Chapter 025 The Interrogation
The interrogation room was a box of sterile silence, smelling of lemon cleaner and stale coffee. I sat on the edge of the metal table, my boots planted firmly on the linoleum, while Cassidy leaned against the wall near the door. Her arms were crossed, her posture defensive—not against me, but against the situation. She was scanning, always scanning.
I looked at Joyce Milburn. Not the Joyce we’d been hunting, but the one who ran the local bakery. She sat in the chair across from me, her hands twisting a napkin into a tight white rope.
"I still can't believe you think I'd harm the luminooks," she whispered, her eyes wet. "I knit sweaters for the orphan kittens at the shelter, Sheriff. I bake cookies for the volunteer fire department."
"We have to follow every lead, Joyce," I said, my voice steady, though a fracture was forming in my certainty. I glanced at my notepad. The lines were straight, the ink precise, but the data didn't fit the conclusion I wanted. "You were carrying boxes into a secure area at two in the morning."
"Mary said it was a surprise," Joyce sniffled. "For the town. For the King. She said we were helping."
I dismissed her and brought in Ava. The photographer was less weepy, more indignant. She set her camera on the table like a shield.
"I was documenting," Ava said, tapping the lens cap. "The King specifically asked for visual records of the transition. He wants to show that surface-dwelling luminooks can thrive if the environment is modified correctly. He said it would be a triumph for inter-species integration."
"The King said this," I repeated. "To you?"
"To Mary. But I saw the email on her phone."
My grip on the pen tightened until the plastic creaked. "Email?"
"Or text. Or something digital. I don't know, Sheriff. I just take the pictures."
When Mary Pickens finally sat in the chair, she didn't look like a criminal mastermind. She looked like a tired woman who had spent half the night hauling rocks. She rubbed a smudge of dirt from her cheek and fixed me with a look of disappointed patience.
"Mary," I said. "We need to clear this up."
"I've told you everything, Thokk," she said. "I have a degree in Xenobiology from the University of Maine. I know everyone sees me as the lady who runs the hardware store, but I had a life before Dusty Gulch."
I blinked. "Xenobiology?"
"My father was a high school janitor," she said, her voice softening slightly. "He worked his hands to the bone so I could go to school. I spent ten years studying metabolic adaptation in subterranean species. But academia... it’s political. Exhausting. I came here for the quiet. I took over the store because I wanted to work with my hands, like my dad. But when the King visited? When he started talking about the luminooks?" She smiled, a genuine, weary expression. "I couldn't help myself. I missed it."
She leaned forward. "The King asked if I’d be willing to help develop transition protocols and add more features from the orc kingdom to help them acclimate better. He authorized the drakestone. He authorized the moss. He authorized me."
I stared at her. The truth rang in her words, clear as a bell, shattering the meticulous glass house of my investigation.
"And the paperwork?" I asked, my voice sounding hollow to my own ears. "The notification?"
"He said he sent it," Mary said with a shrug. "A week ago. By courier post. He’s old-fashioned like that."
I stood up. The room felt suddenly too small for my bulk. I needed air. I needed to reorganize the shelves of my mind, which had just been tipped over.
"You're free to go," I said.
---
The office was quiet after they left. My brothers had dispersed to secure the perimeter again, leaving Cassidy and me in the pool of yellow light from my desk lamp.
I sat in my chair, staring at the blank screen of my computer. The humiliation was a cold, heavy stone in my gut.
"I don't miss official communications," I said. The words tasted like ash. "Ever. My filing system has a zero point one percent error margin, and that’s only because Vorn once filed a takeout menu under 'Tactical Supplies'."
Cassidy moved from the shadows. She didn't touch me, but I could feel her presence like a heat source. She smelled of night air and the faint, metallic tang of adrenaline that was slowly fading.
"Thokk," she said softly. "You're not a machine."
