by R. D. Brady
Declan walked around the crowd. He leaned on the desk and gave Dee a smile. “Hello, Dee.”
She nodded at him. “Declan. What can we do for you?”
Declan slid the box of muffins he’d been hiding behind his back across to her. “You’re looking lovely today.”
A smile lurked around her lips, but Dee refused to let it through. “I’m on to your charms, Declan Reed. They won’t work on me.”
Declan held his hand to his chest and sighed. “Now you’re breaking my heart.”
She pulled the box of muffins closer and peered inside. “Blueberry?”
“Absolutely. I had to wrestle three men, large men, to get them. That’s the last box from Tops.” Actually that story was only part of an exaggeration. He did, however, have to snag the box before Carl from the fire department could nab them. Luckily no fists had been thrown.
“Stores are about run dry with the storm coming in,” Dee said.
“Yeah. I’ll be in town for it. I’m staying at my sister’s. Keith in?”
Dee tilted her head toward the back, while picking up the phone. “He’s in his office. I’ll tell him you’re coming.”
“Thank you, Miss Dee.”
Declan headed through the swinging doors to the back. Four desks for deputies stood in a square behind Dee’s desk. All were currently empty.
Deputy Russell Nash, Millners Kill’s youngest deputy, came barreling out of the storage room, his arms full. Declan quickly sidestepped to avoid getting run over.
Russ looked down at Declan through a heavy set of dirty blond bangs, a blush covering his cheeks. “Oh, hey Declan. Sorry about that.”
Six foot four, skinny as a beanpole, Russ bore an uncanny resemblance to Shaggy from Scooby Doo. And the department’s uniform of brown on brown didn’t help dispel that image one bit. Not for the first time, Declan wondered why they had gotten uniforms that matched the building.
“That’s all right. What’s all this?” Declan eyed the tarps and ropes threatening to tumble from Russ’s arms.
Russ shifted his load. “Storm prep. You here to see the chief?”
Declan nodded.
Russ stepped closer, leaning down. “Careful, he’s in a mood.”
“I’ll keep it in mind. You need help with that?”
“Nah. I’m good. You going to be in town during the storm?”
“Yeah. My dad and I are bunking in with my sister.”
Declan’s dad still lived in town, as did his sister, Sylvia. But Sylvia’s husband was in Afghanistan, and neither Declan nor his dad felt right about letting her and her kids ride out the storm alone. Besides, with Steve back, Declan wanted to stay in town anyway, in case there was anything he could do to make Steve’s transition a little easier.
“That’s good.” Russ shifted his load.
Declan eyed the precariously balanced pile, but it held.
“It’s getting crazy out there,” Russ said. “I’ve written up three traffic accidents this morning and broken up two fights. I even had to put a guy in the drunk tank an hour ago.”
“Storm’s working everyone up.”
“Yeah.” Russ’s face clouded a little. “It’s good you’ll be in town. We might need a little extra help.”
Declan eyed Russ. “Something going on?”
Russ opened his mouth but then shut it quickly as another officer came out of the hallway leading from the cells. “Nah. It’s good. See you later.” Russ headed toward the front doors, his load wobbling the whole way.
Declan watched to see if Russ made it through the heavy front doors without dropping anything. The tall officer disappeared through them without incident. Pure luck, Declan thought.
He turned and headed back to Keith’s office. He had the nagging feeling there was something Russ had wanted to tell him. Well, it would have to wait. There was enough going on without whatever was on Russ’s mind.
Declan was still ten feet away from Keith’s office when he heard Keith on the phone.
“Damn it, Marlene, I can’t get to your mother’s party this weekend. We have a storm coming in.”
Keith’s wife, Marlene, was rarely in town, preferring to spend her time down in Florida. She came from money, and Declan was pretty sure that was the only thing keeping Keith hanging on. Declan had absolutely no idea what was keeping Marlene in the marriage.
A silence was followed by, “Fine. You take that any way you want.”
