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Still, we’ll comb the area. We might find some abandoned stuff or forgotten items. We might find some old sneakers or even a broken beer bottle.
What we won’t find, in my opinion, is hope.
That’s quickly vanishing.
I walk over to the tree and he’s close behind me. We both look around. I don’t know what we’re searching for at this point: anything, really. Could there have been anything left behind that could point us in the right direction?
Is there anything that could help us find what we’re looking for?
“The carts were here,” he says.
“And you sat in them?”
“All the time.”
“So if they were here, and his blood was on them, then he must have been standing near them.”
“He was shot and hit his head on them when he fell,” Neil murmurs. He speaks almost so quietly that I’m not quite sure I heard him correctly, but I know that I did.
We stand there, walking around in the silence when we hear the sound of footsteps. We both look up sharply to see a short, stocky man traipsing toward us. He’s trying to march, but he’s too chubby and round.
“Sheriff Peterson,” Neil says dryly.
“I knew it was you,” the sheriff growls.
Why did he come out here?
Someone must have been watching the mine. Why else would the sheriff show up here? I hate how small this town is sometimes, and I hate the fact that now we’re having to confront Sammy’s dad.
This isn’t a meeting any of us want.
“Can I help you?” Neil asks politely. I notice he’s standing still with his hands at his sides. He hasn’t balled his hands into fists. He looks demure, almost, and completely harmless. I realize this is something he must have learned in prison.
He doesn’t want to appear to be a troublemaker, I realize.
“You’re trespassing,” the sheriff says gruffly. I know there are a million other things he wants to say to Neil. His eyes dart from me to Neil and back again.
“I’m not trespassing, Sheriff,” Neil tells him. “I own this property.”
“That’s not possible,” the sheriff grunts. “This belongs to Edgar Richardson. This is his land. It’s been his land for years.”
“My grandfather purchased it from him recently,” Neil says. Again, his voice stays calm. He doesn’t raise it or yell. He’s not shaking, but I bet that inside, he wants to. I know that I do. “And he left it to me when he passed on. If you want to verify this information, I have the information in Miss Finley’s car. Otherwise, you’re free to call my attorney to verify this.”
I look over at Neil.
How does he do that?
How does he speak so very calmly?
The sheriff looks like he wants to say something to Neil. Anger plays all over his face, and I can only imagine what he’s feeling. After all, Sammy was his only son. To lose him like that…
Well, it must have been horrible.
It doesn’t excuse the lying that he did. It doesn’t excuse the fact that an innocent man went to prison.
It does, however, mean that even the sheriff is just a human.
“What are you doing here?” The sheriff turns his attention to me.