"I have to be," I countered, looking up at her. "I am the Sheriff. I am the eldest. People rely on me to be right. Weeks of investigation. Surveillance operations. Mobilizing my brothers. All based on the wrong assumption because I didn't get a letter."
I ran a hand over my face, feeling the rough stubble on my jaw. "If the King sent it, where did it go?"
Cassidy leaned a hip against my desk. She chewed on her lower lip, her brow furrowed in thought. It was a look I was coming to know—the look of her putting puzzle pieces together.
"The courier post," she murmured. "That goes to your home box first, right? Before you bring it to the office?"
"Yes. But I check it every day at 0700 and 1800 hours."
"Last Tuesday," she said slowly. "We were walking past your place. It was the day of the street fair. There was a commotion."
I searched my memory. Tuesday. The street fair. The scent of fried dough and popcorn. "Yes. Mrs. Gable's prize pig got loose."
"Right. And before that... do you remember Billy?"
I frowned. "Cara Winslow's boy?"
"He was playing on the boardwalk. He had a stick. He was pretending to be a knight or something." Cassidy’s eyes widened. "He was whacking the mailboxes. I saw him open yours. He raced down the boardwalk with his grandmother chasing him. I noted that the box was open and shut the lid. I didn't think anything of it because I was... distracted."
She didn't say by what, but I remembered the way her hand had brushed mine that day, the electric jolt that had nearly made me drop my keys.
I stared at her. "You think a five-year-old boy stole a royal decree?"
"He's five," Cassidy said, a small, tired smile tugging at her lips. "If it had a shiny seal on it? Or looked like a treasure map?"
I reached for the phone. My fingers felt thick, clumsy. I dialed Rokk’s number.
"Yeah?" Rokk’s voice was groggy.
"Are Cara Winslow and her mother still in town?"
"Uh..." I heard shifting on the other end, then Beth’s sleepy murmur in the background. "Yeah. They’re staying at the Bed and Breakfast until tomorrow. Why?"
"Meet us there at 0800," I said. "And bring coffee."
I hung up. The silence stretched between us again, but the crushing weight of failure had shifted slightly. It was no longer a void of incompetence; it was a variable I hadn't accounted for. Chaos. A child.
"That a five-year-old boy might have accidentally disrupted the most thorough administrative system I’ve ever seen," I muttered.
Cassidy laughed. It was a dry, raspy sound, but it settled in my chest like a warm ember. "Welcome to humanity, Sheriff. We're messy."
---
I couldn't sleep.
My house was silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. It was 5:00 AM. The sky outside the kitchen window was a bruised purple, hinting at the dawn.
I stood at the counter, measuring coffee grounds. One scoop. Level off with the knife. Dump. Two scoops. Level off. Dump.
The repetition usually soothed me, but today my hands were shaking. Just a tremor, barely visible, but I felt it. I had almost arrested Mary Pickens. I had almost deployed a tactical team against the bakery lady.
Because I missed a variable.
The floorboards creaked behind me. I didn't turn; I knew the cadence of those steps. Light, cautious, favoring the left side slightly. Cassidy.
She walked into the kitchen wearing one of my oversized t-shirts. It hung to her mid-thighs, swallowing her small frame. Seeing her like that, in my clothes, in my kitchen, sent a wave of possessiveness through me so strong it nearly knocked the wind out of me.
"Coffee?" she asked, her voice rough with sleep.
"Three minutes," I said. "The brewing cycle is precise."
She hopped up onto the counter, her bare feet dangling. She watched me as I wiped down a spot of spilled water on the granite.
"You're still beating yourself up," she stated.
"I failed, Cassidy." I turned to face her, leaning my back against the sink. "I am responsible for the safety of this town. For the safety of the luminooks. And I was chasing ghosts while the real threat is... somewhere."
"You didn't fail," she said firmly. "You followed the evidence you had. And when new evidence appeared, you pivoted. That's good police work."
