Phil is at the station when we arrive. He's waiting by my desk, his arms crossed, as if we're tardy children. Dalton sees him and slows to an amble, perversely acting as if he's just strolled in whenever he feels like it. He walks right past Phil and puts on the kettle for coffee.
"I believe we have an issue to discuss," Phil says.
"Yeah," Dalton says as he stokes the fire. "I'd like to explain."
Phil's voice chills even more. "I don't think that's possible."
Dalton straightens, still holding the poker. "You were right about Powys."
"I should certainly hope--"
"It's entirely possible the council didn't know what he was. I know that, which is why I've never said anything until I lost my temper last night." Dalton puts the poker back. "As for whether he did that shit, the answer is yes. Like I said, it's online. I suspected Powys was involved with making the rydex, especially with his background. According to his entry papers, he was a pharmacist."
"Correct."
"So I went looking online . . . and dug up more than I bargained for."
"Perhaps, but that hardly proves we let him buy his way in."
"Agreed. If you don't know anything about it, then obviously he faked his admission file."
Phil's eyes narrow, as if he's waiting for the punch line.
"I don't like the council," Dalton says calmly. "Never made any secret of that. But, yeah, accusing them of that went too far. So I apologize. Good?"
"No, Eric, it is not good. When I said I wanted an apology, I meant for this." He gestures to the bruise on his jaw.
"Fuck no," Dalton says. "You deserved that."
Phil's sputtering as the door swings open.
"Good, you're still here," Wallace says as he walks in. "I was afraid I'd been left behind. So, when do we start searching for Oliver?"
Dalton does not want to take Wallace into the forest. He argues. Vehemently. Profanely. Loudly. He is overruled by Phil. Both Wallace and Phil are coming along, and there's nothing we can do about that.
We fill thermoses with coffee and grab breakfast-to-go at the bakery. I think Dalton's hoping that our speedy departure will change Wallace's mind. It doesn't. Within the hour, we're deep in the forest, with the two men and Storm.
Dalton takes the lead with the dog. I hang back with Phil and Wallace. That's deliberate, allowing our trackers to work. I chat with Wallace. Phil tries several times to pull Wallace's attention his way, with topics I can't possibly address--American election issues, a stock-market roller coaster--but Wallace only answers politely and then steers conversation back to include me.
Phil surrenders with a sniff and once-over of me, as if suggesting Wallace is only paying attention to me because I'm female. I get no such vibe from the older man, though. Wallace is just politely keeping conversation on things I can discuss, like the forest itself. When Phil falls back, I warn him to please stay close, but he dawdles just enough that I need to keep shoulder-checking to be sure he's with us.
When Wallace realizes both Dalton and Phil are almost out of earshot, he lowers his voice and says, "I would like to speak to you about something." He pauses. "Or perhaps not so much a discussion as a confession."
"Hmm?"
"About Oliver. I know how this looks from your viewpoint. You are a detective. You're supposed to catch people like my stepson and put them in prison. That is what should have happened to Oliver. And yet it did not. Why? Because we're rich. We can afford alternatives, and the alternative I chose resulted in the death of five more people."
"Yes."
He gives a strained chuckle. "Not going to sugarcoat that for me, are you?"
"I grew up with money. Not your tax bracket, but my parents had very successful careers, and we enjoyed all the privileges that come with that. So I won't rage about the inherent evil of the upper class. But nor do I agree with anyone using their money and their privilege to keep a serial killer out of prison."
We walk in silence for a few minutes. Then he says, "I told myself I was doing the right thing. The responsible thing. I'm embarrassed to say that now, but it's true. I thought that by incarcerating Oliver, I was saving my country that expense. Doing my civic duty by removing him from the population while not charging the taxpayer for our mistakes."
"It doesn't work like that."
"Oh, I know. The truth is . . ." He exhales. "I love my wife. I wanted to protect her--not only from a trial, but from ever knowing what Oliver did. As soon as the police started questioning, I hired an investigator. I found evidence and confronted Oliver. When I threatened to turn my evidence over to the police, he confessed. So I whisked him away and told my wife that he was innocent, but we couldn't trust the justice system. I said they'd convict him on the grounds of being a spoiled, rich white boy. But my wife wasn't the only reason I did that. I wanted to avoid the business ramifications of having a serial killer for a stepson. It was a sound business investment. Whatever this costs, it is not nearly the blow my finances would suffer if Oliver was arrested."