Page 42 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

“Walter’s got someone out there now,” Sarah said. “Tell me what happened.”

Petey’s good hand found the edge of the blanket and gripped it. “Working the south line,” he said. “Late. Past dark, probably should’ve called it a day, but the freeze doesn’t wait for anybody’s schedule.” His jaw worked. “Heard something behind me. Figured it was just the building complaining.” He shook his head and cradled his cast against his chest. “Wasn’t the building.”

“Did you see him?”

“No.” Petey’s voice dropped, frustration bleeding through the pain. “Hit me before I turned around proper. Floor came up at me different than I expected, and that’s the last thing I remember clear.”

“Anything,” Sarah said. “Size, voice, anything at all.”

Petey was quiet for a second. “He smelled funny.”

Sarah looked up from her pad, where she’d been scribbling notes. “Funny how?”

Hudson’s head came up. “Describe it.”

“Like machine oil. Not the stuff I use on the lines.”

“Could’ve been gun oil.”

Both of them looked at Hudson.

“Oil used to clean and lubricate firearms. Some have a distinctive smell if you’ve spent enough time around them.” Hudson kept his voice level, even though something in his chest had gone cold and certain the second the word left Petey’s mouth.

“Hmm.” Petey squinted at him with his one good eye. “Yeah, now that you say that. My friend Dan Tate runs the range out at Spruce Hollow. Same smell.” He looked between Hudson and Sarah, something working behind the bruising. “You two always work each other’s interviews like this?”

“No.” Sarah’s eyes flicked to Hudson’s and then away again.

“No.” Hudson shook his head a little too quickly.

“Mm.” Petey’s mouth did something that might have been the start of a smile if his face had been willing to cooperate with it.

“Did he say anything?” Hudson asked. “Anything at all, before or after?”

“Nothing I caught.” Petey shifted against the pillows, wincing. “Maybe a breath. Maybe nothing.”

“How tall would you guess?” Sarah asked. “Relative to you, even roughly.”

“Taller. Not by much. Hard to say lying on the floor facedown.”

Hudson had more questions. None that belonged in a hospital room. He crossed to the window. Petey’s room overlooked the parking lot. Hudson let his gaze drift from the ambulance bay to the fire escape, then across the scattered cars. Too many places for someone patient to wait. Would they come after Petey again?

Sarah didn’t comment. She stood with one hand tucked into the pocket of her jacket, pen forgotten in the other, waiting Petey out with patience that looked effortless. Hudson wasn’t sure when he’d started finding that distracting.

“Petey,” she said finally. “We’re going to find whoever did this.”

“I know you are.” Petey’s good hand patted the blanket once, decisive. “Now if you two are done interviewing me, somebody needs to check the east platform before the pipes freeze solid. I mean it.”

“Petey—”

“Priorities, Sheriff. Nobody in this place understands drainage.”

She gave him a look that had no real heat behind it, and Petey gave it right back, undiminished by the cast or the black eye. The old man would be fine. He was ornery enough, stubborn and too busy worrying about pipes to spend much time being afraid. That didn’t make any of it easier.

“Get some rest,” Sarah said, softer now. “We’ll come back.”

“Don’t hurry on my account.”

She squeezed his good hand, and then she stepped out into the corridor. Hudson stayed a beat longer, his gaze sweeping the room one last time before he followed her out.