As soon as the fire is under control, Dalton tries to send me to check on Diana. I pretend not to hear and keep hauling water. When the blaze is finally out, he says, “Get your ass over to the infirmary, Butler. If you don’t want to admit you’re worried about her, then I’m your boss ordering you to make sure a suspect is secured.”
We’re alone when he says that. No one else knows we found Diana with the murder weapon and accelerant.
“Sure as fuck don’t need that,” he said earlier. “Got enough problems without worrying someone’ll try to lynch her.”
I could say he was being colorful, but Rockton has taught me that you can’t underestimate the speed with which we humans can undo a thousand years of civilization. We aren’t nearly at Lord of the Flies level inside the town limits, but if you walk a mile into the wilderness, you’ll find Golding’s world come to life.
The changes that come with living this way are not all a regression, though, and I see proof of that tonight. Everyone pitches in, whether it’s helping with the fire or bringing washbasins and cold drinks and fresh clothes for those fighting the fire.
As for Diana, she’s been taken home and sedated. I pop my head in, but she’s unconscious. Beth’s busy at the clinic treating burns and smoke inhalation, and I’m not going to interrupt her to ask about Diana’s condition. So I head out to find Dalton. When I hear that Val has summoned him, I pick up my pace.
A lantern glows in Val’s house. Voices drift from a partly open window.
“… one resident dead, another half dead,” Val is saying.
“His name was Mick. Hers is Diana.”
“Don’t correct me.”
“I’m reminding you. I know how hard it is for you to remember people. Well, I’d say that you just don’t give a shit, but it’s been a fucking horrible night, Val. Otherwise, I’d also complain about how you didn’t even leave your goddamn house, and that’s a conversation best left for a more respectable hour.”
“Five people are dead, Sheriff, and—”
“Here, let me save us both some time. Five people are dead, and I’m a fucking lousy sheriff because I haven’t stopped a killer.”
“We hired you a detective, and I don’t see that it’s made any difference.”
“Butler is doing just fine. Without her, you’d have had another body in that fire. I’m also not convinced tonight’s crime is connected to the others.”
“So your lack of progress is emboldening others—”
“It’s been two fucking weeks, Val. Do you know how often we catch killers faster than that? Only when they’re standing beside the damned body, sobbing a confession. That’s pretty much the only sort of murders we get. This is different. Let us do our job—”
“The council is not pleased.”
“Fucking shock of the century. Tell them I don’t give a shit. Those exact words, please.”
Footsteps as he heads for the door.
Val calls after him. “One building destroyed. Another damaged. Our entire stockpile of wood gone. Half our supply of water depleted.”
“Yeah, it’s called a fire. Which is why I’ve been telling the council for years that we need to be better prepared for one. If Casey and I hadn’t been there in time, we could have lost half the fucking town. I’ll pass on the council’s thanks.”
More footfalls. He is heading to the rear door. I back up past the corner.
“Murder, drugs, fire—this town is a mess, Eric. If you can’t do the job—”
“The council will boot my ass out the front gate. Heard it. Not concerned. I’m the best damned sheriff you’ve had since this place opened. And yeah, that includes my father. Otherwise, the council would have hauled him back to deal with these murders. Good night, Valerie.”
He saunters out, his head high. The door slaps shut behind him, and he thumps down the porch steps. In a few long strides, he’s beside the house. Then he stops, out of sight, and that steel melts from his spine and there’s a moment there, of turmoil and fear, so unguarded and raw that my gut twists in shame for watching. I’m backing away when he notices the movement.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I walk to him. “I heard voices and—”
“It’s fine.”
He starts walking and motions for me to keep up. At the road, he pauses to look at the still-smoldering lumber shed, at the smoke creeping over the town, at people with scorched jackets and soot-streaked faces on porches catching their breath, no one talking, everyone realizing how bad it could have been. He falters, that unguarded look returning for a moment before he blinks it back. Down the road, someone sees him and steps off a porch to wait. Someone else follows.
“Fuck,” he says.
“I’m sure they just have questions, but you don’t need to deal with that right now.”
He exhales again, that slow stream of exhaustion. “Nah, I should…” He trails off, as if he can’t even summon the energy to finish his sentence.
“We need to check the forest,” I say.
“Hmm?” He looks over, eyes unfocused.
“We should check the forest, in case sparks spread to fire there.”
“It couldn’t have…” He catches my look and nods. “Right. Yeah. Should make sure.”
“You head on in. I’ll run over and tell them you’ll make a statement later.”
* * *
It’s dawn now, which would make a lovely sunrise as we head east … if we weren’t surrounded by towering evergreens. As it is, it’s a peaceful walk, the early morning light seeping through. I think we’re wandering aimlessly. Of course, we aren’t. Dalton leads me to a fallen tree, one so big I need to jump up to perch on top of it.
