There was no response. Maybe he should let it go. What was he trying to prove? He already believed Will was innocent, and it wasn’t like he was going to get any useful information out of the man. But still, he kept talking. “Tux. Tuxedo—was that his full name? I heard he was a nice cat.”
And Will stopped rocking. He didn’t make eye contact, but for the first time he seemed to be listening. Like he was connecting with Jericho’s words. The social worker had said Will’s receptive language abilities were much higher than his expressive. He could understand, as long as he paid attention.
“Something bad happened to Tux. I’m really sorry about that. Something bad happened to Lorraine too. I’m sorry we couldn’t stop it. I wish we’d—” What? What did he wish? “I wish we’d known there was a bad man living here. Then we could have tried to stop him, or warned people. I’m sorry we didn’t know, Will. I’m really sorry.”
They sat together for a while until Will started rocking again, and Jericho climbed to his feet. “I’ll see you later, Will. We’re going to do what we can to make things better. I promise.”
He left the holding area and was halfway up the stairs to his office when he stopped, then turned around and went back to find the officer in charge of the cells. “I want a suicide watch on Will Archer,” he said. “I don’t know if he’s got the ability to hurt himself in there, but I want to be sure it doesn’t happen. And if anyone but the Applebys come to visit, contact me or the sheriff right away. And can you let people know—” What? That arresting Will had been a mistake? Yeah, he’d own that mistake if it got Will better treatment. But he just said, “Let everyone know we’re a long way from sure that he’s guilty. He needs to be treated gently. Keep yourselves safe, but as much as you can, make this okay for him.”
The officer was clearly doubtful, which made sense. Just how okay could things be for someone locked up in an eight-by-eight cell? But he nodded his agreement, and Jericho went upstairs feeling a bit better.
He was standing in the central office area when the feds began to swarm at the far end of the room. They were agitated about something, obviously, and Jericho hoped he knew what it was.
Hockley came out, Kayla at his heels, and they both turned to Jericho, who shrugged back at them. “They didn’t bring you in on whatever it is?” he asked Hockley.
“This is exclusively FBI. They’re not including DEA.”
Jericho nodded, and tried not to let Kayla see him sneaking a concerned glance at her. She looked strained, but not as close to the edge as she’d been earlier. That was good, surely.
No one did much for a couple of minutes, but then one of the agents broke away from the pack and approached. “Sheriff Morgan,” he said awkwardly. “We have a suspect coming in, and we’re going to need to use one of your interrogation rooms.”
“What suspect?” she demanded. She sounded a little brittle, maybe, but under control.
The agent grimaced. “We’ve just been contacted by former Sheriff Donald Morgan. He’s apparently aware that we’re investigating him for some . . . irregularities during his time in this office, and he’s volunteered to come in with his lawyer to get things cleared up. This is a preliminary meeting, but we’ll want it recorded.”
“‘Irregularities’? What does that mean, exactly?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss that with you. You understand that this is a delicate situation, of course.” He took a deep breath. “And just as a professional courtesy, I should tell you—we’re going to want to speak to you about these issues as well.”
“I see.” Maybe she’d have added something more, but that was when her father appeared at the top of the stairs, a gray-suited man trailing behind him. The man in the suit seemed a little flustered, which made sense considering how quickly all this was happening, but Donald Morgan seemed completely, arrogantly relaxed. He looked exactly how Wade always looked whenhewas brought in for questioning, but Jericho doubted either of the men would appreciate hearing that comparison made out loud.
The FBI agent turned and gestured Morgan toward one of the interrogation rooms, and Kayla stood like a soldier as her father walked past her with only a cursory nod.
Before the interrogation room door closed, Kayla turned and headed into her own office, Jericho and Hockley trailing behind her.
“This will be quick,” Jericho said, hoping he was right. “They’re just establishing contact. Making it clear they know about the investigation as of today. So if the feds can’t prove you told him about it before today—which they can’t, since you didn’t know about it—then they can’t accuse you of obstructing justice or tipping him off.”
“They can accuse me of giving him a hell of a lot of other information over the years,” she said dully.
“But you said it yourself,” Hockley interjected. “You’retrainedto consult with the people who held your office before you. You’resupposedto talk to others and assume you can trust them. The FBI can’t blame you for doing what you were expected to do.”
“It’s not only the FBI to worry about,” Kayla said dully. “This is an elected position, and this town is sick of corrupt cops. If the voters think I’m crooked, or naïve and stupid, trusting someone I shouldn’t have—” She grimaced. “You know Jackson’s soaking all this in, looking for his chance to make his move. He’s a fucking awful deputy, but he’d be even worse as sheriff.”
“Worry about that later,” Jericho suggested. “We have no idea how this is going to play out. Today’s victory was making sure there were no criminal charges against you; tomorrow we can worry about getting you reelected.”
And worry about helping Will and stopping Keith Wooderson. And working through how he felt about Eli, and Nikki and the kids, and every other messy thing in his damn life. But for the moment, he was satisfied. Wade had come through. He’d gotten the message to Donald Morgan, and somehow, either because of Wade or because Morgan had a conscience and had realized how badly this could hurt his daughter, the old man had done the one right thing that was left for him to do.
At least one damn part of all this was coming together.
