Émilie makes a face. “Our hearts were in the right place, but there was a definite air of privilege. Taking it upon ourselves to save the downtrodden, whether they wanted our help or not.”
Edwin nods. “We wanted to help the settlers. Three of us, plus a couple of the other younger residents. We argued for open trade. That’s what the settlers said they wanted: the ability to trade with Rockton. It seemed obvious to us that Rockton should allow it.”
“But Rockton’s leaders had a touch of savior complex themselves,” Émilie says. “Living in the forest was wrong, and if they could force the settlers back to Rockton by refusing trade, then that was for their own good.”
“The settlers disagreed,” I say. “And when they had the chance—and the guns—they decided trade wasn’t enough. They wanted the town. The infrastructure. The supplies. The plane.”
“Some of them did,” Edwin says. “Yet even those who supported the leader were appalled by the murders. They turned the perpetrators over as part of the negotiations. What happened to them after that . . .” He shrugs.
“They were sent home,” Émilie says firmly. “In later times, a harsher justice might have prevailed, but those in charge of Rockton back then were not killers.”
“Back then?” I say.
“Those in charge have never been sociopaths, Casey,” she says, meeting my gaze. “I think you and Eric know that, or you would never allow anyone to be sent south for their crimes. That would make you complicit in their deaths.”
Phil looks over sharply. “Did you honestly believe—?”
“They worried,” Émilie cuts in.
I turn to Edwin. “You said you came with information. To impart it, not to demand it, correct? You wanted to tell me something useful. Give it to me now. Then you will go home and wait while I solve this damned problem.”
20
“I think we both know Edwin is physically incapable of sharing his information and walking away,” Émilie says. “The man is not a giver. Unless you have guns. He’ll be quick to give those away.”
“That is beneath you, Émilie,” Edwin says, the formality returning to his voice.
“Nothing is beneath me. Especially when it’s true. That’s the deal then, Edwin. You tell Casey what you came to tell her, and then you leave and trust her to update you once the crime is solved.”
“Or?”
She looks him in the eye. “The terms of your banishment stated that if you ever set foot in Rockton, you would be shipped home. I suppose you thought no one was left to remember that.”
“Hostiles murdered a group of tourists,” he says. “That was vital information that Casey failed to impart.”
I turn to Felicity. “Is that true?”
Her look warns me against putting her on the spot, but I’m only making a point here, and Edwin gets it with the tightening of his lips.
I turn back to him. “Felicity was here when the woman found us. She knew what we suspected—that she’d been attacked by hostiles. Your granddaughter would not have failed to convey that to you. We presumed you’d take the threat seriously, though I’m not sure what difference it would make, since your settlement is already on high alert.”
I allow a two-second pause. Then I say, “There were three other deaths. Settlers. We discovered them yesterday and haven’t had a chance to alert you.”
“The hostiles murdered seven—”
“The settlers weren’t killed by hostiles. Someone just wanted it to look that way.”
Phil eases back, almost imperceptibly. He thinks I’m bluffing, and guilt prickles at that.
I watch Edwin for a flicker that says he knows I’m telling the truth . . . because he played a role in the deaths. I don’t see it, though. I do, however, notice Felicity’s gaze slide her grandfather’s way. She’s wondering whether he knew this. She’s wondering whether he’s involved. His own features, though, only gather in irritable confusion.
“Is this a joke, Casey?” he says.
I let my expression answer. He meets my gaze. Studies it. Narrows his eyes.
“Explain,” he says.
I arch my brows. I could remind him that I’m not his public servant, but I won’t be petty. My expression says enough.
“I’m not sure what you want me to explain,” I say. “We found three settlers. They appeared to be the victim of hostile attacks. The classic signs were there, with frenzied slashes plus evidence of blunt force trauma. But then April discovered a bullet lodged behind bone. We found evidence of other bullet wounds, with the projectiles either passing through or being removed. That remaining one, I believe, was missed. The stab wounds were then used to disguise the entry and exit paths. Decent work, and without that bullet, I’d have bought it. April would have figured it out, though, through internal tissue damage.”
Phil stares at me. He realizes now that I’m not making this up. That we once again excluded him from the “need to know” roster.
I’ll need to convince him it wasn’t a lack of trust but, rather, that we’d been too busy dealing with everything else and weren’t ready to inform the council. And, yes, perhaps that last bit is trust. We don’t trust him not to tell the council, but we also don’t wish to put him in that position.
“You think we did this thing,” Edwin says.
I shrug. “Makes sense. You have guns. You also have a reason to prove that the hostiles are a wildly escalating threat.”
“We are not killers,” he says, enunciating each word.
“Then someone from your settlement found these settlers, already dead, and you decided to make use of their bodies. Give meaning to senseless deaths. You’d use that to convince us—and through us, the council—that the hostiles must be stopped. Relocated or otherwise removed.”
Edwin watches me for a moment. Then he says, “Were you good at your job down south, Casey? Or did you achieve your position based on your sex and ethnicity? The elevation of an underwhelming officer to fulfill some bureaucratically determined quota?”
