Chapter Six #2
After a couple of moments, she looked away, her fingers slipping from his hand, leaving behind a faint trace of warmth he felt long after.
The rest of the drive passed in a silence that felt heavier than the hum of the tires on asphalt. Ahead, Redwater came into view, the small Texas town laid out in neat blocks. A mix of weathered brick buildings and newer storefronts lined Main Street, their signs faded by the sun.
The diner with its big plate-glass window was already busy with the breakfast crowd. The feed store’s display of pumpkins and hay bales sat out front, a reminder that Halloween was just around the corner.
Harlan turned onto the side street where the sheriff’s office sat, a squat tan-brick building with the Texas flag rippling lazily in the morning breeze.
He parked in one of the angled visitors’ spaces out front, scanning the street out of habit before shutting off the engine, before Laney and he got out and went inside.
The sheriff’s office carried the faint scent of coffee and floor polish. A bulletin board near the entrance was cluttered with missing pet flyers, church supper notices, and the weekly crime blotter.
The front desk was unmanned for the moment, the sound of phones ringing and low voices drifting from deeper in the building.
Harlan felt the shift in the atmosphere the moment they stepped in.
Law enforcement buildings always had that undercurrent of tension, as if the air held its breath waiting for trouble to walk through the door.
Harlan caught sight of Sheriff Barnes near the end of the hall, his voice pitched sharp as he faced off with two men. Recognition hit like a snap to the gut. Billy Maddox stood stiff-shouldered, his narrow eyes darting between the sheriff and the man beside him.
Curtis Brannigan.
What the hell was Brannigan doing here?
Harlan slowed his steps as he and Laney approached. Billy’s voice cut through the space, ragged and loud. “You think I’m stupid? This is a setup. And I’ll tell you who’s behind it.” He jabbed a finger toward Brannigan. “Him. He’s been gunning for me for years.”
Brannigan’s face flushed a dark, angry red, but he didn’t say a word. His jaw worked like he was chewing on whatever reply he wanted to spit out.
The sheriff lifted a hand in warning, and the hallway went still as all three men turned their attention toward Laney and Harlan.
Laney’s gaze swept over both suspects before settling on Barnes. “What’s going on here?” she asked, her tone steady but edged with authority.
The sheriff let out a huff, rubbing the back of his neck like he was one word away from losing his patience. “Brannigan just showed up,” he said, his voice clipped.
“That’s because he called me,” Brannigan shot back, pointing at Billy. “He was ranting on and on about being set up and that he was going to let everyone know that I was responsible. I came here to make sure the cops knew he was lying through his teeth.”
Billy stepped in, his fists curling. “You’re the one who set me up. You think I don’t see what you’re doing?”
Brannigan moved right into his space, their chests almost touching. The air in the hall tightened. Harlan saw the tension spike, saw Billy’s shoulder twitch like he was ready to swing. He stepped between them, pressing a hand against each man’s chest and shoving them apart.
“Enough,” Harlan snapped. “You want to throw punches, wait until you’re somewhere else. Not here.”
Both men glared past him, their anger still hot, but they stayed where they were.
The sheriff’s jaw tightened, and he turned to Brannigan. “Go cool off. Come back in two hours and give your statement then.”
Brannigan’s nostrils flared. “You’re letting him spin this before you hear from me?”
“Two hours,” the sheriff repeated, his tone brooking no argument.
Brannigan muttered something under his breath, shot a glare at Billy, and stalked toward the door. The glass rattled in its frame when he slammed it behind him.
“All right,” the sheriff said, turning back to Billy, “let’s take this into the interview room.”
Billy planted his boots on the worn linoleum and crossed his arms. “Not happening. Not until I got a lawyer sitting in there with me.”
Laney’s shoulders stiffened, her hand curling into a fist at her side. Harlan felt his own patience fray, the muscles in his jaw tightening. The sheriff let out another huff that sounded more like a growl.
“We had an agreement, Billy,” the sheriff said.
“Yeah, well, I’m changing it,” Billy shot back, chin raised. “You got a problem with that, you can take it up with my attorney.”
The frustration in the room was a living thing, settling over them like a weight. Harlan kept his eyes locked on Billy.
Billy yanked his phone from his pocket, stabbing at the screen with one finger.
“Yeah, I’ll get him on the line,” he muttered and then raised his voice again, as if they’d all gone deaf.
“Heard the talk already. Talk about me setting that damn bomb by the old culvert. About my DNA being on some hair clip or some shit.”
