Chapter 23
~ Braden ~
Wolf and Blitz are dog-tired, and I’m about to fall on my face, but I got Grandpa into town, and an ambulance was already waiting to take him to the state hospital.
Sheriff Lane was unfortunately there to take me in for questioning.
I bade Grandpa goodbye. “I’ll be back to take you home in time for Christmas dinner.”
“You’re a good boy, Braden.” His voice was weak. “I’ve got a lot to tell you. You done good, no matter what happens.”
I wondered why he was reassuring me, but looking at the aggressive stance of Sheriff Lane and his two deputies, Tim and Seth, who were at our house only a day ago to help us celebrate, I should have guessed.
At least they waited until the ambulance was out of sight, slowly following a snowplow toward the state highway.
“Mr. Braden Powers,” the sheriff says while his deputies flank me. “First of all, a Merry Christmas to you. Let’s gather your dogs and sled and come to the station for a cup of coffee.”
“I’d actually like to go home.”
“Afraid you’ll need to answer a few questions.” His affable voice hardens. “It shouldn’t take long.”
“What seems to be the trouble? My grandfather’s safe now.” As a person who’s run into trouble with the law before, my go-to strategy is to play as if I’m not under any suspicion.
“We got word from the dispatcher that the home health aide, Erica McKay, claims several vials of morphine are missing from the kit.” He opens the door to the police SUV. The dogs jump in the back with the sled, and I step into the passenger seat.
So far, so good. He’s acting like he’s giving me a ride to get some coffee with a side of interrogation.
I remain silent the short few minutes it takes the SUV to crunch over half-plowed streets to the station. The town is so small you can throw a stone from end to end.
Once in the interrogation room, Sheriff Lane doesn’t pretend to be friendly. A tepid cup of bitter coffee is provided, but I don’t touch it.
The sheriff turns on the voice recorder and states the date, incident, and my name—here for voluntary questioning.
“You state to witnesses that you gave your grandfather a shot of morphine last night. Tell me the circumstances,” he begins.
I go over the details of Grandpa’s pain and how I’d contacted Erica who refused to help.
“By the way, she supposedly returned to town with Tim and Seth,” I add. “How can she claim the vials are missing from her kit?”
“I’m not here to answer your questions, Mr. Powers,” the sheriff says. “You state that you injected half a vial of morphine into his IV shortly before midnight. Is that correct?”
“About an hour before.”
“And you never saw him after that?”
“I already told you, the lawyer showed up. Then while Mr. Peterson was in there with him, half of the family arrived. The other group was stuck in the snow.”
“I already have the names of all the people who arrived,” the sheriff says. “I’m heading over there to speak to them. Can someone corroborate that you did not return to see your grandpa?”
“Yes, Samantha Reed. I was with her after everyone returned. We slept in the same bedroom.”
“Samantha Reed.” He nods and hums. “I’ve already run a background check on her. The two of you were at the state prison together.”
“Not exactly,” I clarify. “She was on the women’s side, and I was on the men’s side. There was no interaction, and I was released several months before her.”
“I’m a cop, and I don’t like coincidences—and lies.” He rubs his chin. “The witnesses think Samantha or as they call her, Sammie, is your sixteen-year-old daughter. This same person who is lying about being your daughter is going to give you an alibi. I suppose you’ll also vouch for her and give her an alibi, too?”
“We were together the entire night.”
