"It's not."
"I see that now. I should have asked more questions. An associate told me this was the perfect solution, and I suppose, given what I was willing to pay, Phil's employers had every incentive to agree with me."
"Like Eric said, we just weren't equipped for it." I stoke the fire to start a kettle. "Our police force is just myself, Eric, and Will. We're all experienced law enforcement but none of us has done correctional work. We have a volunteer militia. We have one cell." I cross the room and open the door to show him, and then shutting it before Roy can speak. "We couldn't leave Oliver in that for six months, so we were quickly building him a fortified unit. He escaped just before it was completed."
"Can you take me through--?" The door opens and Dalton comes in, Phil following. Wallace says, "That was quick. Casey was just about to tell me what happened. I'm sure you'll want to hear this, Phil. Please, continue, Detective."
I tell the story.
"The poisoning was real," I say. "Oliver had inside help. He was, as you might expect, protesting his innocence. That's very easy to do when no one here can look up his alleged crimes on the internet. He claimed to have been accused of a shooting spree in San Jose."
Phil's head jerks up, as if he's remembering I'd asked about the shooting.
I continue, "It was far too easy to plant doubt under the circumstances. Yet the alternative was to keep him permanently gagged, which raised suspicions among the residents--they wondered if he had something he wanted to say. We tried to walk a middle line--no gag but limited access. That failed. He found an ally, who got him the poisoned food. We had to take him to the clinic to pump his stomach. We had him restrained while recuperating, but his accomplice provided him with a knife."
"And set the fire," Wallace says. "As a distraction."
"Helluva good one in a town made of wood," Dalton says.
Wallace nods. "As his accomplice knew. I am so sorry this happened. The loss of your town leader . . ." He shakes his head. " 'Sorry' doesn't begin to cover this."
"What was Val doing with the prisoner?" Phil asks.
"She hoped Oliver would see her as a potential ally, possibly even someone he could charm. She was trying to take a more active role in the community."
"Which was her first mistake," Phil says. "The leader of this town cannot become involved in such a way. It blurs lines."
Wallace looks at him. "Are you implying that by trying to help her town, she made a fatal error?"
Phil has the grace to color. "Of course not, sir. I misspoke. Val made a questionable choice but what happened was not her fault."
"It was Oliver's," Wallace says. "He is responsible for his actions, something he was never able to grasp, and that is our . . ." He shakes it off. "No blame. Not now. For now, we need to find him before anyone else dies. And then . . ." A pause as he glances away, his voice lowering. "And then we will have to make sure this never happens again, that he never poses a risk to anyone else again."
Wallace squares his shoulders. "That's for later, and whatever needs to be done, it will not involve anyone in this town. I am truly sorry that this happened. I will make it up to you. I know the town was counting on the added income."
"Income?" Dalton snorts. "That's their concern." He jerks his thumb at Phil. "We don't give a shit. Not like we were going to see more than a fraction of it anyway."
Phil bristles. "Of course you were. Beyond basic administrative costs--"
"Don't," Wallace says. "I have worked with enough foreign governments to understand the concept of 'basic administrative costs.' Roughly ninety percent, in my experience." He looks at Dalton. "When we get Oliver, you'll tell me what you need for this town. Supplies, infrastructure improvements, and any wish-list items that will make life here easier. I'll pay your administrators a reasonable fee for their work, and I will personally take care of everything on your list. Plus I'll pay you and your detective and deputy a bonus."
"Fuck, no," Dalton says.
"He means the bonus isn't necessary," I say. "We'll take the rest, but we don't need added incentive to find your stepson. What he's done is enough."
Wallace dips his chin. "I apologize if I implied otherwise." He looks at Phil. "You can run along now. Fly back to the city, and leave me here with these people to find my stepson."
Phil's jaw sets. "I will be staying and helping."
"Yeah," Dalton says. "Because if you leave, you have to tell the council how badly you all fucked up. Then they'd just order your ass back here anyway."
"If you're staying, stay," Wallace says. "But you damned well better make yourself useful. Now, let's talk about how to get Oliver back."
42
Our plans? We're going to look really, really hard for Brady. What else is there to do? We can call in the Mounties with a full search team, blow Rockton's cover to hell for the sake of stopping one killer, and it won't ultimately achieve anything more than we can do on our own, which is, in short, frustratingly little.
I remember hearing once that Alaska is the serial killer capital of America--not for the number of active ones, but the number who have disappeared there. That is, obviously, an urban legend. It's not as if serial killers leave behind a "gone to Alaska" note. Instead, the so-called fact is an acknowledgment that there are likely many people hiding there, who have done something terrible and then fled where they cannot be found.