"It's sloppy," I growled. "I don't do sloppy."
She slid off the counter and walked toward me. She stopped a foot away, forcing me to look down. Her eyes were clear, fierce, stripping away my defenses.
"You're terrified of making a mistake," she said. "Because you think if you make a mistake, you won't be worthy of... this." She gestured vaguely between us. "Of the badge. Of the trust."
"Of you," I whispered. The truth slipped out before I could check it against my internal filters.
Cassidy went still. "Me?"
I reached out, my large hand hovering near her face before I allowed myself to cup her cheek. Her skin was soft, warm. "I am... a lot," I said, struggling to find the words. "I am rigid. I am obsessive. I count my steps. I organize my spices alphabetically. I am not easy."
"Thokk," she said, leaning into my touch.
"And you," I continued, my thumb brushing her cheekbone. "You are chaos and fire and scars. You are everything I can't control. And I was afraid that if I showed you I could be flawed... if I showed you I could miss something as simple as a letter... you would realize I am not the shield you need."
Cassidy covered my hand with hers. Her fingers were small, pale against my green skin.
"I don't need a shield, Thokk," she said softly. "I need a partner. I need someone who catches me when I fall, but who also lets me catch him."
She looked up at me, her eyes shimmering. "I don't care about the filing system. I don't care about the perfectly organized pantry. I care that you stood between me and the door when we walked into the bar. I care that you remembered how I take my coffee. I care that you make me feel safe in a world that hasn't felt safe in a long time."
She took a breath, shaky and brave. "I love you, Thokk."
The world stopped. The clock ceased ticking. The coffee pot stopped gurgling. There was only the thunder of my own heart and the woman standing in front of me.
"Say it again," I rasped.
"I love you."
I gathered her up. I didn't think; I just moved. I pulled her into me, burying my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her—soap and sleep and mine. The mating bond, which had been a low hum for weeks, roared into a symphony of heat and rightness.
"I love you too," I murmured against her skin. "I have since the moment you walked into my office and told me my filing cabinet was a fire hazard."
She laughed, the vibration running through my chest. "It was blocking the exit."
"I'd buy a dozen grills if it made you happy," I said, tightening my hold. "I would rearrange the stars if you asked me to."
She pulled back enough to look at me, smiling. "Just the coffee for now, Sheriff."
I kissed her then. It wasn't desperate or hungry like the times before. It was a seal. A promise. It was the final piece of data falling into place, completing the pattern.
---
The bell above Aunt Morna’s shop chimed as we entered. The morning sun was just cutting across the dusty floorboards, illuminating floating motes of dust. The shop smelled of dried herbs, beeswax, and old paper.
Aunt Morna was behind the counter, sorting a stack of colorful envelopes. She looked up, her spectacles sliding down her nose.
"Sheriff," she said, nodding. "Deputy. You're up early."
"We need to ask you about the mail," I said, keeping my voice level. Cassidy stood close to my side, her shoulder brushing my arm. That contact was a steadying anchor.
"The mail?" Morna raised an eyebrow.
"Specifically, correspondence from the King. About a week ago."
"Ah." Morna’s face brightened. "Yes, of course. The luminook initiative. A wonderful project. I received my copy not long ago, a beautifully written letter from His Majesty himself. He has such elegant penmanship for a man who wields a battle-axe."
She reached under the counter and produced a thick, cream-colored envelope with the royal wax seal broken. She slid it across the glass.
"I assumed you received yours the same day," she said. "I saw the courier heading toward your property."
I picked up the letter. The paper was heavy, expensive. It detailed the authorization for Mary Pickens and her team to begin habitat modification. It was dated eight days ago.
"I never got it," I said quietly.
Morna’s eyes widened. "Oh dear."
"My entire approach to this case was based on incomplete information," I said, more to myself than to her. "If I had seen this..."
"You would have helped Mary instead of staking her out," Cassidy finished for me.
