“I’m listening.”
“What do you know about the gun?”
“That it came from the evidence room at the SO. That you planted it on Willis.”
“You’re right.” He met her eyes. “I did.”
There it is. So why are you not surprised?
“Christ, Billy. Why?”
“Why do you think? I got scared.”
“What happened out there? Really.”
He took a breath.
“It was pretty much like I told it,” he said. “He was speeding, wandering all over the road. I pulled him over, looked at his documents. He was nervous, so I asked him if there were any drugs or weapons in the car, anything I should know about. He said no, so I asked him to open the trunk. That’s when he bolted.”
“He was already out of the car?”
“He said the trunk release up front didn’t work, he had to use the key. He went around back, as if he were getting ready to open it, then tossed the keys at my face, took off down the slope. I told him to stop, and when he turned around I saw a gun in his hand. At least I thought it was a gun. I drew and fired.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t know. When I got down there I couldn’t find anything. I hunted around. I was sure I saw it, you know? But there was nothing. That’s when I started to panic.”
“You had the Taurus with you?”
“In a wheel well in the cruiser. I’d been carrying it for about a year, I guess. I’d heard it was what the old-timers used to do. Keep a throwdown handy, just in case.”
“Thirty years ago maybe. If the sheriff had found out about it, you would have been fired.”
“I know. I never thought I’d have to use it. I’d almost forgotten it was there.”
“What did you do then?”
“I could tell he was dead, or close to it. The Taurus was already wiped clean, and I’d taken the numbers off it a long time ago. I climbed back down there, fit his hand around it, got his prints on it. Then I went back up to the cruiser and called it in, found the keys and opened the trunk, saw the bag there. That’s when you came along.”
“You should have told me the truth. You owed it to me.”
“And if I had? Told you I’d used a throwdown, planted evidence? What would you have done?”
“I don’t know.”
“Kept it to yourself?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do. You wouldn’t have. You’re too good a deputy for that. You would have told Elwood or the sheriff. If not that night, then the next day, when you thought about it some more. I know you, Sara. You would have, and you know it.”
“Maybe it would have been better off that way.”
“Better off? He was black, Sara, and I’m white. You think I would have gotten a fair hearing, shooting an unarmed black man? FDLE would have been involved, the state attorney, the governor before it was over. Every minister in Libertyville would have been screaming for my head.”
“You would have been cleared. They would have understood.”
“You’re dreaming. I would have been fired, at least. Criminal charges, more than likely. Maybe prison. And how do you think I’d make out there?”
“There had to be another way.”
“Burned that bridge, Sara. There’s no other way. Not now.”
She watched a semi rumble past, raising dust.
“How long have you known about the gun?” he said.
“Since yesterday.”
“You tell anyone about it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She looked at him. “Why do you think?”
He looked out the windshield.
“If you want all this to go away, you need to face some things,” she said. “You need to start telling the truth.”
“It has gone away. At least that’s what they’re telling me.” He looked at her. “The only one that can say different is you.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes, felt her anger, her momentum, slipping away. Somehow she’d lost the advantage, could feel it, knew he felt it, too.
“There were guns in the trunk, Sara. You saw them. He was no college kid.”
“He was unarmed.”
“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry you got involved in all this. Sorry you had to be there. I never meant for any of this to happen. You have to believe that.”
“I’m not sure what I believe anymore.”
“What’s that mean?”
She shook her head, watched cars go past.
“You know me better than anyone, Sara. What I had with you I never had with anyone else. Probably never will again.”
“Don’t.”
“It’s true. Whether you want to believe it or not.”
“That’s got nothing to do with this.”
“It doesn’t? I’ve told you everything, Sara. And only you. You want me in Raiford? Get out your phone, call the sheriff. I’ll be in custody before the hour’s over. Is that what you want?”
She didn’t answer.
“Or maybe you’re wearing a wire,” he said, “and that’s what this is all about.”
She started the engine.
“You should get back,” she said. “Lee-Anne will be waiting for you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not good enough, Sara.”
“It’ll have to be.”
He looked at her. “I can imagine the way you feel,” he said. “The position I put you in.”
“Can you?”
“If I could go back and change what happened that night, I would. But I can’t bring him back. My going to prison won’t change that. I can’t undo what was done. No one can.”
“You’re right about that. Go on, get out.”
“What?”
“It’s only about a mile back. You can walk it.”
“I’m wearing sandals.”
“I know.” She looked at him. “Go on.”
He opened the door, met her eyes for a moment, then climbed down.
“Tell me something,” she said.
“What?”
“Have you ever told me the truth? Ever?”
“Don’t be like that.”
“About anything?”
They looked at each other for a moment. Then he shut the door.
“Billy.”
He turned to face her through the open window.
“If I ever see you around my house again,” she said. “If you come around me or Danny or anyone I know outside duty hours…”
“You’ll shoot me?”
She looked at him.
“I would never hurt you, Sara. You know that. Never could, never will. Danny either. But I’m wondering if you feel the same way.”
After a moment, he turned and started for the highway. In the rearview she saw him standing on the shoulder, waiting for a break in traffic.
She took out her cell, opened it, scrolled to Sheriff Hammond’s home number. Her thumb lingered over the SEND button.
In the mirror, she saw Billy cross the highway to the opposite shoulder, start to walk along the grass there, heading home.
She closed the phone, tossed it on the passenger seat. Then she shifted into drive, pulled out of the lot.
For lunch, she made cold chicken sandwiches, reheated mashed potatoes. She took Danny’s temperature while he sat at the table. When the thermometer beeped, he took it from his mouth, held it out to her. Ninety-nine point two. She felt his forehead.
“You feel all right?” she said.
“I’m okay. Just tired.”
She gave him a baby Motrin to chew, poured him another glass of grape juice. After they ate, JoBeth cleared the table, and Sara went into the bathroom, closed the door, and ran the shower.
When the room filled with steam, she undressed and climbed into the too-hot stream, wincing at first. She closed her eyes, turned her face into the spray. Her hand was sore, the first two knuckles slightly swollen. She flexed her hand, eased some of the stiffness out, remembered what Billy has said.
I can’t undo what was done. No one can.
They’d closed the case, made their findings public. Reopening it would mean trouble for everyone. Charges for Billy, prison likely. It would cost the sheriff his job, his pension. Maybe her job as well. Once the state was involved, it would be too late for damage control. It would be about scalps.