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The station was a decent-sized brick fortress with few windows and even fewer doors. There was a sun-cracked statue dedicated to one of the first sheriffs in Blue Creek, who had the unfortunate time of being named Richard Jeckoff.
It explained why people loved taking photos with a half-closed fist and a goofy smile in front of it.
Charlie pulled into a parking spot directly in front of the statue, a cardinal preening its bright red feathers on the stone man’s outstretched hand.
“Sorry about our weekend getting cut short,” I said. I had a hand on the door handle, but I also wouldn’t have turned away a goodbye kiss.
Fucking hell. If I ever thought I’d be wanting a goodbye kiss from Charlie again…
“It’s fine. Now we’ve got an excuse to go back sometime. Make up for it.”
Charlie didn’t give me my kiss. He surprised me instead by setting the car in park and pulling out the keys. He was already out of the car and halfway to the station before I could even ask what he was thinking.
“Oh Char,” I said to myself, tamping down my smile as I got out of the car and followed him into the police station.
Immediately, as if walking through a portal, the entire world seemed to change. The chirps and trills of robins and sparrows transformed into the shouting and cursing from belligerent drunks and handcuffed criminals. Blue Creek was a small town, but that didn’t mean we didn’t have our fair share of troublemakers.
Charlie and I walked past the general chaos and straight to the officer sitting behind a window of thick and scratched glass. She adjusted the glasses a little higher up her nose and held a finger in our direction as she finished whatever she was doing on the computer.
“Yes?” she asked, barely looking at us.
I glanced at her badge. “Hi, Officer Shepard, I’m Austin Romero with the Stonewall Investigations agency—we just moved into town. I’m working on a case right now and need to ask some questions. Is there someone I can sit with? It’s regarding Hank Trainor.”
I had her full attention by the end. Surprisingly enough, she almost seemed sympathetic. “Sorry, Austin, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Our department has a closed-door policy when it comes to outside investigations.”
“Really? Even if we’re both working toward the same goal here?”
“It’s supposed to keep things cleaner,” she said. “Listen, I’m not the one making the rules, and this one’s a pretty new one, so I’m not about to fuck with it.”
“How new?” I asked.
“About a week and a half ago.”
Around the exact same time I showed up. Interesting.
“All right, so who made that rule?” Charlie asked, surprising me by beating me to the exact question I was going to ask next. I shot a glance at him from the corner of my eye, hiding the smile of a proud dad that wanted to spread across my cheeks.
Officer Shepard looked to Charlie, as if noticing him for the first time. “Charlie Marsh? Since when are you casually dropping into the police station?”
“Since today,” he said. “Whose rule is it?”
Again, I felt impressed. Charlie might have had a future in detective work. In college he studied wildlife management, but I could easily see him standing his ground and getting answers if it meant helping someone.
Officer Shepard sighed. She deftly redid her bun with one hand and waved us casually away with another. “Sheriff Pope is where the buck stops around here.”
I narrowed my eyes, finding all of this as useful as an interview with whichever cops had recovered Hank’s body. “Is the sheriff in?” I asked, leaning on the counter, my breath just barely fogging up the scratched glass. “I think he and I should have a chat.”
Officer Shepard cocked her head and smiled. “He’s not very chatty, and honestly, neither am I.” She stood, making it clear this conversation was nearing the end.
Fuck. I’m hitting a brick wall, and I feel like I’ve barely even started.
I was about to push even harder. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there were answers here; all I needed to do was ask the right questions to the right people.
A loud buzz and a slight commotion caught my attention. People were moving away from a door across the room, which undoubtedly led to the rest of the jail.
Domino came through the door, the heavy bolt slamming shut the second the door closed behind him. He wore a pair of white shorts and a black T-shirt with a rock band written across the front, the sides of the shirt cut open down almost to the hem.
Perfect timing.
“Domino, you got a minute?” I waved him over, moving us to a relatively peaceful corner, away from two belligerent drunks arguing over who had caught the most lobster.
