"What the fuck are you--?" Brady begins.
"You just confirmed he's dangerous. Which means he'll kill Diana and Will if he doesn't get what he wants. I'm going to guess what he wants is you."
Brady goes wild, struggling and snarling. I keep wrenching his arm and warning him to stop. There's a crack, as his wrist breaks. He howls in pain.
"You bitch. You--"
"Shhh," I say. "I can't hear your daddy."
I push Brady's face into the dirt and shout, "Wallace?"
"Yes . . ." The reply comes slow, tentative.
"You've got something I want," I say. "I'm going to guess I have something you want, too."
"If it's that sadistic bastard my wife whelped, you would be correct, Detective."
"Then bring Diana and follow the sound of my voice."
I keep Brady pinned, muffling his rage as I scan the treetops, all too aware of the chance we're taking with this confrontation. The chance that our voices will tell our sniper friend exactly where to find us.
Wallace eventually appears, Diana in the lead, a knife at her back.
"He ambushed us," she says. "Knocked out Will."
I mouth to ask if there are others. Anders and Diana can't be the only searchers. But her gaze sweeps over the forest in a desperate look that tells me, yes, there are others, but they aren't close enough to come running.
"I just want what I came for," Wallace says. "I haven't killed anyone. I've only done what I had to. I need you to give me Oliver."
"But that was the deal, wasn't it?" I say. "So why the sudden need to force my hand, Gregory? To start hurting my people?"
"I know you have doubts, Casey. I've seen it in your face. In Sheriff Dalton's. You've spoken to Oliver, and whatever he has said, it's made you wonder if you've been misled. I don't blame you, which is why I'm doing my best not to hurt your people. But I can't take the chance that you won't use lethal force to stop Oliver if he escapes. The very fact he's still alive tells me I'm right. You'll let him run, and others will die."
"You son of a--" Brady begins.
I push the gun against the back of Brady's neck.
"Oliver here is telling a new story," I say. "One that says you're the monster. The serial killer."
"What?" Wallace's eyes round. "My God, Ollie, you are desperate. You're actually accusing me--"
"I caught you," Brady snarls. "With that boy. I followed you to where you were keeping him, and I saw what you'd done. What you were doing. You murdered him right in front of me. Slit his throat while he begged me to save him."
"You know, Ollie, I recognize that story. It sounds very familiar. Maybe because it did happen . . . only I was the one following you. I was the one who saw that poor kid." Wallace's voice rises. "And I was the one begging. Begging you to let him go as he sobbed, gagged and bound, covered in blood and filth. A boy. A teenage boy. You tortured him. Murdered him. I don't even want to know what else you'd done to him."
Brady struggles to get up from under me. "You bastard. You sick, sick bastard. Do you think I've forgotten what you did to me when I was his age? I kept my mouth shut because you said you'd kill my mother if I told her. Maybe I should have let you, if it meant stopping you before anyone else died."
Wallace looks at me. "He will say anything to get out of this, Casey."
"So will you," Brady spat.
Wallace keeps his gaze on me. "I know you're angry at me for threatening your friends. But I have done the minimum damage possible. Same as with that woman in the village. I just want to get Oliver out of here before he kills more people. However angry you are right now, Casey, the difference in our behavior should speak for itself. Oliver has murdered multiple people up here. I've knocked out two. I've threatened this woman and yes, I struck her in answer. Ask her if I've done more. Check to see if she's suffered even a bruise."
Diana gives a reluctant shake of her head.
"We have no actual proof Oliver killed anyone except Brent," I say, "and even Brent says the bullet was fired accidentally, during a fight."
Brady stops struggling.