else.”
“Now you’re calling my boys liars,” he said without raising his voice. His eyes, however, and the pressed whiteness of his lips, indicated that his temperature was rising to the boiling point. Luke was still doing nothing.
“Your boys . . . were they the ones at the river? The ones with Cody?”
“His cousins.”
“Okay, now I know what you’re talking about. Your boys, they were upset. While I was doing CPR they attacked the man who was assisting me—”
“Guy who killed Cody, right?”
“But I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was that he was trying to help. With the CPR. So when your sons attacked him, I asked the other officers present to restrain them—”
“Cuff ’em or shoot ’em, that right?”
I felt warmer remembering my own words—from shame, not anger.
“Yeah, that’s probably what I said. But I didn’t mean it literally. I was just trying to emphasize the need—”
He wasn’t listening. He was looking at me with disgust and barely concealed violence.
I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Look, I’m very sorry. It was a dumb thing to say. But at the time I didn’t know what was going on. Just that a boy—your nephew, I guess—was dying. And that I was trying to stop that from happening. I’ll apologize to your sons if you like.”
The man’s temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. After staring at me for another few seconds, he blinked. Then he glanced back at the house.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d do that,” he said. “Make it in a day or two. The kids are pretty shook up.”
He spun and walked back toward the house. Going in, he managed to close the door softly.
My tension eased and I could once again hear the crickets in the night.
“You handled that well,” Luke told me, his grin returning. “Given your rep these days, I half expected you to just shoot him.”
I swallowed a
Fuck you, Luke,
and said instead, “When something like this happens, it’s always easiest if you’ve got someone to blame. Or at least to vent on.” I knew from firsthand experience. I’d once desperately felt the need, only I’d had a better target. Pushing away the thought, I asked, “What’s his name? And his kids’?”
“Ed Mann. The boys who you threatened to shoot are Randall and Trey. You’re going to talk to them, right?”
From Mann’s appearance—very dissimilar to the far brawnier Mr. Wallis—and his different surname, I guessed that the boys were related through their mothers.
“I said I was. But, like he said, I’ll wait a day or two.”
“And you already interrogated the perp?”
Calling Jonah the perpetrator sounded a little strong, but I nodded to this, too.
“His name’s Jonah Strasburg. He’s a tourist, a musician from New York.”
“Did he confess?” Luke asked, pausing for an answer before taking another hit.
“Well, he said he’d gotten in an argument with the kids after they’d thrown some rocks at the raft he was on. He confronted them. One of the kids—Cody—picked up a stick or something and swatted him. They had a kind of tug-of-war with the stick, and Strasburg let the kid fall into the water.”
“Did he push him?”
“Yeah. He says he kind of pushed when he let go of the stick.”
Luke took his hit and thought for a minute.
“Did he know the kid would fall into the water?”
“Yeah. He said he did. He thought the kid was just going to get wet, teach him a lesson, he said. He’s feeling pretty lousy about it.”
Luke smiled, the admission settling happily into his lawyer’s brain. “Sure he is. He’s going to feel a lot lousier, too. They’re not going to make him too welcome in the jail. ’Spect he’s going to have a rough night.”
I thought about arguing, but I made myself keep my mouth shut. It wasn’t my job to give a legal—much less an ethical—opinion. Not even to my old partner Luke, who’d once taken a bullet that was meant for me. Taken it in the ass, as a
“Now you’re calling my boys liars,” he said without raising his voice. His eyes, however, and the pressed whiteness of his lips, indicated that his temperature was rising to the boiling point. Luke was still doing nothing.
“Your boys . . . were they the ones at the river? The ones with Cody?”
“His cousins.”
“Okay, now I know what you’re talking about. Your boys, they were upset. While I was doing CPR they attacked the man who was assisting me—”
“Guy who killed Cody, right?”
“But I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was that he was trying to help. With the CPR. So when your sons attacked him, I asked the other officers present to restrain them—”
“Cuff ’em or shoot ’em, that right?”
I felt warmer remembering my own words—from shame, not anger.
“Yeah, that’s probably what I said. But I didn’t mean it literally. I was just trying to emphasize the need—”
He wasn’t listening. He was looking at me with disgust and barely concealed violence.
I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Look, I’m very sorry. It was a dumb thing to say. But at the time I didn’t know what was going on. Just that a boy—your nephew, I guess—was dying. And that I was trying to stop that from happening. I’ll apologize to your sons if you like.”
The man’s temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. After staring at me for another few seconds, he blinked. Then he glanced back at the house.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d do that,” he said. “Make it in a day or two. The kids are pretty shook up.”
He spun and walked back toward the house. Going in, he managed to close the door softly.
My tension eased and I could once again hear the crickets in the night.
“You handled that well,” Luke told me, his grin returning. “Given your rep these days, I half expected you to just shoot him.”
I swallowed a
Fuck you, Luke,
and said instead, “When something like this happens, it’s always easiest if you’ve got someone to blame. Or at least to vent on.” I knew from firsthand experience. I’d once desperately felt the need, only I’d had a better target. Pushing away the thought, I asked, “What’s his name? And his kids’?”
“Ed Mann. The boys who you threatened to shoot are Randall and Trey. You’re going to talk to them, right?”
From Mann’s appearance—very dissimilar to the far brawnier Mr. Wallis—and his different surname, I guessed that the boys were related through their mothers.
“I said I was. But, like he said, I’ll wait a day or two.”
“And you already interrogated the perp?”
Calling Jonah the perpetrator sounded a little strong, but I nodded to this, too.
“His name’s Jonah Strasburg. He’s a tourist, a musician from New York.”
“Did he confess?” Luke asked, pausing for an answer before taking another hit.
“Well, he said he’d gotten in an argument with the kids after they’d thrown some rocks at the raft he was on. He confronted them. One of the kids—Cody—picked up a stick or something and swatted him. They had a kind of tug-of-war with the stick, and Strasburg let the kid fall into the water.”
“Did he push him?”
“Yeah. He says he kind of pushed when he let go of the stick.”
Luke took his hit and thought for a minute.
“Did he know the kid would fall into the water?”
“Yeah. He said he did. He thought the kid was just going to get wet, teach him a lesson, he said. He’s feeling pretty lousy about it.”
Luke smiled, the admission settling happily into his lawyer’s brain. “Sure he is. He’s going to feel a lot lousier, too. They’re not going to make him too welcome in the jail. ’Spect he’s going to have a rough night.”
I thought about arguing, but I made myself keep my mouth shut. It wasn’t my job to give a legal—much less an ethical—opinion. Not even to my old partner Luke, who’d once taken a bullet that was meant for me. Taken it in the ass, as a
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