By the time I stumbled out of the bathroom, Bobby had raised himself up on one elbow. He was rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I know who did it,” I said. “And I know how.”
“Huh?”
“Get up!” I whisper-screamed as I grabbed a pair of joggers. (Admittedly, slightly less romantical than how we’d been spending our evening about five minutes earlier.) “We’ve got to go before it’s too late.”
Chapter 20
The Hastings Rock sheriff’s station was a concrete building with a flat roof and a bit of stone veneer near the door that softened the otherwise severe, authoritarian, designed-and-built-in-Warsaw look. In the spirit of the season, Jaklin Ruiz (who worked dispatch) had put several jack-o'-lanterns out front, the light-up kind that glowed orange in the darkness.
And itwasdark. Dark and cold. The Pilot’s clock said it was past two in the morning, and the station’s front parking lot was empty except for a single truck dusted by the overhead security light. Shadows pooled everywhere else, deeper along the edges of the lot, and then swallowing up everything else. I knew we weren’t in the middle of nowhere. This was still Hastings Rock. There was a loan servicing office next door, and on the other side of that was a storefront church, and on the block behind the station there was another church and a run-down apartment building that looked like it could give you tetanus if you walked too close. But right now, the darkness had eaten up all of it, and the sheriff’s station might as well have been an island.
Bobby wasn’t exactly grumpy. Bobby didn’t dogrumpy. But he did look tired, and his hair had little spikes at the front that weren’t usually there, and in his Sheriff’s Office windbreaker and jeans he did give the impression that, if I didn’t wrap things up quick, he might throw me in the drunk tank and go home to get some sleep.
He hadn’t been thrilled at being woken up, which was totally fair, because he’d been working nonstop for days, and he was exhausted. And he’d been even less thrilled when I told him myrevelation. And let’s just say he didn’tlovemy enthusiasm to go out and catch a murderer right. now.
But he’d gotten out of bed, which really tells you something about his moral caliber. (Moral fiber? That sounds like something that has a recommended serving from the FDA, although moral caliber isn’t much better. What’s the expression?)
Ihadnoticed, as we’d left Hemlock House, that Keme and Millie were still awake and still talking. At least, I thought I heard them talking. They must have heard us too, because they fell silent as soon as we reached the hallway. But I could have sworn I’d heard Keme laugh.
Now, with the shadowy bulk of the sheriff’s station in front of us, Bobby eased the Pilot into a parking stall and killed the engine.
“Is anybody in there?” I asked, peering at the darkened windows. Aside from what were clearly a few emergency lights, the station looked dark. “What if there’s an emergency?”
“Someone’ll be on dispatch,” Bobby said. He opened his door and slid out of the Pilot—which apparently was exhausted-Bobby speak for,Come on.
He led the way across the lot toward a security fence at the back. I didn’t know a lot about fences, but I knew this one looked like it went above and beyond the call of duty—it had those vinyl slats that made it difficult to see through, and it was topped by razor wire. That much security was probably overkill for a little town like Hastings Rock. But then again, maybe not—what did I know?
Bobby unlocked a pedestrian gate, opened it, and ushered me through. I don’t know what I was expecting on the other side, but it was more of the same: a parking lot, albeit one filled with sheriff’s office cruisers. A few security lights broke up the darkness, and a pair of cameras were mounted under the eaves.
Bobby led me down a row of cruisers and stopped in front of one that looked like all the others: the wordsHastings Rock Sheriff’s Officeon the sides, with the star-shaped badge behind them. The car itself was white. I crouched, took out my phone, and used its flashlight to inspect the bumper. I didn’t see any obvious damage, but an expert would need to examine it. If any of the paint had embedded itself in Channelle’s clothes or skin, they might be able to match it back to the car, too.
The wind picked up, and I shivered. A hoodie and joggers had seemed like good clothing for sneakery—they were dark, they were comfortable, they, uh, allowed for a good range of movement. Back at Hemlock House, when my adrenaline had been up, Bobby’s suggestion of a jacket had seemed unnecessary.
“You need a real flashlight,” Bobby said as he unlocked the driver’s door. “You’re not going to see anything with that.”
He was kind enough not to add,If there’s anything to see.
We’d disagreed about the urgency of tonight’s mission. I was convinced that waiting until morning might mean losing valuable evidence—and without it, I didn’t know how I could get the sheriff to believe me. Bobby, on the other hand, was a firm believer in letting the authorities handle things. The conversation had ended when Bobby yanked on his jeans and muttered, “Because if Idon’tgo, you’ll get yourself killed,” which I was choosing to call a compromise.
Somehow, the wind seemed to blow even harder, and I shivered again. In fact, I was pretty sure I could feel goose bumps breaking out.
“You’re going to freeze,” Bobby said as he opened the car door.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Please don’t give me your jacket. I feel bad enough dragging you out here.”
For some reason that got me a lopsided—albeit tired—grin. “I’ll grab yours from the Pilot.”
“I didn’t bring one.”
“I know.” Even the little white puffs of his breath looked amused. “I put one in there for you. I keep it in there.”
“You did? When? Why? No, don’t answer that.”
“First day of autumn,” Bobby said as though it were obvious. As he passed me, he tweaked my ear. “Flashlight’s in the door pocket. And I know you’re going to be tempted, but please don’t shine it in my eyes as a joke when I’m coming back.”
“Okay, rude—”
