“Mr.Morimer will explain.”
“I asked where she is.”
The man’s face did not change.“And I gave the answer I’m authorized to give.”
Connor looked past him to the road climbing toward the house.“Is she hurt?”
The second man came to the window.“Weapon, phone, and radio.”
Connor stared at him.
“You know the rules.”
“I’m here to collect a suspect in an active homicide investigation.”
“You’re here because Mr.Morimer invited you.Your predecessor understood how this works in Harlan County, you need to learn fast.”
Connor’s hand tightened on the wheel.He could still turn around.Call Selena.Bring half the county to the gate and let Morimer turn it into a siege of procedure, denial, and lawyers.
Marlene was somewhere behind those walls.
Connor unfastened his belt, removed his sidearm, and handed it over grip first.The second man took it, checked it, then nodded toward the radio clipped to Connor’s shoulder.
“That, too.”
“You planning to answer my calls for me?”
“No.”
Connor unclipped the radio and gave it over, along with his cell phone.The loss of both made him feel a little naked considering the circumstances.A sheriff without a gun still had authority.A sheriff without communication had no safety net.
The bald man stepped back.“Drive up.Park where you did before.”
The gate opened fully.
Connor drove through, feeling the walls close behind him.
The white house waited on the hill, too bright under the sun.Its broad porches, tall windows, and trimmed lawns gave the place the look of a family estate, but Connor had never been able to look at it without thinking of the men who vanished into its outbuildings, the trucks that moved at night, and the favors collected in quiet rooms.
A man waited at the front steps when Connor parked.
“Mr.Morimer’s on the back porch.”
“Of course he is.”
Connor got out.Nobody offered to search him this time.They already had what mattered.
Inside, the house stayed cool and silent.The same polished wood.The same expensive flowers.The same feeling that every surface had been chosen by someone who expected guests to notice and fear making a mark.
Connor followed the guard through the hall and onto the rear porch.
Morimer sat in his wicker chair beneath the ceiling fan, pale suit immaculate, lemonade at his elbow.A plate of sliced peaches rested on the table.Across from him sat Marlene Schmidt.He did not know how to feel when he saw her.Seeing the suspected murderer of his friend.Victor’s own wife.And yet Connor had known Marlene for years.She looked so scared.So small.He could not help but feel protective of her, even after everything.
Connor’s first breath came out harder than he expected.
Marlene wore a gray sweater, one sleeve torn and stained with leaf mold.Her hair had been brushed back, though strands had escaped around her face.A small plate rested on her lap.She held a fork in one hand and a glass of lemonade in the other.Whatever else she was, prisoner or guest, Morimer had made sure she looked calm by the time Connor arrived.
Marlene stood too quickly.“Connor.”
