Chương 22: Don’t Infantilize the Women

The sheriff's station was tucked behind City Hall in a utilitarian brick box. A solitary patrol car was parked along the curb outside, but we saw no other signs of life as we approached. We were as prepared as we could be with tools, heals, and weapons, but the closer we got to the doors, the less I wanted to open them. My Fear spiked to 48% in response, sending a rush of adrenaline through me that left me unsteady.

"You good?" Isabel asked.

"Yup. Just nervous."

"Get in formation," Tre whispered. I took the lead as Tre fell behind Isabel, positioning himself close to her heels. At two feet tall, he'd be entirely hidden by our legs and the bulk of the reception desk. We entered into a wide but shallow waiting area, with a solid door on our left marked STAFF ONLY in peeling vinyl letters.

A long counter cut the room in half, scuffed linoleum stretched between us and the desk; the floor so dulled with grime it looked like it hadn't been waxed in a decade, and the cream paint on the walls had yellowed to the color of old teeth. There were a few framed commendations for "Outstanding Service" hung crookedly near the entrance, as if someone hoped plaques could disguise the neglect. Isabel headed straight for the high mahogany desk that jutted from the wall, bisecting the room.

She made direct eye contact with Rowe and walked in with a playful hip sway she hadn't yet displayed. The desk was scarred with coffee rings and scratches from decades of use. Deputy Rowe staffed the other side of the desk, visible only from the waist up. Rowe cocked his head, working his gum with a bovine laziness. His attention was fixed on Isabel.

"Ms. Hoyos. What brings you in this evening?" Isabel leaned on the counter, drawing Rowe's eyes to her chest.

"Just had some questions, is all." Tre peeled away, moving silently along the base of the counter toward the STAFF ONLY door.

"We want to know what's really going on," Isabel said, projecting her voice. Tre started working the door with the Lockpick Set. He inserted the tension wrench and winced. The lock was stiff. If it clicked too loudly, we were dead. Rowe puffed up, practically drooling on Isabel.

"It's an active investigation. I can't share the details..."

"Relax," I said, timing my hand to slap the counter and cover the faint snick of the lock's tumbler. Tre turned the knob, sneaked through the crack, and eased the door shut behind him.

"We know you don't have the authority," Isabel said.

"Nobody had you confused for the sheriff." Rowe flushed.

"I represent the sheriff's office. I have plenty of authority." I glanced past Rowe at the bank of bulky CRT monitors mounted on the back wall, right where Isabel said they'd be when we were fleshing out the plan on the walk over. The monitors' screens rolled with grainy black-and-white feeds from around the station, showing empty rooms and hallways. A second later, a tiny shape appeared on the feed for the Main Hallway. Tre looked up at the camera and gave a little salute.

I'm in, his voice informed me over the Mindbleed. My back muscles loosened a bit.

"In case you haven't noticed," Rowe started, annoyance bleeding into his voice, "we're having kind of a busy day around here."

"Place looks dead to me," I said. Rowe looked me up and down like he was assessing livestock.

"Ah, yes. The new girl… Norma, right?"" Nora," Isabel corrected.

"Whatever," he shot back defensively.

"Don't y'all have your little party tonight? Best hurry on up there before me and the sheriff roll in at eleven and send all you little shits home." Isabel didn't move. She rested her chin on her fists, looking bored.

"Can you at least tell us if the school's safe? Do we have to go back to class tomorrow?" Rowe shifted his weight, defensive.

"That's not something I can comment on."

"So... you don't know?" Isabel looked at me, eyebrows raised.

"Figures."

"I know plenty," Rowe argued. On the monitors behind him, I caught movement in the hallway feed. Tre was pressed against the wall, still near the Staff Only door. Okay, I see a door marked 'Evidence,' He said in my head. Gonna scope out the hallway. The tip of his Corner Scope poked around the bend. I could tell from the other camera angle that the hall was clear. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Tre scurried from doorway to doorway, staying low, back glued to the walls. The entire time, he hummed the Mission: Impossible theme over the Mindbleed.

"Maybe we should talk to Sheriff Hardin." I focused back on Rowe.

"It looks like you're just the receptionist they stick up front when the adults are busy." Rowe's face went crimson.

"I'm an officer of the law. You girls think—""Girls?" Isabel interrupted, feigning shock.

"Don't infantilize us."

"I'm not… I didn't—" My eyes snapped back to the monitors. Tre stood in the middle of the corridor, staring up at the evidence room door. Another door opened farther down the hall. Tre's head whipped toward the sound. He bolted, diving through the nearest doorway just as a larger figure stepped into the hall. I bit down on my cheek hard enough to taste copper. Sheriff Hardin strode down the hallway, his bulk filling the limited space.

He passed directly beneath the mounted camera, disappearing into a blind spot for half a second. Holy crap, that was too close! Tre's mental voice shook. The door to the bullpen opened. Hardin shot us an intense glare as he swaggered up to the counter. His tan uniform looked as tired as he did; the fabric was worn and a size too small. His broad shoulders sagged with the weight of years, and deep creases lined his face, the permanent erosion of a lifetime spent scowling.

His sheriff's badge gleamed brighter than the man wearing it.

"What's all this racket?" Hardin's voice was low and gravelly, eyes moving between Isabel and me. Rowe straightened so fast his spine might've snapped.

