Chapter 10
“No,” Tiny said.
Clare continued to stuff clothing and wipes into Ethan’s bag. “Tiny, he threatened me. And he actually hurt you. If we don’t get the police involved, he’s going to hurt you again.” She didn’t bother with individual diapers, tucking a whole unopened pack beneath her arm.
“Clare, what about the portable playpen?” Hadley stood in the upper hall, where she could see Clare, in the nursery, and Tiny, sitting on the bed in the guest room.
“No, Margy’s got all that stuff.” Clare waved. “You try talking with her.” She emerged from the nursery and clattered downstairs to put the baby supplies in her car.
Hadley squatted in front of the small woman. “Look, Tiny—” She paused. “I feel like an idiot calling you that. What’s your real name?”
“Uh. Christine. But I been called Tiny since I was a baby.”
Of course she had. “I get it. My mom named me Honey. Which is cute for a little girl. And when I grew up, I ditched it, and picked my own name, because I didn’t want to be treated like a little girl for the rest of my life. Do you want to be a little girl? Or do you want to be a grown-ass woman?”
“Uh … a grown woman?”
“Okay. Christine. I’m going to tell you something as a woman, and a mom. My ex-husband was a bad person. He didn’t hit me, but he made me feel terrible about myself, and he used to hint that if I left him, he’d keep my kids. Does any of that sound familiar?”
Tiny slowly nodded.
“Now I’m going to tell you something as a police officer. When a man strangles a woman, he’s telling you I can kill you. Men who choke their partners are four times more likely to use deadly violence on them. They’re also more likely to hurt their children, or pets, or cops who are trying to help.”
The other woman started, as if her baby, downstairs in the playpen, might be in danger.
“I know what it’s like to love your husband and to think and hope and pray that you’re going to change him. That if you can just do the right thing, and say the right thing, he’ll be happy with you.”
“I do love Cal. I do. I just … I don’t want him in jail. I just want him to be sweet, like he was before. He was so much nicer than my dad and my brothers, and I thought … and then I got pregnant, which he was the one who wanted it, and after that it was like I couldn’t do nothing…”
“Right.”
Tiny nodded.
“If he’s arrested and charged, it’s almost certain he won’t get jail time.
” She didn’t add unfortunately. “But he might go into a diversion program, where he gets therapy, and learns how to communicate and manage his anger without taking it out on you.” And it probably won’t work, but hopefully, you’ll be free of him by then.
“Making a complaint against him is the first step toward getting him help. I know it’s hard.
And I know you don’t want to do it. But think of it like taking your baby to the doctor to get shots.
She doesn’t like it, but it’s good for her in the long run. ”
“Oh, we don’t use any of those vaccines. Those can do terrible things to children.”
Hadley could swear she could feel the headache starting behind her eyes. “Okay. Does Rose ever scream or squirm to get out of her car seat?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“But you keep her restrained. For her own good. Think of this as putting your husband in a car seat.”
Tiny covered a giggle with her hand. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. It’s just a funny image.” She sighed. “Do you promise he won’t go to jail?”
“He may be in the county lockup for a little while until he makes bail. But it’s not a bad place. The chief’s mother? Who you’ll be staying with for a bit? He put her in there, once.”
“Wow. Okay.” She stood. “All right, let’s do it. Let’s start getting him back to the way he was before.”
The deputy chief had refused the title of “acting chief,” but that didn’t mean he wasn’t, well, acting like one. “You’re leaving me shorthanded, here, Hadley.”
Reverend Clare, Tiny, and their assorted babies and baggage had all departed from the station for Clare’s mother-in-law’s house after making their statements.
Now MacAuley had her on the carpet—metaphorically speaking, since his office was a converted coat closet floored with peeling vinyl tiles.
Along with the title, he had also refused to use the chief’s office.
“It’s ten days before Christmas. I’ve got merchants screaming about foot patrols to help prevent shoplifting, the resort wants more traffic control, and DUIs are up from everybody getting a little too merry at their parties.
You’ve been off duty for the better part of a week, and now you want to go haring off to Lewis again to sit around the sheriff’s office and hope they’ll apply for a warrant? ”
“Dep, if this wasn’t a cross-jurisdictional case before, it’s for sure one now.”
“Yeah. Between us and Warren County, not up north.”
“Well, the chief is up north. And Flynn. And we do not leave our people behind.”
“This isn’t the marines, Hadley.” MacAuley rubbed his face. “Goddammit, when Russ gets back, I swear I’m going to put him under house arrest.”
