He drove slowly out of the parking lot and downhill, then reached the turn at the road. He had not gone far when he realized two things: he seemed to be heading the wrong way, driving up the hills into the sunset, and Galadriel was just leaning back in her seat, staring at him.
He kept driving for a long mile, and saw a sign announcing that he was entering Snow Canyon Park. There was a ranger's shack just ahead, and the park was closed.
He pulled off the side of the road, and Galadriel laughed in amusement. "Man, you're lost. Turn around already. Unless ... you brought me out here for a reason?" She smiled teasingly.
Bron felt the blood rise to his cheeks, and he turned around, went down the hills with the sparse mesquite bushes until he reached the main road. From there he was able to follow the signs home even in the dark.
He had just reached the T in the road as he came into Pine Valley when he saw Officer Walton's squad car parked by the chapel.
Bron's heart pounded at the sight. He couldn't help think of Kendall's warning about Officer Walton. Bron made sure that he used his turn signal, then took a left and accelerated slowly toward home.
The bubble lights on top of the police car began to flash, and Officer Walton made sure to flip on his siren as he spun out of a driveway and "gave chase."
Bron couldn't believe it. He pulled over at the park, and the squad car came up behind.
Officer Walton turned on his spotlight, so that the car was lit brighter than day. He came out with his long flashlight, the weighted kind that could be used as a club.
Bron hit the switch and rolled down the window, and Officer Walton flashed his light into the cab. There was a gloating expression on his face, tinged with chagrin. He seemed displeased to see Galadriel there, as if having a witness to what was about to happen might suck all of the fun out of his evening.
"Everything all right, ma'am?" he asked.
"I'm fine, officer," she said.
Bron reached for his driver's license, but Officer Walton said cordially, "Bron, could you step out of the car?"
Bron tried to remain calm. He climbed out the door, stood facing Walton. He imagined that he might be asked to walk in a straight line, as if he was drunk, but Walton said, "Will you put your hands on the hood and spread your legs?"
It wasn't until then that Bron saw that Walton had pulled his revolver and had it leveled at Bron's gut.
"What? What's going on?" Bron asked. "Is this about me dating Whitney? I can't believe this!"
He turned and dutifully took the position as Walton patted down his back and waist. "Put your right hand on your neck," Walton ordered.
Bron did as asked, and the officer snapped a handcuff onto his right wrist. Half a second later, Sheriff Walton twisted the arm down while he clasped the cuffs onto Bron's left wrist. By putting a toe into the back of Bron's knee, Walton forced him down onto the ground, where the gravel dug into Bron's skin.
"Galadriel, will you step on out of the car, sweetie?" Officer Walton asked.
Galadriel came out, shaking. "What's going on here?" she begged.
"We got an anonymous tip," Walton explained. "Someone sent a cell phone picture into the police, which identifies Bron here as a suspect in a murder...."
Bron froze. He tried to sound surprised. "Murder?"
"There was an incident down in Saint George, on the on-ramp at Exit 8?"
Bron's heart hammered. This had nothing to do with Whitney at all. Officer Walton went to the passenger side of Bron's car, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out a pistol.
Bron blinked in surprise. He didn't recall ever having seen the gun before. He could only imagine that Olivia had put it there. But when?
"Well, well, well?" Walton said. "What have we got here? Maybe I better check into any armed robberies in the area."
Bron wanted to object, to tell Walton that it was Olivia's weapon, but his mind was racing. The only people who knew that he'd been in the car when Olivia threw out the tire traps were the people who were chasing him. They must have been the ones who supplied the police with the "tip."
He hadn't realized that anyone had photographed him.
Which begged the question, "Why?" Why would they want him arrested? He could only think of one answer. They'd been hunting for him, and they'd come up empty. So they'd enlisted the aid of the police.
Saint George was a small city. His arrest would be a media circus, and would land on the front page of the Spectrum. The paper might withhold his name, since he was a juvenile, but the enemy would learn he'd been caught. They'd know where to look.
Neither he nor Olivia would be safe.
Bron worried that if he implicated her at all, Olivia would get arrested, too.
Then what would happen? If the enemy caught him, he wasn't sure. What could a memory merchant do to him? Rip all of the memories from him? Yeah, he thought, they could do that—and probably a whole lot more.
Officer Walton stuck the gun in his belt, reached into the glove compartment, then pulled out a paper bag filled with caltrops. "Looky here," Walton gloated. "These look curiously like the custom-made tire spikes that got thrown out onto the onramp the other day. So what do you do with these, Bron?"
Officer Walton pulled out a spike. The spike was made of iron, and had four prongs. No matter how it fell, one prong would always be left pointing up. Each prong was roughly two inches long, and had a hollow center, so that it would pierce and deflate even the toughest tire.
"Those? I play Jacks with them," Bron said.
"Jacks?" Walton asked, as if he'd never heard of the game.
"You know," Bron replied, "One, two, buckle my shoe?"
"Ohhhh," Walton said. "That little kid's game?"
"Adults can play games, too," Bron suggested.
"According to reports," Walton said. "You were in a white Honda CRV at the time of the incident the other day. There was a woman with you. You mind telling me who it was? Was it Galadriel here?"
"Friday?" Bron said. "I don't remember being with anyone on Friday."
"Olivia?" Walton asked, as if confused. "Was it Olivia, maybe?" Even Walton couldn't imagine Olivia being involved in anything like this, obviously.
"She loaned me her car for a bit, to run some errands," Bron said. "I may have picked up a hitchhiker."
Walton peered at him for a long time, looking down his nose. "You sure that you want to play it this way?"
"I want a lawyer," Bron replied. On television, that always left the cops frustrated and angry, but Walton just smiled coolly, like a lizard in the sun.
"Okay," Walton said. "Bron Jones, you're under arrest for carrying a concealed weapon, vehicular assault, fleeing the scene of an accident, premeditated murder—and a whole lot of other things that I haven't even thought of yet."
Before Bron could say anything more, Walton read him his rights.
Chapter 21
Charges False and Otherwise
"Most criminals believe in their own innocence. They are so used to lying to themselves, telling themselves that they are wonderful people, they never see the truth. My job is to enlighten them—by putting them in a cage."
As soon as "Washington County Sheriff' popped up on Olivia's caller ID, she knew it was trouble. She still hoped to get in another two hours on the first night's auditions, but took the call anyway.
"Hello," Olivia whispered. Her voice came shaky, and her stomach clenched. Whitney glanced up in alarm.
The girl on stage continued an interesting rendition of Hamlet's "To be or not to be" soliloquy.
"Olivia," Officer Walton said, "could you come down to the Sheriffs Office? We've got a situation. Bron is being detained." His voice was as sweet and oily as honey butter.