Dalton rocks forward, eyes flashing as his mouth opens. Before he can say anything, though, Felicity walks past him. Strides to the door. Opens it.
“Felic—” her grandfather begins. The shutting door cuts him short. She doesn’t stomp out and slam it. Just wordlessly leaves, letting the door close behind her.
“Nicely done, Edwin,” Émilie murmurs. “I see your attitudes haven’t changed, even with a granddaughter you are obviously grooming to succeed you. Didn’t have any grandsons, did you? Such a shame.”
“Casey is—” Dalton begins.
“Casey is well qualified for her position,” Phil cuts in, his voice cool and smooth, his gaze equally cool as it lands on me. He’s furious with my perceived betrayal but rising above it to defend me, which adds iodine to the sting. “Her performance ratings and clearance scores placed her in the top tenth percentile and—”
“And none of that matters,” I say. “Because Edwin isn’t really questioning my skill or my ability. He’s seen how effective I am. He’s just playing a very old and very tattered card. Do you think that’s a new one, Counselor? Insinuate that a woman got her job because of her sex? That a minority got it because they tick a box? I’m sure you heard that yourself, back in the day. Or is your memory really fading that fast?”
“I was simply—”
“Being an asshole. Being an asshole defense lawyer, to be precise. I laid out my case against you, and you deflected by pretending my theory only proves I’m clearly a lousy detective.”
“We neither killed nor mutilated these settlers,” he says. “I don’t see the point of such a sham. You already know the hostiles are dangerous. Even if we mutilated the corpses, would we not ensure you found them?”
“I believe we were supposed to find them. Eventually. Scavenging would only add to the damage, as it did with the tourists. The bodies would be left for a couple of days, and then we’d be alerted to their presence. However, before that could happen, they disappeared
from the scene. Those responsible for the deaths pondered that, uncertain how to handle the unexpected twist. Then . . .”
I shrug. “Perhaps the person responsible decided that the best way to handle it was to come to Rockton himself. Come and tell me that a hunting party happened upon these poor murdered settlers and returned to tell him, but in the meantime, the bodies disappeared. So he proceeded to Rockton to inform me personally, despite his banishment, proving that the situation was indeed dire.”
Edwin’s face darkens for a split second before he leans back in his chair, hands folded on his lap. “That is quite a tortuous piece of speculation, Detective Butler. Reminds me of all the times I had to explain away a bit of irrefutable evidence against a client. Come up with a preposterous story and pray the jury was filled with gullible idiots. Apparently, now I’m the gullible idiot.”
“No,” Dalton says, “you’re the very old lawyer who’s forgotten how to ply his trade. Even I can see what you’re doing, Edwin. Discrediting the witness. Isn’t that what they call it? Don’t provide any proof that you didn’t do this. Just deny it and insult the detective and her theories.”
“What are you here for, Edwin?” I say. “I have work to do. You know what I found. You know you’re a suspect. Now please convey this critical information that brought you here, so you may return to your village and let me solve the six goddamn murders currently on my plate.”
Edwin straightens. “I came to inform you that there has been increased evidence of hostile activity. Another hunting party was confronted. Fortunately, the situation was resolved without bloodshed.”
Silence, broken when Dalton says, “What?”
“I said—”
“We all heard what you said,” Dalton says, “and we’re waiting for the punch line. Casey just suggested you came to tell us about the settlers, not knowing we’d found them. Now you’re revealing that your ‘critical information’ is bullshit. Either that’s your idea of a joke or you might as well put up your hands and say ‘you got me.’ ”
“I hardly consider an attack on my people ‘bullshit,’ Eric.”
“It sure as hell isn’t a reason for you to come all the way here personally.”
“Is that really all you have to tell me, Edwin?” I ask.
“I consider an unprovoked attack on my people an egregious—”
“I have no further questions for this witness.” I walk to the door, open it, and turn to Edwin. “You are free to go. You will be escorted from town. Please do not see this as a lifting of your banishment. You are not welcome back. Nor is your granddaughter until I have cleared your settlement in this matter. If you decide you have further information for me, you may send Felicity to the edge of our patrol area, where she will wait for a militia member to bring her message to me.”
“We had nothing to do with the deaths of those settlers, Casey.”
“Maybe not, but you’re playing a game I don’t have time to join. I will not forget your assistance in this matter. Now please leave.”
He rises stiffly and says, “May I at least see the bodies of the deceased settlers? We have had members of our community leave over the years, and I may be able to identify them.”
“They have already been identified. They’re not from your settlement or Rockton. They were a married couple and a teenage boy, trappers who came north a few years ago.”
His chin drops in a slow nod. “We did know them, then. Thank you.”
I wait to see whether he’ll still find a reason to view the bodies, proof that his “excuse” was just that. He doesn’t. As I hold the door, Dalton glances at me, that glance questioning my decision to let Edwin leave. It’s a mild question, though. If he felt strongly about it, he’d interfere.
I lead Edwin outside and flag down Kenny, who hasn’t gone far. I tell him to escort Edwin to the main path. I’m about to ask whether he’s seen Felicity when I spot her sitting with Sebastian.
