"The dog? That's . . ." He doesn't finish.
"I have something she wants," I say.
He shakes his head. "Then she would know you're telling me the truth now. She would be arguing."
"Not if I've convinced her I want Eric's job. And that she can have the dog if she sticks to her story."
"What happened out there?"
I tell him. When I finish, I say, "Which story makes logical sense?"
Edwin says, in English, "So you were tasked with imprisoning a killer. You failed to do that, and we suffered. Is that your story, Detective?"
Oh shit. I haven't fixed anything. Edwin never believed Dalton did it. This was all for show. We haven't dodged a bullet . . . we just stepped back into the path of the one that's been coming at us since we fled the massacre.
"Yes," I say. "We accept responsibility--"
"You did not. You walked away. You failed to show the basic respect due my people."
"Yeah," says a muffled voice.
I look to see Dalton has managed to get the gag down just enough to talk over it. He twists, and it drops further, and he shakes it off, saying, "Yeah, I did. That was my choice. Because I knew there was no way in hell we'd come in here, confess to our mistake and you'd let us walk away. And there was no way in hell I was putting up with your bullshit while I've got a killer out there."
"My bullshit?" Edwin's voice lowers, heavy with warning.
"Yes, and don't give me that tone. You're in charge here. I'm in charge in Rockton. We're equals. Which means you should have shown me the basic respect of marching me in here for a private audience. Not tying me up. Gagging me and talking to my detective instead. You know why I didn't come here right away. I wish I could have. Would have saved us all a shitload of grief. But I couldn't, and this is all fucking theatrics, so cut the bullshit and let me get on with my job."
"I think perhaps we should put that gag back on."
"Sure." Dalton meets his gaze. "Go ahead and try."
"He killed--" Harper begins.
Edwin spins on her, snapping as he finds a target for his frustration. "I don't know what you thought you saw out there, girl, but no one from Rockton is going to murder our people for a few bows and supplies. You lost your head in those woods, and you won't be going back out there anytime soon. Turn in your bow and hunting knife. You'll help Mabel with the cooking now."
Rage fills Harper's eyes. Impotent rage. She tried to step out of her assigned role, and she is being smacked right back into it. I want to sympathize, but she accused an innocent man of mass murder because she wanted a dog. Sympathy is a little hard to come by after that.
"Give Casey her dog," Edwin says with an abrupt wave.
Harper grips the leash. "She's mine. In forfeit, for what they did."
"You think we'll share our food so you can have a pet?"
"It's not a
pet. It can track and hunt and--"
"The only animals in this town are the ones we cook on a fire. Give Casey her dog. Now."
Harper looks at me, her eyes blazing. Then she drops the leash and knees Storm. The dog falls back in shock, and I race over, and whatever Harper sees in my face, she decides not to stick around.
I crouch beside Storm and pet her, soothing her as she keeps looking at Harper's receding back in confusion.
"We demand justice, Eric," Edwin says behind me. "We demand this killer."
"When we catch--"
"You will not bring him to me. I know you won't. Casey would promise to convey our demand to the council, but you know they'll refuse. So you will tell me only that you'll catch him, and justice will be served. That's not what I want. I am keeping Casey until you bring me this man."