"Exactly." I handed the letter back to Morna. "Thank you, Morna. This confirms Mary’s story."
"But if you didn't get it..." Morna frowned. "Where is it?"
"We have a suspect," Cassidy said. "A very short one."
---
We found Billy at the Saloon. It was technically closed, but Cara was inside cleaning the floors while her mother watched Billy eat a plate of pancakes at a corner table.
When I walked in, my shadow fell across the table. Billy looked up, syrup on his chin. His eyes went wide.
"Morning, Billy," I said. I tried to make my voice gentle, but I knew my sheer size was intimidating. I crouched down so I was eye-level with him.
"Sheriff Thokk," he squeaked.
Cara stopped mopping and hurried over, clutching the handle. "Is everything okay? Did he do something?"
"We just need to ask him a question," Cassidy said, stepping forward with a warm smile. She knelt beside me. "Hey, Billy. Remember playing knight at the street fair last week?"
Billy nodded enthusiastically. "I slew a dragon."
"I bet you did," Cassidy said. "Did you find any treasure?"
Billy’s eyes darted to his mother, then back to his pancakes. He went very still.
"Billy?" Cara asked, her voice rising in warning.
"I didn't steal it!" Billy blurted out. "I just... I borrowed it! It looked like a King's letter!"
"It was a King's letter," I said gently.
"I couldn't read it," Billy whispered, tears welling up. "I can read a lot of words, but the handwriting was all swirly. I was gonna put it back, I promise. But then Grandma chased me and I hid it under my bed and I forgot."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. The tension in my shoulders, the knot of professional failure, finally unraveled. It wasn't sabotage. It wasn't a conspiracy. It was a five-year-old playing pretend.
"It's okay, Billy," I said. "You're not in trouble. But I need that letter back. It's very important police business."
"It's up in my room," he said. "I'll get it!"
He scrambled off the chair and ran up the stairs. Cara looked mortified. "Sheriff, I am so sorry. I had no idea. I'll make sure he—"
"It's fine, Cara," I said, standing up. "Really. No harm done."
Except for a near-tactical assault on a baker, I thought. But I kept that to myself.
When Billy returned with the crumpled, syrup-stained envelope, I took it like it was a holy relic. The royal seal was cracked, the edges dog-eared.
"Thank you, Billy," I said. "Next time, stick to slaying dragons, okay? Leave the mail alone."
"Yes, sir."
---
Back in the cruiser, the silence was comfortable. The morning sun was fully up now, bathing the town in golden light. Dusty Gulch looked peaceful. Safe.
But as I looked at the crumpled letter on the dashboard, the reality of our situation settled back in.
"So," Cassidy said, buckling her seatbelt. "Mary is innocent. The King authorized the project. The paperwork was lost by a five-year-old."
"Correct," I said. I started the engine, the rumble vibrating through the seat.
"But the fence cuts," she said. Her voice dropped, losing its playful edge. "The ones we found weeks ago. The ones that started this whole investigation."
"Mary didn't cut the fences," I said grimly. "She has a key. She has authorization."
"And the specialized equipment we saw traces of? The tracks that didn't match Mary's truck?"
"Also real."
I gripped the steering wheel. The relief of solving the immediate mystery was fading, replaced by the cold, hard logic of the job.
"We'll start over," I said. "New investigation, new approach. We go back to the logs. We go back to the surveillance."
"Our mistake eliminated three suspects and confirmed the King's initiative," Cassidy said. "That's progress. We know who it isn't."
"Yes," I said. "But that means the real threat is still out there. And they know we're distracted."
I reached across the console and took her hand. Her fingers laced with mine, a perfect fit.
"We'll find them," she said.
"We will," I promised.
I put the cruiser in gear and pulled out onto the main road. The town was waking up. People were opening shops, sweeping sidewalks. They looked safe.
My job was to keep them that way. And for the first time, I didn't feel like I was carrying that weight alone.