Harlan swore silently. That detail about the hair clip shouldn’t be floating around town. No way to hold back gossip about the explosive device. Folks would have seen the bomb squad responding. But the DNA results shouldn’t have leaked.
The sheriff’s head came up, eyes narrowing. “Sounds like I need to have a word with my investigators,” he said, his tone sharp enough to cut.
Billy kept right on, pacing a half step one way and back again, phone still in hand.
“I was in Redwater yesterday, sure, but not for what you’re thinking.
I came to meet a guy about a job. Said he needed an old building knocked down, good pay for quick work.
Except the guy never showed. Hell, I don’t think he even existed.
Whole thing was a setup to get me here.”
Harlan watched him, noting the twitch in Billy’s jaw and the way his gaze kept flicking between him and Laney. His account of what’d happened didn’t sound like pure invention. But it also didn’t mean that Billy hadn’t done something illegal.
Billy finished the voicemail to his lawyer, shoved the phone back into his pocket, and barreled on like the sheriff hadn’t said a word.
“That hair clip? Set up. My DNA had to be planted on it. You hear me? Planted.” His voice cracked with anger, and he jabbed a finger toward the door Brannigan had gone through.
“That son of a bitch could’ve done it. He’s been trying to run me out of this county for years.
Claims I stole a job from him when I got hired on that drilling site over in Callahan.
I didn’t steal nothing. I just worked harder.
He hated me for it. Always said he’d make me pay. ”
The sheriff’s jaw worked like he was biting back words, but Harlan caught the flicker of thought in his eyes. He was filing it away. So was Harlan. It might be a lie, but grudges like that had a way of rotting into something dangerous.
Billy leaned in a little, his eyes sharp with spite.
“You know who else could be setting me up? Sherry Dalton. She’s always had it in her head that I killed that blown-up cop of yours.
And she’s a former cop herself. Knows exactly how to plant things, knows how to twist the story so it sticks. Wouldn’t be that hard for her.”
Harlan didn’t move, but the thought landed and stayed. A former cop could absolutely frame someone, and that “payment” note in David’s notebook flashed in his mind again.
Billy’s smirk cut across the room. “Besides, she’s all worked up about finding her old partner’s killer because he was more than just her old partner. Wasn’t he?”
Laney went still beside him, and Harlan felt the shift in her, tight and sharp. Billy had just thrown a live wire into the middle of the room, implying something Harlan knew would hit her hard.
The sheriff’s face reddened. “Enough of this. Get in the interview room and wait for your lawyer.”
Billy tilted his head. “Am I under arrest?”
“Not at this moment,” the sheriff said, voice like gravel, “but that could change real fast.”
Billy gave a slow nod, the smirk never leaving his face. “Then I’ll pop over to the diner, get some breakfast. I’ll be back when my lawyer shows.”
Billy strolled out like he owned the place, his boots dragging grit across the tile. The door swung shut behind him, leaving the room feeling heavier somehow.
“Sorry, Laney,” the sheriff said, his voice quieter now, the heat gone from it.
Harlan caught what the man didn’t say. No denial. No quick “that’s not true” about what Billy had implied with David and Sherry. That absence spoke louder than most words could.
Laney must have felt the same thing, because she turned to Harlan, her eyes steady despite the storm he knew was behind them. “I need to talk to Sherry,” she said.
The sheriff didn’t move to stop them, didn’t even ask why. He just turned away, already pulling out his phone, no doubt to give Sherry a heads up at what was coming her way.
Harlan opened the door for Laney, and together they stepped into the bright morning light. She glanced at him as if she needed to say something, but the words didn’t seem to come. Instead, she shook her head and went to his truck.
They climbed in, both of them shutting their doors with a solid thunk. He started the engine, pulled away from the curb, and headed toward Sherry’s place. Laney stared out her window, the silence between them stretched tight.
A couple of miles out of town, her voice came low and rough. “Do you think it’s true? About the affair?”
He wanted to reach for her, to take the edge out of her words, but he wasn’t about to give her anything false. “I don’t know. David never said anything to me about it.”
She didn’t respond right away. She just kept watching the road unspool ahead. When they reached the stretch by the culvert, she muttered, almost to herself, “I suspected it. I just didn’t want to believe it.”
Harlan swore under his breath, hands tightening on the wheel. He was about to pull over, to try to get her to look at him, when the crack of a gunshot tore through the morning air.
The truck jolted hard, the steering yanking in his grip as the front tire blew out.
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