"What?" I rise.
"Hell, no," Dalton says. "Do not even--"
"Casey stays. With the dog if that helps. She will be our guest until you return."
"Guest? We call that a fucking hostage."
"She is my guest."
"Yeah?" Dalton strides toward him. "If you keep her, this psycho is never going to be caught. She's the goddamn detective. You want a hostage? Take me."
"That is far more trouble than--"
"I remember how my mother was treated here." Dalton stops in front of the old man and lowers his voice. "A child does not forget that. He does not forgive that. The answer is Fuck, no."
"I realize Casey is now your wife and--"
"I would not let any woman from Rockton stay here. Casey is a fucking detective, which means she needs to be out there hunting for this guy."
"So do you." I turn to Edwin. "I understand what you're trying to do, but you need to come up with a solution that won't hinder the actual hunt for this man."
"Take me," says a voice behind us.
I look to see Wallace, who has been so silent I've forgotten he was there. Now he steps forward.
"This is my fault, not theirs," Wallace says. "I hired Rockton to imprison the man who killed your people. They weren't equipped to do so, which the council failed to tell me. Eric and Casey had nothing to do with that. I made the mistake here."
"And who are you?" Edwin says.
"The father of the man who did this to your people."
49
If I could have stopped Wallace before he said that, I would have. But once the words are out, there is no taking them back. And there is no way of walking out of this village with him.
We must leave Wallace behind. Leave him, and trust that no harm will come to him. He is a smart man. He didn't interfere as we dealt with Edwin, so I feel confident he's not going to do anything that will endanger him in our absence. It just won't be the most comfortable way to spend his Yukon trip.
They don't let us speak to Wallace in private. All we can do is talk to him, within earshot of the others, reassuring him.
A group of settlers escort us into the forest. Then they put our weapons on the ground and tell us to stand with our backs to them, while they retreat. We do. Only when they give us the signal do we pick up our guns. Then we walk in the other direction.
"Can we go back to the scene of the massacre?" I say when we're out of earshot.
Dalton nods. He leads me there. The bodies are gone. Even the blood has seeped into the ground and disappeared, and when we arrive, the only thing that tells me this is definitely the right place is a red fox. It's in the clearing, so busy sniffing around that it doesn't see or smell us. It's snuffling madly, smelling death and seeing no sign of it.
When Storm spots the fox, she lets out a bark of greeting. The fox's head jerks up. It sees her. And it bolts into the undergrowth, leaping logs and ripping through dead leaves while Dalton digs in his heels and clenches the leash in both hands.
Once the fox is gone, I pat Storm and head into the clearing. Then I search. After a few minutes, Dalton says, "Tell me what you're looking for, and I can help."
I shake my head, as if I don't know, too distracted to answer. That's not entirely a lie. I don't know specifically what I'm looking for. But I'm here with a purpose, a question niggling the back of my mind, not ready to be voiced. Maybe never ready to be voiced. Not unless I find evidence to support it. So I just look. Then I hunker in the middle of the clearing and observe.
When I finally start to rise, Dalton says, "You gonna tell me what happened?"
"Hmm?"
"With that girl. She lied, didn't she. Outright lied."
"Yes."