Finally, Morrison sets his pen down and folds his hands on the desk. "Here's the thing, Mr. Strouse. Your story checks out. Every witness we've interviewed confirms what you've told us. You're a hero as far as this town's concerned. You saved lives last night."
"But?" I ask, because there's always a but.
"But there are some inconsistencies in your background that bother me." He pulls out a different folder, thicker than the first, and opens it. "Your military records are sealed. That's not unusual for Special Forces, but when we tried to verify your service through the usual channels, we hit a lot of walls. More walls than we should have."
The knot in my chest tightens a little as I'm forced to my knees, so to speak. If my background doesn't hold up, at least I know I left very little, if any, evidence. I'd have explaining to do, but it doesn’t mean I go down yet. "My service involved classified operations. The military doesn't hand that information out to just anyone."
"True." Morrison taps the folder. "But here's what's interesting. Cal Maddox came to this town specifically looking for someone. He brought a small army of hired guns, spent what had to be thousands of dollars planning this attack. That's not the behavior of a man chasing down a nurse who made a mistake in an ER five or six years ago."
He clearly has a theory, but he doesn't realize who I really am and that I'm trained to endure this sort of questioning. I just fold my hands and lift an eyebrow, waiting for him to play all of his cards.
"Cal Maddox's father was Domingo Maddox," Morrison continues. "A high-level player in the New York organized crime scene. He was shot and killed in Queens in 2011. The case was never solved, but the consensus among investigators at the time was that it was a professional hit."
"Hmm…" I grunt, but I'm not giving anything up.
"Now, Cal clearly blamed Miss Grady for his father's death because she couldn't save him in the ER. But I think there's more to it than that." Morrison leans forward, his eyes locked on mine. "I think Cal was also looking for the man who pulled the trigger and killed his father."
"And you think that's me," I say flatly, then I chuckle at him for added benefit. I hear Varen shift behind me, but he says nothing. "That's rich."
"I think it's possible." He gestures to the folder. "Your background doesn't add up. You show up in this town five years ago with cash, no job, no ties to anyone. You keep to yourself, avoid the locals, live off-grid. That's the profile of somebody who's running from something."
I sit a little taller and narrow my eyes at him because this dance we're doing wouldn't be happening if he had any actual evidence against me. He'd have me in cuffs already, and I know that he knows I’m aware of that.
"You're building a case on circumstantial evidence," I say. "I'm a veteran who wanted peace and quiet after seeing too much combat. That's not a crime."
"No, it's not." Morrison closes the folder. "But here's the problem. The only person who could confirm or deny whether you're Dane Barrett—the name that came up in connection with the Maddox hit—was Cal Maddox himself. And he's dead now."
If he thinks that's gonna ruffle my feathers, he's wrong. I've looked down the barrel of a loaded gun more times than I'd like to count. Staring this law man in the eyes is nothing.
"I don't know anyone named Dane Barrett," I tell him plainly as I relax into the chair again.
"Maybe not." Morrison leans back again. "But the law is the law, Mr. Strouse."
"Well, if you have proof that I'm guilty of whatever crime you think I committed, go ahead and cuff me. If not, are we donehere?" I glance at Varen whose eyes are wide as a deer in headlights.
But the state patrolman is quiet for a long time as he stares me down. He doesn't want to give this up but he's not a stupid man. He knows if I am who he says I am, I'll never crack under pressure, and I can see behind the mask he's wearing that he's downright pissed and stewing.
Finally, he sighs. "It leaves us at an impasse. I don't have enough to charge you with anything. The shooting last night was clearly self-defense. Miss Grady's life was in immediate danger, and you acted to save her. That's justifiable homicide under New York law."
I take a deep breath to loosen my chest and ask, "Am I free to go?"
"Yes." Morrison stands, and I rise with him. "But I'll be keeping an eye on you, Mr. Strouse. If anything else comes up that connects you to the Maddox case, I'll be back."
"Understood."
He extends his hand, and I shake it. His grip is firm, his eyes still searching mine for something I won't give him.
Varen steps forward as Morrison gathers his files. "Lieutenant, can I have a word with you?"
Morrison nods, and Varen gestures toward the hallway. They step out, leaving me alone in the office. I exhale slowly and cross my arms over my chest as I listen to the faint rumble of baritone on the other side of the door.
Then the door opens, and Varen returns but Morrison is gone.
"You okay?" Varen asks.
"Yeah." I run a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the adrenaline. "What did you tell him?"
"That you're a valued member of this community. That you saved lives last night, including mine." Varen's expression is serious. "I also reminded him that you risked your life to pull Wade out of the line of fire in that cabin when he was bleeding out."
