Dalton says nothing, and I know that will weigh on him. Like my poor choices with Val weigh on me. We haven't discussed that yet. It's not time. Not time for this either, as he pats Storm and then peers into the forest.
"Should see if she can find Brady's trail."
She can't. The blood seems too much for her. It's upsetting or confusing, and she grows increasingly anxious until I release her from the task.
Next we try to "catch up" with Jacob, while continuing to search for Brady and Val. We put up the markers, telling Jacob we need to speak to him. There's no way to warn him otherwise. Despite Dalton's best efforts, Jacob is functionally illiterate. Their parents taught them the language of the forest, the one they needed to know. I get the sense that Dalton had learned how to read and write before he came to Rockton, but presumably he sought that teaching from his parents and Jacob had not.
We head to the cabin Tyrone Cypher has been using as a base. There's no sign of him. We leave a note, though I'm not sure that will do any good either. Cypher can read; he just might choose not to.
Back in Rockton, there's been no word from the council. Petra and Diana have been taking turns with the radio. We aren't even sure how often they make contact with Val. Maybe, with us being pissed off over our unwanted prisoner, they'll just wait until we call and hope we don't.
The search for Brady and Val didn't stop while we were off with Brent. We join that, and by the time we return home, it's after nine at night. Dalton and I are exhausted. We have one more task, though. Kenny has been in the cell over twenty-four hours, as Dalton lets him stew. We need to talk to him, as much as we're both dreading it.
Kenny was the first true Rockton resident I'd met. My first taste of what to expect in this town. I'd spent time with Dalton, in my admission interviews and then over twelve hours of travel together, yet I had no idea what to make of him. There wa
s so much about Dalton that reminded me of the worst kind of cops--swaggering through life, a bully with a badge. He seemed to fit that slot . . . and then he'd do something to pop him out of it. That was uncomfortable.
I'd met Anders, briefly, and he seemed more my kind of colleague, competent and personable. But after maybe five minutes in Rockton, they'd both had to rush off to an emergency, and I'd made my way to town alone.
Go in the back door of the station. Stay there. Anyone comes in, tell them we'll be back.
Those were Dalton's orders, which seemed a little disconcerting, as if the locals were wolves who might pick me off while the alpha was away.
It was Kenny who came into the station. As I discovered later, a bunch of the militia guys had drawn straws to see who got to introduce himself to the "new girl" first. That's what I'd been to them. Not their new superior officer. Not the new detective. A new woman in town. An addition to Rockton's meager dating pool.
Kenny had exactly two minutes with me before Isabel showed up and shooed him off. I remember her asking if I could guess what he'd done in his former life. Given the size of his biceps and the perfume of sawdust, I'd guessed carpenter or construction worker. High school math teacher, she said.
When he arrived eighteen months ago, he'd never have worked up the courage to talk to you. People come here, and it's a clean slate. A chance to be whoever they want for a while.
What Kenny wanted to be was one of the cool kids. For a guy like him, cool meant tough. Except he lacked that edge and wasn't terribly invested in finding it. So he settled for hitting the gym and joining the militia. He became the guy he wanted to be. And now he'd been about to leave his new life. Had he panicked at that? Worried he'd end up back in a job he'd hate because his new skills wouldn't pay the bills? Had he been an easy target for Oliver Brady? I desperately want to say no. But the evidence must be acknowledged.
When we walk in to question Kenny, the first thing he says isn't I didn't do it or Guys, come on, you know me.
"I know how bad this looks."
"Good," Dalton says.
We pull up chairs outside the cell. Kenny has one inside. We've granted him that, in recognition that he's had to wait a very long time for this interview.
"Your knife was found with the prisoner," I begin.
He starts to speak, but Dalton says, "Be quiet and listen."
"Brady used that knife to cut his bindings," I continue. "He used it to take Val captive. You were his guard at the time--and you were in charge of the guarding schedule."
"I--"
A look from Dalton silences him again.
"You assigned yourself to that time slot. You abandoned your post. The prisoner was left unguarded, with a weapon, while a fire brought everyone else running. A fire set in the lumber shed, which you know very well. It was a delayed-start fire, giving you time to go on guard duty."
"I--"
"You brought Brady his breakfast. You offered to bring it. We realize now that it was poisoned--not to kill him, but to get him out of that cell. So Brady is in the clinic with his wrists tied and under guard. Fire breaks out. Everyone runs . . . including his guard. He is left with a knife and the perfect hostage."
He slouches in his seat. "Shit. I'm not even sure where to start."
"Well, that depends," Dalton says. "If you'd like, you can start with explaining why you were the one bringing that food tray."