"These girls, Sheriff. They came barging in, demanding updates on the investigation." Hardin's eyes landed on Isabel first.

"Ms. Hoyos." His tone was neutral-ish, bordering on threatening.

"Does your mother know you're here?" Isabel shrugged.

"Probably." Her voice had an edge to it I hadn't heard before.

"She has all the same questions and wants answers. You planning to give us any?" On the monitor behind Hardin's shoulder, Tre crept back into the hallway. He moved carefully, checking both directions, then approached the evidence room door again. Hardin ignored Isabel's question. His eyes drifted to mine.

"And you. Ms. Price, wasn't it?"

"That's right."

"You were there when Austin died." It wasn't a question.

"We all were."

"Funny how that happened. First day at school and all."

"Guess I'm just lucky." It sounded cool and snarky, but my sweaty armpits confirmed what the Fear meter showed: I was more nervous than I was when I lost my virginity to Paul Denyer in one of the band practice rooms in ninth grade. On screen, Tre reached for the evidence room door handle, then stopped. He turned back to look at the camera. Shit. Electronic lock. Gotta find another way. Stall. I softened my tone.

"We're just looking for answers, Sheriff. Same as everyone else in town."

"I don't have anything to tell you. And even if I did, I wouldn't." Isabel jumped in.

"What about Dr. Mosley? Is his death connected to Austin, or are we dealing with two separate killers?"

"That's all under investigation," Hardin said.

"Which is why I'm curious what you think you'll find here we haven't already found."

"We don't know what you found. That's why we're asking."

"Is it? Or is there something you know we don't?" Hardin pinned me with his eyes.

"Withholding evidence in a murder investigation is a felony. It's called Obstruction of Justice. Do you want to start your adult lives in a cell?" On screen, Tre knelt near the baseboard. There's an air vent. Dammit, I should've held onto the prybar.

"We're not trying to interfere. And we don't know anything." I met him with an icy stare.

"We just want to know if we're safe. Is school even happening tomorrow?"

"School's canceled until further notice," Hardin said.

"Superintendent's decision. Anything else?" My eyes flashed to the screen. Tre worked the thin blade of his paring knife under the edge of the cover, using it to pry the vent open. He leaned back, putting his weight into it. Isabel leaned forward.

"What about the car accident?" Hardin's expression didn't change, but his eyes flared with anger.

"What about it?"

"Everyone's saying Doc Mosley had his eyes stabbed out or something. Could his murder be connected to the crash?" Tre popped the vent cover free, lifting it away and setting it down carefully. He looked into the dark opening, then at the camera, giving me a little wave before he disappeared inside.

"The accident was investigated. Thoroughly." Hardin put his hands on his hips.

"Unless you know something I don't, which again, would be a crime." Isabel ignored the threat.

"But the paper said the tox report came back inconclusive. Is that right?"

"I'm not discussing the details of any investigations with two teenagers." Hardin clenched his teeth, audibly grinding.

"Now, unless you have something new to add to your earlier statements, please leave and let us get back to work." He was done with us. We'd gotten all we were going to get.

"Nothing to share," I said, forcing detached cool into my voice.

"You sure?" He tilted his head slightly.

"You seem nervous for someone with nothing to hide." Isabel cut in.

"A kid died today. I think that's reason enough for everyone in town to be nervous." I glanced at the monitors, finding the evidence room feed. The overhead lights illuminated rows of metal shelves, stacked with file boxes. But that was all I could make out. I couldn't see into the corners or behind the shelves.

"Ms. Price," Hardin said.

"Where's your head at?"

"I'm fine," I lied.

"Just tired." Isabel softened her tone.

"Sheriff, we came here hoping you'd actually help us. But, with all due respect, if you're just going to stonewall—""I'm doing my job," Hardin said, voice hard. The tension in the room ratcheted up another notch. Hardin's hand drifted toward his belt, close enough to his gun to send my arm hairs standing on end. Come on, Tre. Where are you? Then the vent cover flew off the wall on the evidence room feed. It clattered against a desk leg with a muffled, metallic clunk. Those vents were disgusting.

Tre's voice pinged in my head. I'm in. Looking for boxes marked Anika or Rafael. Give me a minute. A second later, Tre appeared on screen, dusting himself off and looking around to get his bearings. He moved between two rows of shelves stacked with cardboard evidence boxes. A moment later, he had climbed to one of the upper shelves.

"The town's scared. People are dead," I said, failing to keep the heat out of my voice.

"And you're treating us like criminals for asking questions."

"Unless you don't actually know what's happening either," Isabel added. For the first time, a crack showed in Hardin's steady facade. His lips thinned, and his fist balled around his belt.

"Careful, Ms. Hoyos. You're close to crossing a line you cannot uncross." We were running out of time. Oh shit! I found it! On the monitor, an evidence box popped off the shelf and silently hit the floor. Relief flooded through me as Tre started slowly climbing down from the upper shelves. I willed him to move faster, silently cursing Maltheris again for making the Mindbleed one-way only. Once he reached the ground, Tre flipped the lid off the evidence box and started digging through it.

That's when a shadow moved in the corner of the room behind him. A figure stepped out of the darkness, overhead fluorescent lights catching on the white porcelain mask veined with hairline cracks, framed by a dark hood pulled low over the killer's head. The figure moved closer. Silent. Methodical. I couldn't even warn Tre. All I could do was watch.