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"I'd like to meet the council," I say. "I know they don't live here--I mean meet them by satellite phone or however Val stays in touch. I don't want to question them or confront them--I just think it'll help me get a better handle on things."
He shifts, as if it takes genuine effort to turn and look at me. "They won't talk to you. They barely talk to me. You have to communicate through Val, who's just their hired spokesperson. Ignore her. I do."
"Is she involved in...?"
"Green-lighting criminals?" He shrugs. "Doubtful. Does she know about it? Maybe. But if she does, I bet she figures they've committed crimes a whole lot lighter than murder. I can't see her hanging around if she thought there were hardened killers in our midst."
"Exactly how many murderers do you suspect are here? After everything Diana's been through, I sure as hell didn't expect her to be trapped in a town with--"
"What about you?"
"If you're pointing out that her best friend is also a murderer--"
"Would you tell me you're different?"
"No, I would not."
That should be the right answer. But his jaw sets, as if this isn't the response he wants.
"Your friend is safer here than she is down south," he says. "Our murderers aren't psychopaths or serial killers. Powys is the closest thing I've found, and in his case it was all about profit, and there's no illegal organ trade up here. The last two murders we had were alcohol and frustration and a basic lack of self-control ... by people who came to Rockton legitimately. That doesn't mean I want these other sons of bitches here. Anything I can do to kick their asses out, I will."
I'm processing that when he rises and says, "Time to show you your quarters. Best to get an early night." As we walk inside, he says, "I'm going to insist on that early night. Once you're in, you're in. Someone will have dropped off basic supplies and dinner. I'll come by at eight tomorrow to collect you."
"I'm under house arrest? What have I done to deserve that?"
"You arrived in a town full of bored people looking for novelty. And you arrived on a day one of our residents was found murdered."
"I'm accustomed to dealing with the press and nosy neighbours, sheriff. I've worked on high-profile cases."
He looks at me as we walk to the front door. "Do you want to go out?"
"I'd like to see Diana, obviously."
"She's free to come to you. Otherwise, do you want to go out?"
When I don't answer, annoyance crosses his face. "So you're just arguing for the sake of challenging my authority?"
"I--"
"This isn't how you're used to working or living," he says. "I get that. But you forfeited your civil liberties when you came up here. That was made very clear. You want to get on my bad side? Whine about your rights, like Hastings this afternoon. This isn't a democracy. It's a police state, and you're the police, so start acting like it. If you want to go out tonight, then I'll arrange something. But don't argue for the sake of arguing. We'll find plenty of real issues to fight over up here."
He doesn't give me time to agree, just locks the front door and leaves out the back, expecting me, as usual, to follow.
EIGHTEEN
The forest starts about fifty feet from the rear of the buildings. That gap has been left not so much for yard space, I suspect, a
s security, making it tough for large animals to wander up unseen.
We cut through those "backyards" from the station to the north edge of town. From what I saw in the air, houses near the core are tightly packed, the configuration loosening at the edges. All the boundary houses are identical--one-and-a-half-storey buildings with steeply pitched roofs. A rear deck and upper-level balcony add extra living space to homes that would have less than a thousand square feet inside.
Dalton walks onto one rear deck and opens the door. We go in and it reminds me of a cottage. A nice cottage, that is, with polished wood floors and tongue-and-groove walls.
The back door opens into the kitchen. He points out the amenities. No electricity--generators and solar power are only for food-service buildings. They can't ship in the fuel to give everyone a generator and covering the town with solar-panelled roofs would turn it into a shining beacon for planes passing overhead. As for water, an indoor water tank is filled weekly from one of the two nearby springs. The tank is elevated, allowing pressure, and there's a hand pump if needed. The stove takes wood. There's an icebox, which contains actual ice, harvested in winter and stored for warmer weather. The icebox itself is under the floor, to keep it low and cool.
Dalton walks into the living room. I follow. There are two chairs and a sofa. All are rustic but sturdy, with wooden frames and thick cushions.
I look around. "I'm staying here?"