“Ranger Terrance and the assistant state attorney are up there presenting their evidence. I’m the only one who was an eyewitness to the militia camp and to the chief being captured. If I need to make a statement directly to the county judge, I’m going to do it.”
MacAuley stared at the fax machine for a moment. “Okay,” he finally said. “You can go. But you’re making up the time. And you’re working Christmas Day this year.”
“Christmas Day!”
“Take it or leave it.”
Ugh. Well, the kids were always begging to open their presents the night before anyway. Maybe this was the year to give in. “I’ll take it.”
Paul and Yíxīn arrived from Plattsburgh just after Hadley pulled in to the sheriff’s office, so she had the pleasure of seeing the assistant state attorney’s reaction to Betty Beavers Fuel Stop.
“Get the fever, fuel with the Beaver? What the hell are you people doing up here?”
“Don’t ask.” Paul pulled a zipped folder out of the car.
“Dude, I cannot get to DC fast enough.”
“Did you get my text?” Hadley asked.
“Yeah. What a shit show. I mean, I’m glad you’ve got confirmation Van Alstyne’s safe, but…”
“But now we’ve got to worry about Reverend Clare and March’s wife.”
“You two aren’t seeing the opportunity.” Yíxīn stopped taking photos of the Betty Beaver sign. “If they can bring him in, we can lean on him to roll over on his Nazi crew.”
“If the MKPD or Warren County can find him.” Paul slammed the door. “We know where a whole collection of those scumbags are. Let’s focus on bringing them in.”
The first hint that might not be as easy as they had hoped was Lieutenant Pelletier’s unhappy expression.
He was waiting for them in a comfortable conference room lined with whiteboards and corkboards, perfect for displaying evidence.
After greeting them and meeting Zhào—who, Hadley noticed, used her “Joy” alias—they all took their seats.
Pelletier slid an open laptop toward the lawyer. “You can access our booking photographs here. I understand you’ve got photos of POI; hopefully, you can connect a few dots.”
Paul held up the document bag. “I’ve got Ranger Laduc’s autopsy results here.”
“Plattsburgh faxed us the papers. And I got your voice mail, Officer Knox, confirming Chief Van Alstyne was safe up to this morning.”
Yíxīn looked up from the laptop. “Lieutenant, you don’t sound like a man getting ready to apply for a search warrant.
Is there a problem? We’ve got first-person testimony connecting several known white supremacists to the militia and an eyewitness to Van Alstyne being held against his will.
Plus, an autopsy report that shows Pierre Laduc was shot with a solid-point bullet, which I understand isn’t commonly used for hunting. ”
Pelletier sighed. “We’re going to hold off the official part of the meeting until the sheriff gets here.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Paul looked disgusted.
“What’s the problem?” Hadley looked from one man to the other. “You guys always have trained law enforcement officers as sheriffs up here, right?”
“Our previous sheriff was, yes, a twenty-plus veteran of the force.” Pelletier pressed his lips together. “Unfortunately—very unfortunately—he was diagnosed with cancer. His best chance was in an experimental program at Sloan Kettering, so he resigned.”
“And the new sheriff?”
Pelletier didn’t say anything.
“The county exec appointed a ‘hospitality executive.’” Paul made finger quotes around the title. “He owns more motels, hotels, and inns in the county than anyone else.”
“What?” Hadley didn’t mean to screech. She cleared her throat. “Sorry.”
Pelletier clasped his hands together. “Arnold Turner is considered quite a local success story. He grew up around here, made his fortune in Florida, and returned to his hometown to, ah…”
“Build a real estate empire and throw his weight around.” Paul shook his head. “He was probably one of a thousand hustlers in Florida, but up here? He’s the Man.”
“The county executive thought the department could benefit from his business and leadership expertise.” Pelletier looked physically pained by his words.
“How long until the next election?” Yíxīn asked.
“Less than a year, now.”
“And is he running?”
“Oh, yes.”
The conference room door bounced open, and Turner made his entrance. Hadley didn’t need to ask; the fact he was wearing a suit and was deeply tanned in the middle of December identified him.
“Hello, everyone!” He smiled broadly. “Charlie, good to see you.” He slapped Pelletier’s arm. “And these must be the folks you told me about.”
Pelletier introduced them, and Turner went around the table shaking everyone’s hand. When he got to Yíxīn, he held hers tightly and looked into her eyes. “I had a Korean doctor in West Palm Beach. Best physician ever.”
The attorney made a faint sound.
“Okay, let’s get to work.” Turner took the seat at the head of the table. “Brief me.”