathy for them.
“What happened?”
“I can’t really talk about that. Did you or your lady friend know them?”
“No, not at all.” I shut my mouth, hoping Cardinal would fill the silence.
He didn’t oblige. “What did you see on their farm, Mr. Lilly? Why did you rush toward the sound of gunshots? Does it have something to do with what happened to your friend?”
“Can I call you Steve? Because my name is Ray.”
“Sure, Ray.”
“Shouldn’t the cops be asking these questions, Steve?”
He took a deep, weary breath. “They should, if they would answer our calls for help. The fire truck came for the Breakley fire, but the sheriff hasn’t showed up yet. Maybe he had a car accident or something. But yes, it should be the police asking these questions. We’re going to have to make do. Does this have anything to do with what happened to your friend?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Did the Breakleys look like they’d been eaten?”
Steve looked back at Isabelle and the untouched porterhouse on the floor. “No, they didn’t. Now tell me why you ask.”
I knew I should keep my mouth shut, but I talked anyway. “Last night, while those guys were carjacking us, I got a weird vibe off them. Something about them reminded me of that friend of mine who died last year.”
“What was it, specifically?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Something about the way they talked and acted. Something about the look in their eyes. Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but I thought they were high in the same way that Jon—that my friend was.”
Steve took that in with a thoughtful nod. I could see that he still didn’t like my story, but he believed it. His cell rang. He answered, listened for a moment, and said, “I’ll get out there right away.”
He turned to me. “Ray, we seem to be having quite a busy day today. I think you and your lady friend should stay in town for a while. When he does finally get here, the sheriff will want to talk to you. I’ll contact you later at the Sunrise.”
Obviously, he was used to throwing his weight around town. I nodded and he rushed outside. I followed.
Bill and Sue gave me a sullen glare as I passed their ambulance, but Preston was gone. Good riddance to him and his shotgun, I thought. Steve climbed into his car, an old Crown Vic, and started the engine. I lagged behind, acting as if I was in no rush.
He pulled into the road. I followed him as he drove into a less populated area. Traffic was sparse, so I let him pull way ahead. Eventually, he stopped by the side of the road behind a charcoal-colored Honda Element. By the time I pulled in behind him, Steve was standing by the Honda’s driver door, talking into his cell. There was an Escort parked on the other side of the road.
Steve didn’t look pleased to see me. A woman came toward me as I climbed out of the rental. She was about thirty-five, with a pixie cut and a runner’s physique. She wore wool pants and a pink jacket, and she looked pissed. “Keep your distance,” she said as I approached. “This is a crime scene.”
“You’re not a cop,” I said as I walked by her. “I think I know what I’m going to see here, but I have to see it for myself.”