Declan hesitated a minute, making sure Keith was off the phone. After hearing nothing more, he stepped into the doorway and knocked on the frame.
Keith looked up, and Declan was once again shocked by the man’s appearance. In high school, Keith had been all muscle, but now all that muscle had turned to soft fat. Large jowls hung around his neck, and his eyes seemed to have shrunk into his head.
Apparently the doctors were right: heavy drinking and an unhealthy diet were not good for you.
“Declan.” Keith leaned back in his chair. It creaked under his weight. He placed his hands over his stomach, which seemed to be straining to free itself from his shirt. “What can I do for the state police today?”
Declan leaned against the doorway. He didn’t even consider taking a seat. Keith seemed to have found the most uncomfortable chairs in the history of mankind for his “visitors.”
“Nothing. The state police are wondering what you need. Anything we can do to help with the storm prep?”
Keith shook his head. “We’ve got everything well in hand. But I’ll let you know if you state boys are needed.”
Declan glanced around the office. Marlene had decorated it: wood paneling, antlers hanging behind Keith’s desk, old cowboy pictures hung at random spots, and a lamp with a cowboy boot for a base. And there was a new addition since Declan’s last visit: a framed lasso over by the window, a small plaque underneath it that Declan couldn’t make out.
Apparently Keith had never grown out of wanting to be a cowboy when he grew up.
Declan turned his attention back to Keith. “There’s a possibility the governor might order an evacuation. He’s supposed to make the decision within the next twenty-four hours.”
“I’m aware.” Keith narrowed his eyes, making Declan wonder if he could even see through them. “But we take care of our own here. We don’t need to go running for cover because of a little rain.”
Shit. Declan had been worried about just this reaction. He tried to figure out a way to handle Keith, but the truth was, the man was as stubborn as a goat.
“Keith, they’re talking about an inch of rain or more per hour. And winds almost at hurricane strength. If that’s the case, evacuation would probably be a really good option. Especially considering the condition of the bridge.”
Keith waved away Declan’s concerns. “You’ve always been a worrier, Declan. Millners Kill has been through worse.”
Declan opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. There was no point. Besides, Keith wasn’t the one making the call. It was the mayor. And hopefully, when the time came, the mayor would ignore Keith’s advice.
Declan blew out a breath, trying to keep his voice even, professional. “All right. Well, I’m staying in town for the storm. So I’ll be around if you need me.”
Keith watched him for a moment before speaking. “Is that because of the storm or because your little pet project is back in town?”
Declan didn’t bother to pretend he didn’t understand the barb. “Steve’s not a pet project. But I don’t mind being around if he needs some help adjusting.”
Keith scoffed. “Adjusting. Yeah, let’s make sure the murderer doesn’t get his feelings hurt now that he’s out and free to kill again.”
Declan considered for only a second explaining all the very good reasons why Steve was not the murderer of Simone Granger. All the data on the many innocent people who were wrongly convicted every year ran through his mind. Already, over three hundred convicted prisoners had been exonerated around the country thanks to DNA testing—and
that was only where the funds could be arranged to test DNA, and where there DNA available to test. There were also numerous studies that spoke about the inherent flaws in eyewitness testing, improper testing, inadequate counsel, and the list went on.
And then, of course, there were cases like Steve’s: where everything rested on circumstantial evidence. Information that, taken individually, could never have convicted him—but which collectively looked damning.
He thought for just a minute about arguing with Keith one more time about Steve’s innocence. But he discarded the thought almost immediately. Keith had always had a blind spot when it came to Steve.
“He’s not a bad kid, Keith. He did his time. Even got his college degree while he was inside. He deserves a chance.”
“He killed the Granger girl.” Keith paused. “Of course, you never really believed that, did you?”
Declan didn’t respond. At the time of Simone’s murder, Declan had been Steve’s strongest supporter, next to Steve’s grandmother and brother—not that it had made any difference.
