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“No, but we never really know people,” Mitch said.
He knocked on the door and took a step back, listening for any movement.
Footsteps sounded before the large wooden door creaked open. Graham stood before them, raising an eyebrow.
“Mitch, what can I do for you?” he asked with a croaky voice. Mitch didn’t know if it was what was written on his face, or the fact that Mitch was here with another officer, but Graham seemed to quickly understand this was not a friendly visit to a man he’d known all his life—a man who had been best friends with his father.
Mitch cleared his throat. “Evening, Graham,” he said. “Sorry to visit in the middle of the night.”
“What’s wrong?” Graham asked, barely giving Mitch a chance to finish his sentence.
Mitch had to push the words from his throat. “I need you to come to the station with me to answer some questions—”
Graham’s eyes went wide. “About what?” he asked with a raised voice.
Mitch straightened, standing taller. He made a conscious effort to keep his voice neutral—professional. “About the shed on the south border of your property,” Mitch said.
Lines creased Graham’s forehead. “What about it?”
Mitch studied his face a moment. Graham was either a brilliant liar, or he was innocent.
“It would be best if we discuss it at the station,” Mitch insisted.
Graham looked at him, speechless. “What is this about?” he demanded.
“Graham, I need you to come to the station and answer some questions. If you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to arrest you—”
“Arrest me. What in the world is going on here?” Graham asked, looking like he was about to grab a hunting rifle and aim it at Mitch.
“Graham, please,” Mitch said. “Come with me willingly.”
Graham studied him a long moment. “This is outrageous,” he said, stepping forward, closing his front door behind him.
Graham lived alone—his wife had left town a few years ago, apparently with a younger lover. Graham had never been violent as far as Mitch knew, and everyone was surprised when his wife left him one day, but perhaps something had happened between them—something to make her run for her life.
Mitch shook his head. He just couldn’t see it. Graham might be grumpy now and then, but so were half of the aging Redwater residents.
“This is how you treat family?” Graham asked under his breath. He wasn’t family, of course, but he was the next best thing.
“I need to follow protocol,” Mitch said, keeping his voice neutral, not wanting to inflame the situation. Whether Graham liked it or not, he had to respect the local sheriff. Mitch would’ve questioned his own father if that shed and its contents had been found on his father’s land.
Graham said nothing as he walked to Mitch’s patrol car and climbed into the back seat.
Mitch drove to the station, and no one said a word. It was one of the most painful six minutes of his life.
He pulled up out back and turned in his seat to speak to Graham. “We’ll go through the back entrance and into an interview room.”
“Am I under arrest?” Graham asked.
“Not yet,” Mitch said. “But you can contact a lawyer if you’d like.”
Graham scoffed. “I have no need for a lawyer.”
Mitch nodded. He didn’t think Graham would give him any trouble walking into the station, so he climbed out of the car. He opened Graham’s door for him and walked beside him through the back door.
The station was empty save for a few officers doing paperwork. Everyone else was at Graham’s property working with forensics in the shed.
Mitch led Graham into an interview room, pulled out a chair for him, and sat opposite him. The officer sat beside Mitch.