Edwin doesn’t notice Felicity and Sebastian. He’s keeping his gaze forward, avoiding any hint of curiosity about the town. I murmur that I’ll find his granddaughter and send him on ahead with Kenny.
* * *
Once Kenny and Edwin are gone, I make my way toward the young couple. They’re on the edge of town, sitting on a bench, Felicity gripping the edge of her seat, hunched forward as Sebastian leans in, talking to her.
I contrast that with the first time I’d seen them together. Felicity had come to town, and Sebastian took it upon himself to play host. Not being creepy, just considerate. He’d regaled her with amusing stories, and she’d sat there, both mesmerized and terrified. He’d fascinated her, this first glimpse of a “regular” boy, one from down south, but I know it’d be uncomfortable, too, wondering how she looked through his eyes.
As the “kids”—Sebastian, Felicity, Sidra, and Baptiste—began hanging out, I’d felt compelled to tell Sebastian about a First Settlement resident who murdered three people, and who almost certainly shared his diagnosis. How did Sebastian handle it? Promptly told Felicity what he was and what he’d done.
If I feared that would end the friendship, then I misjudged them both. Sebastian wanted her to know what he was and how he was coping with it, and Felicity appreciated the opportunity to make her own informed decision.
Then, last winter, Felicity herself killed someone. In my gut, I call it justified, but a court wouldn’t agree. There is no provision in our legal system for what Felicity did. We’ve been working on her feelings around that. I think I’ve helped, but Sebastian has helped more.
Now, seeing her leaning toward him, pouring out her thoughts about the meeting with her grandfather, Sebastian listening intently, my heart lifts for them, finding one another in this corner of the world.
“Hey,” I say softly when I reach them. “You need to go, Felicity. I’m sorry. I also need to ask you to stay out of Rockton until this is settled. It’s not you . . .”
“I know.” She rises. “I apologize for my grandfather’s behavior. It was inconsiderate.”
Inconsiderate on all levels. An insult not just to me, but to his granddaughter. Émilie needled him about not having grandsons. It’s true, though. I wonder whether Felicity feels that if there’d been a male heir, he’d have only needed to be half as capable as her.
“You make him uneasy,” she says, as if reading my mind. “He likes that you are Chinese. He would like it better if you were a man.”
I quirk a smile. “He can’t have everything. I don’t think he minds me being a woman—he just wishes that meant I was easier to handle.”
She returns a ghost-mirror of my smile. “That is true. But if you were easier to handle, he would not respect you. He tells me I am too headstrong. Yet if I were not . . .” She shrugs.
“You wouldn’t be his heir.”
“As you said, he cannot have everything. Sometimes, I am not convinced he even knows what he does want. I can tell you, however, that I know nothing of these dead settlers. If my grandfather played any role in their deaths or the treatment of their bodies, I heard nothing about it.” She pauses. “I would add that I do not think he did, but you would expect me to say that, so you can put little weight in it.”
“Thank you anyway. I am sorry about the recent encounter with the hostiles. I’m glad no one was hurt.”
Confusion flickers over her face. It’s a millisecond long, followed by a millisecond of anger as she realizes she’s given something away. Then that vanishes, and she shakes her head. I can interpret that, too, a rueful acknowledgment that I played my hand well, and she cannot fault me for the trick.
“Your grandfather is waiting on the main path,” I say.
She murmurs a farewell to Sebastian, who has stood in silence. He leans in and whispers something before she goes and she nods, lips twitching in a wry smile.
Once she’s out of earshot, he says, “So, Edwin claims some of his people were attacked and they weren’t, because Felicity knows nothing about it. Right?”
; “Uh-huh. I hate playing her against him but . . .”
“You gotta do what you gotta do. She understands that.”
“Speaking of unfairly playing people against each other, I don’t suppose she told you why they came.”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Just that Edwin needed to speak to you, and then he played some power game, and it pissed her off. He’s always telling her to hide her cards better, learn a few tricks of her own, and she doesn’t see the point.”
“She prefers blunt honesty.”
“Yep. She’s more like Sheriff Dalton. Her granddad’s more like you.”
I arch my brows.
“Hey, you just admitted to playing people against each other. The difference is that you aren’t an arrogant asshole about it. Edwin’s been in charge too long. Spent too long being the smartest person in the room. He only likes games when they’re rigged in his favor.”
“Speaking of the smartest person in the room . . .” I say, giving him a meaningful look.
He laughs. “Oh, I’m not the smartest.” He smiles. “Just the most dangerous.”
He winks at me, and then jogs off with a nod. I watch him go, and a thought flits through my head, but before I can pursue it, Phil appears, striding through town, and I jog to catch up.
21
“Phil?” I call.
He keeps walking, moving fast toward his house, and once he reaches it, he’ll be home free. I break into a run and swing into his path.
“Phil, please,” I say. “Five minutes.”
He stops, his jaw twitching as his gaze slides past me. “I do not have time—”
“Five minutes. That’s it. I swear.”
A Stranger in Town: a Rockton novel Page 18