Keith fixed his eyes on Declan. “Nobody’s going to forget what he did. Nobody should.”
Declan knew that at least the first part of Keith’s statement was true. The murder of Simone Granger had shaken up the little town of Millners Kill. Simone had been seventeen years old and a straight-A student with a full ride to Stanford.
She’d also been painfully shy. The prosecutor had argued that Steve, who had been in and out of the Granger house since he was a kid, was one of the few people who Simone would have let into her home on that fateful night.
“You never could come up with another suspect, could you?” Keith pressed. “And you know why? Because Kane was guilty.”
“Even if that’s true, he’s done his time. He—”
“Lions don’t change their stripes. Once a killer, always a killer.”
Declan sighed. This had been a stupid idea. He knew who Keith was. And Keith was right, even if his metaphor was wrong: zebras don’t change their stripes. And that was especially true for Keith.
Keith had made the Granger case the centerpiece of every one of his campaigns for office. He’d been the one who’d uncovered the bloody clothes in Steve’s room. Of course, he’d also been the one who’d stomped all over the crime scene, contaminating any potential DNA evidence. And he was the one who’d lost the clothes from lockup. Unsurprisingly, those facts had been absent from Keith’s campaign ads.
To be honest, the whole police department had been woefully out of their depth when the Granger case came along. Before Simone Granger, there hadn’t been a murder in Miller’s Kill in ten years, and that one had been the result of bar fight with plenty of witnesses.
But once Keith focused on Steve, there was no changing course. He seized on everything that might be related to Steve’s guilt and disregarded anything that might have helped to exonerate him. To say that Steve was railroaded would be a complete understatement.
Declan had been stationed on the other side of the state at the time, but he’d gotten himself reassigned to the Millners Kill area after hearing about Steve’s arrest. Fact was, Steve held a special place in Declan’s heart. After college, Declan had enlisted in the Army and had become a Ranger. And Steve, who’d been ten at the time, had sent him a Flat Stanley to keep with him. Declan wrote Steve regularly about Stanley’s “adventures.” That stupid cutout and the weekly letters from Steve kept Declan going when hell was literally exploding around him.
So when Steve was locked up, Declan had tried to repay the favor—writing Steve every week and visiting when he could. And the truth was, he still couldn’t make himself believe that the kid he’d watched grow up had committed that gruesome crime.
“We’ve already gotten calls this morning about Steve being released,” Keith said. “People are scared. They want to know what we’re going to do to protect this town from him.”
Declan stared, his mouth a little dry. Shit. He’d hoped Steve would have a little time to settle in before people knew he was back. “And what did you tell them?”
Keith met Declan’s gaze, his eyes hard. “That it’s the Millners Kills Police Department’s job to protect this town. And that we will do exactly that.”
Declan knew this was bad. Keith wasn’t going to give Steve a chance at a normal life. He’d all but declared Steve as enemy number one. But he also knew there was no way to convince Keith that he was going about this the wrong way.
“Look, I’m not here about Steve,” Declan said. “I’m here to help. So if you need anything, you let me know.”
Keith smirked. “Sure, Declan, we need any help from the state I’ll be sure to give you a call.”
“Okay then. I’ll see you later.” Declan turned around without waiting for a reply. Well, this was a stupid idea.
Declan waved to Dee as he headed out. Pushing open the outside doors, he wondered if he should run by Steve’s and warn him that the chief had it out for him. He shook his head. Steve was a smart kid. Well, I guess “man” now. He knew better than anyone how people in this town thought of him.
Declan sighed. Just keep your head down, Steve.
CHAPTER 6
Steve walked through the living room. It was weird. Nothing had changed. The same red plaid couch was over against the wall across from the kitchen. His grandfather’s leather recliner was parked in front of the fireplace. The old tan carpet still ran through the whole house, and the same floral wallpaper dominated the walls in the kitchen and front hall.
