Mean Streak
Knight mistook the sound for one of distress. “Does this bring back painful memories, Emory?” He looked up at the bar in the ceiling. “Was he into kinky stuff? Did he hurt you?”
“How many times must I tell you? No.”
He studied her for a moment, then summoned over a deputy. “Keep the husband distracted,” he said. “In fact, why don’t all y’all take a ten-minute break outside?”
The room emptied except for her and the two detectives. Knight said, “Let’s sit.” He sat down with her on the leather sofa.
Grange pulled up one of the dining chairs, and as he sat he motioned toward the foot locker. “Reeks of gun oil.”
They looked at her. She kept her expression neutral. When it became obvious that she wasn’t going to reveal anything voluntarily, Knight asked, “How many firearms did he have?”
“I never counted them.”
“What kind were they?”
“I wouldn’t know one from the other.”
“Handguns? Rifles?”
“Some of both.”
The men consulted each other with a glance, then Knight said, “You say he didn’t hurt you.”
“He didn’t.”
“Okay, but based on what he did to the Floyd brothers, it’s clear that this man is capable of violence. He also motivated you, if not coerced you, to commit a felony. Now, Emory, looking at it strictly from a law enforcement standpoint, don’t you think it’s feasible that he attacked you on that trail?”
“For what purpose?”
Grange said, “Maybe just for the hell of it.”
She looked toward the kitchen area where the drawers had been opened and rifled. She thought of how tidy he’d kept it and how meticulously he’d performed every task, such as repairing a toaster. “Whimsy? No, Sergeant Grange. He would never do something just for the hell of it. Besides, I’ve told you that he treated me kindly.”
“I wouldn’t call turning you into a thief a kindness,” Knight said. “But just for the sake of argument, let’s say that break-in was for a good cause. Let’s say it was necessary in order for you to help a girl in need of medical treatment. Let’s also say that those Floyd boys deserved the whipping they got. Going by their rap sheets, that’s not a stretch.”
“Then why are we here and having this conversation?”
“Because I still believe you were a hostage of sorts, not a willing participant in that burglary. Buddy and me don’t want to see you punished for something you were forced to do under duress.”
He leaned toward her, getting to the crux of his argument. “Even if you can’t remember it, it’s reasonable, isn’t it, that this guy clouted you over the head and hauled you off that trail? Any way you look at it, that’s assault and battery and kidnapping.”
“I don’t believe he’s guilty of those crimes.”
“If he’s not guilty of something, why didn’t he bring you into town and make himself known?”
She opened her mouth but had no words with which to respond.
However, as though she had spoken, Knight said, “Exactly. Staying under the radar was worth twenty-five grand to him. Which leads us to believe that he’s a fugitive. You need to help us catch him.”
“Why do you need me? You’ve searched every inch of this cabin.”
“Which doesn’t belong to him. It’s a rental.”
“Oh.”
“You sound surprised.”
She glanced toward the denuded bookshelves. “He treated it as an owner would. But if he’s a renter, then surely his name is on the lease.”