I unhook the backpack I brought and take out two beers, wrapped in a towel.
“I snagged these from the station,” I say. “We haven’t slept, so technically it’s not morning for us yet.”
He takes one with a grunted thanks. We drink, staring out at the forest.
“Do you know Val was attacked out here?” I say. “Shortly after she arrived?”
“What?”
“She got separated—”
“Yeah, I remember. I wasn’t part of the patrol party, but I helped search. She wandered off, got lost, and showed up in the morning.”
“After being attacked by two men. Hostiles, I suspect, given her description. She said they threatened to teach her a lesson about trespassing and then fell asleep, letting her escape.”
He looks over, frowning.
“They didn’t fall asleep after threatening her. Not right away, at least.”
He exhales. “Fuck.”
“Yes, but she denies it, and we need to let her keep that delusion for now. But it explains why she hates this place and why she stays in the house. And partially why she doesn’t trust you. You’re connected to this forest. To the place that hurt her. To the men who hurt her. It isn’t logical, but I get the impression that Val likes her compartments. Everyone fits neatly into one.”
“Yeah.” He stretches his legs. “I’ve always known she doesn’t like me much. It’s worse than that, isn’t it?”
“Val’s a bitch,” I say. “What happened to her is horrible, but it doesn’t make her less of a bitch.”
“Nah. She doesn’t have the spine to be a bitch. I wish she did, because that would be something I could fight. This?” He shakes his head. “Makes me feel like a dog barking at a dishcloth snapping in the wind. It might annoy the hell out of me, but barking at it doesn’t do any good.”
A few minutes of silence, and then I say, “It’s bullshit, threatening to kick you out. They never would. They need you.”
He shrugs.
“Seriously,” I say. “No one would want to lose you.”
“Locals, you mean. They’re the ones who have to live here, and as much shit as I give them, they know this place needs hard-core law and order. But the council doesn’t have to live in Rockton.”
“While I still don’t think they’d ever kick you out, it might help to have a plan B. To imagine what you’d do in the worst scenario. So you feel you have some control.”
“I already know what I’d do.”
“And it doesn’t help?”
“Nope. Because I don’t want to do it. It’s just the only option. For me.”
That’s all he says. I’m curious, of course, but I know to keep my distance, too. We sit there, drinking, until he points his bottle at the forest and says, “I’d go there.”
“Live in the forest?”
He tenses, as if he’s assessing my tone. After a moment, he relaxes. “Yeah. There’s nothing for me down south.”
“If it’s because there’d be a learning curve…,” I say slowly.
“No, it’s because I’m not interested.”
Maybe that’s partly true, but it’s partly bullshit, too. Dalton has too much ego to deal with the constant sense that he doesn’t fit in. And I’m not sure there is a satisfying life for him down there. He’s thirty years old and runs an entire town. People snap to attention when he enters a room. They respect him and they fear him and they admire him. Down south? He’d be a dictator in exile.
“You could start a new Rockton,” I say.
He snorts a laugh.
“I’m serious,” I say.
He looks over, lips still twitching, that smile extending to his eyes, warming them to a soft blue-gray. “You gonna help me start a new town, Casey?”
“I don’t know. It would take time, and someone’s only letting me stay six months.”
He laughs at that, and it’s a good sound to hear, a damned good sound, and when he looks at me again, his eyes are sparkling, and I feel … I feel things I don’t want to feel, because I know there’s no room in Eric Dalton’s life for that, but I don’t care. I’m not going to do anything about it, so there’s no harm in feeling it.
“Build a new town, huh?” he says. “Sure. No big deal.”
“Are you saying you couldn’t handle it?”
He catches the challenge in my voice, and that smile ignites into a grin.
“You’d need to start small,” I say. “Just take whoever would join you from Rockton and not worry about admitting new people for a few years. It would take at least that long to grow from a camp to a town. That’s how you’d have to begin—as a camp. Preferably in spring, so you have until fall to get the first houses up.”
“You’re fucking serious.”
“I am absolutely fucking serious, Sheriff Dalton. At least fifty people from town would follow you. That includes Will, Beth, and pretty much everyone in essential services. Hell, even I’d go, if someone decided I could stay more than six months.”
He chuckles and shakes his head again.
I twist and lean toward him. “I’m not saying you should do it, Eric. I’m saying you should plan to do it. Work through all the details. Talk to Anders and Beth. They both know the shit the council puts you through. Make a plan. A solid plan. And the council will lose their hold on you because you have a backup, ready to launch.”
He finishes his beer and sets it aside. Then he sits there, rubbing his chin, and I’m certain he’s thinking of how to tell me I’m crazy without kiboshing my enthusiasm.
“Couldn’t be too close to here,” he says. “Fifty, a hundred kilometers away would work. There’s plenty of land.…”