Chapter 38
Clint had declined to have Lee Brady present but he’d shown up anyway.
Caruthers had advised Clint of his rights and left him to sweat in the same interview room where he’d been questioned after Heather Baker’s murder.
Only this time he wasn’t sweating. He’d done nothing wrong, and no one could place him at the scene.
He wasn’t the same man he’d been back then either.
Right now he was a little unsure about a lot of things, but taking any grief from Pine Bluff’s finest wasn’t one of them.
The smell of Emily’s skin . . . images from yesterday morning flashed through his mind. He couldn’t think about that. Just another line he’d crossed that would get him nowhere. Being with her that way had damaged him somehow. Had made him powerless in a way that he didn’t ever want to be again.
Not that he had to worry. She’d run away so fast his head was still swimming. She wouldn’t be back. She’d been too good for him at seventeen, and she was too good for him now.
If the not knowing how it felt to touch her had been pure misery . . . the knowing and not touching her was an agony he couldn’t hope to gauge.
The door opened and Ray Hale walked in with three cups of coffee. He placed one on the table in front of Clint, passed one to Brady and kept the other for himself.
Ray dropped into the chair opposite Clint and rubbed at his eyes as if he’d seen too much that morning.
“I need you to tell me if you know anything about Keith Turner’s death.” Ray took out his trusty notepad and pencil.
He didn’t call it a murder. Probably waiting for the official autopsy results. “I don’t know anything about it. I saw Turner Saturday night, as you know, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“What about Troy Baker?”
Clint shook his head. “Not since they showed up at my place drunk and acting stupid.”
“I’m not going to find any evidence that you were at that quarry, am I?” Ray pressed, after jotting down a couple of notes.
“No way. I was home all day yesterday and all night.” He saw the skepticism in Ray’s eyes. “Until the insurance company gets the temporary trailer out there tomorrow or the next day, I’m staying in the barn.”
“If you want to sleep in a bed and have a hot shower,” Ray said, the hard, edgy lines of his face softening, “there’s the shelter at the Methodist church and that old hunting cabin I never use. It’s pretty rustic, but there’s running water and a bathroom.”
Clint didn’t need Ray feeling sorry for him. “I’m fine.” He started to ask Ray if he took such an interest in all his suspects, but that would only piss him off.
Ray stared into his cup as if the answers he sought were bound to make an appearance. “You know.” He lifted his gaze to Clint. “Most folks are going to think after the remark you made about Keith and the fight with his buddies that you were the one who killed him.”
“Is there a question somewhere amid that roundabout accusation?” Brady pointed out.
Ray nodded. “Can anyone confirm your whereabouts? The coroner gave a preliminary estimation on time of death as between ten and eleven yesterday morning.”
Ten and eleven . . . that was when he and Emily . . .
“I was at my place alone. Anything else you need to know?”
Ray heaved a weary sigh. “Let me see your hands.”
Clint flattened his palms on the table. “I got those skinned knuckles in the fight Saturday night. The scratches are scabbed over already. They wouldn’t look like that if I’d done them just yesterday.”
Ray studied him a moment. He didn’t have to say anything.
Clint knew what he was thinking. Things in this town had gone downhill since Clint’s release.
People had gotten out of sorts. Lives had been disrupted.
Well, tough shit. Clint’s life had been disrupted too.
He’d lost over ten years. Like Ray himself had said, Clint had a right to be here the same as anyone else.
“Just stay out of the public eye as much as possible until we get a lead on this,” Ray suggested. “I don’t want any more trouble.”
Clint pushed away from the table and stood. “You won’t get any from me.” He hesitated before heading for the door. “I still want to see those files, Ray. I don’t know why you’re putting me off.”
Brady rose from his chair, looked from Clint to Ray. “Any reason you’re dragging your feet on sharing the case file?”
“I’m not putting you off, Clint.” He shot a look at Brady. “Or dragging my feet. Yesterday was Sunday and I’ve been a little busy this morning.” Ray stood. “I don’t know what you think you’ll find. You’ve seen most of it already. It’s best to move on.”
“Is there something you’re hiding from me, Ray?
Is that the problem with me seeing the case files?
” The vehemence in Clint’s voice startled him.
Startled Ray too. Dammit, Clint hadn’t meant to lose control like that.
He’d lost too much control already. But he’d seen the guard go up in Ray’s eyes.
Clint knew him well enough to know when he was hiding something.
The door opened. Caruthers stuck his head inside. “Everything all right in here?”
Clint looked from the nosy deputy chief to his boss. Brady looked annoyed as well.
“We’re good,” Ray confirmed.
Caruthers closed the door, but not before he gave Clint one last hard look. That was the way things were in this town. Clint would always be the bad guy . . . even when he wasn’t. But then he’d known that before he’d come back.
“Look, Clint, I will get to it. You have my word.” Ray presented an understanding face that lacked any substance.
“All the files ten years old or older were moved to permanent storage in the basement of the courthouse. I’ll need time to find that one .
. . if it wasn’t damaged beyond salvaging in that water leak a couple years back.
But you have my word that I’ll see what I can do. ”
Sounded like an excuse to Clint. “You do that.” Ray had no intention of allowing him anywhere near those files.
When Clint reached the door, Ray stopped him with one last question: “Any chance Emily Wallace was watching your place yesterday?”
“No.” Clint started to leave it at that, but he hesitated, decided to make things perfectly clear. “I don’t think she’ll be coming around my place anymore.”
She’d learned a hard truth. Had felt guilty. So she’d come to pay her penance. He understood that yesterday was nothing more than a pity fuck.
She wouldn’t be back.