And yet somehow it was all different, too. The carpet and furniture were a little more faded with a few more stains and scratches. And the house felt smaller, like it had shrunk since he’d last been here. He glanced at the stairs. He could have sworn they were a little more centered as well. The paint on the walls seemed a little duller too, and he noticed some cracks in the corners of the walls. I’ll need to fix those.
He walked over to the mantel and glanced at the pictures lined up there. There were the same ones he always remembered—his grandparents’ wedding picture, his parents, pictures of him and Jack as kids—but now there were new pictures as well, of Jack, graduating college and law school.
But there were none of Steve after the age of fifteen—because everything in Steve’s life had slammed to a halt at that age.
He picked up the picture on the end of the mantel. It was of him, age fifteen, and he had his arm around his best friend—a girl with dark brown hair and braces.
“Steve, you hungry?”
Steve fumbled the picture before righting it and setting it back on the mantel. He turned around and smiled at his grandmother. “You just fed me. I don’t think I could fit in another bite.”
“Well, Jack will be by in a little bit. He’s helping with the sandbags. He thought maybe you could help as well.”
Steve felt a momentary panic at the idea of getting involved in a public event. The last thing he wanted was to dive right back into town life—but his grandmother was looking at him with such concern.
He nodded. “Yeah, well, we’ll see.”
He followed his grandmother into the kitchen. The old TV set on the counter was turned on to the local news.
“Steve, can you go turn up the TV?”
Steve crossed the kitchen and turned the knob.
“The counties of Oswego, Cayuga, and Wayne will be the hardest hit, with potentially over two inches of rain per hour. If you haven’t gotten your supplies in, folks, you need to get them in a hurry. This storm is picking up speed, and it’s going to hit our area by tomorrow afternoon.”
Steve turned it back down as the newscast gave way to a commercial break. He turned to look at his grandmother. Her face was pinched.
“Grandma? You all right?”
Her features smoothed. “It’ll be fine. They’ve been working everyone up into a frenzy about this storm. But I’m sure it won’t be as bad as they say.”
Steve took a seat at the kitchen table. “I’ll make
sure the house is secure, maybe tape up the windows.”
“That would be wonderful, thank you. But I think we might need to buy the tape, and some other supplies. The stores are probably going to be completely out soon.” She gave Steve the look.
He swallowed. Oh, good. Shopping in town. “Yeah, well, why don’t you give me a list?”
Thirty minutes later, Steve was pushing a cart down the aisle of Tops, searching for beef jerky. His grandmother had been obsessed with the stuff for as long as he could remember. Steve had never understood it. Even though prison food hadn’t offered much, it still hadn’t made him appreciate the uniqueness of jerky. Finally spying the familiar red packaging, he snagged three bags.
He looked around. This actually hadn’t been too bad. So far, no one had recognized him. And it was actually kind of nice, just buying stuff. But he was still having trouble with the newness of everything.
It was the small things that kept tripping him up. The cars on the walk over here, for instance. They all looked so high-tech. And there were no pay phones any more; everyone had cell phones. In fact, it seemed like every kid he saw was staring at a phone or some game thing. When did that happen? When did electronics take over? And it struck him as surreal to think that those kids had internet access everywhere they went. At Auburn, they’d still had dial-up.
It all made Steve feel like a time traveler who’d just been dropped in the future. Declan told him he’d catch up, but he didn’t think so. He felt like he was already so far behind, he’d never catch up.
He turned at the end of the aisle.
“We need to get milk. I told you—” A blond woman banged into Steve’s cart.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She glanced up. Then, gasping, she took a quick step back. It was Cheryl Summers, two years ahead of him in school and the popular girl. “It’s you.”
Steve went still—not sure what to say. He gave her an abrupt nod and moved his cart around her. As he passed, her husband stared daggers at him.
Steve recognized him too. He’d been a friend of Jack’s.
“I can’t believe they let him out,” Cheryl whispered to her husband.
