Griffin and Knox join me on the bench. Folding my arms and crossing my legs, I lean back in a huff. “She’s quite the charmer.”
Knox sits back with me and places his arm across my shoulders. “That’s Wanda for you.”
“It’s because we’re here.” Griffin places his hand on my knee.
I’m mentally compiling a list of all the people who are going to receive a burning bag of shit on their porch.
Pulling out my phone, I send a quick text.
Me: Waiting.
Kat responds with a thumbs up emoji, and I slide my phone back into my pocket.
A booming voice grabs my attention. “Raven Henry.” Sheriff Jackson stands on the threshold between the lobby and the rest of the station. “Come with me.”
The three of us stand together.
“Not them. Just you.” The sheriff scowls at Griffin and Knox.
This wasn’t part of the plan.
Griffin glowers back. “No way. I’m not leaving her with you.”
“I’ll be fine.” I don’t wait for them to get comfortable with the idea and stalk toward the sheriff. Griffin and Knox’s protests are cut off when the door shuts behind me.
Hopefully they still follow through with their part of the plan. I’m counting on them. Sitting in their seats where they can be recorded, giving them a rock-solid alibi.
Sheriff Jackson leads me to his office through the other half of the station. Exactly three desks are arranged in what I believe they call the bullpen on TV. An open door to my right shows me a small kitchen, and right out in the open are two cells on the left.
The walls are decorated with various posters. A particular set catches my eye. They display the tattoos associated with different gangs and bikers. Ferrymen, Iron Coyotes, and Bandidos. A few more have MS-13, Aryan Brotherhood, and Latin Kings.
Wow. I think this is the entire station. Nothing like small town America.
“In here.” Sheriff Jackson waves to another open door.
The room is bleak with a plain desk, two hard chairs, a computer chair, and a computer. A huge bookshelf covering the far wall is the only thing that could be considered welcoming in this space. There’s a window that looks out across the bullpen and another that gives a view of the back parking lot.
Sheriff Jackson enters behind me and falls into his chair. He sets his elbows on the desk and steeples his hands under his chin. “Have a seat.”
Doing as he instructs, I occupy the chair closest to the door. “Thank you.”
“What can I do for you today?”
“I was wondering if you had any updates on the break-in.”
He sighs. “Miss Henry, this is still an active investigation. I’m not at liberty to disclose any details.”
I figured he’d sing this tune.
Leaning forward, I drop my voice slightly like I’m telling him a secret. “Between you and me, I don’t trust that Officer Langston. Isn’t it weird how he showed up before you at the libraryandat my house?”
The sheriff raises his brows and uses his hands to hide his grin.
Got him.
“If you ask me, that’s suspicious behavior. I know he claimed jurisdiction, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re the sheriff of Mystic River. Not him.”
Sheriff Jackson looks downright gleeful, and he’s doing a poor job of hiding his satisfaction. He wipes his mouth with his hand, making his boastful smile disappear, and clears his throat. “Let me see what I can find out about the progression of the case.”
