Colfax brought him over to join us—I was attempting to multi-task, collecting both crime scene and arson evidence, trying to keep the kits and evidence swabs all sorted into theright places while also taking pictures of everything because we didn’t have a dedicated crime scene photographer.
Borde’s expression was sour. “What do you expect me to tell you about them here?” he asked Mallet.
The Sheriff’s expression was thunderous.
I grabbed Gunderson’s elbow and, despite knowing I was going to pay for it with aching feet and blisters, dragged her away from the impending argument. “Come on, let’s see if Francis can catch anything Colfax and I missed.”
She came with me, her expression grateful.
Both of us winced when we heard Mallet start yelling. I made out a few things about irresponsibility and a lack of consideration for other people’s time and work before Francis started his funny whine-barking again, and Gunderson and I had to pay attention to him. She soothed and gave a treat while I took more swabs, since I hadn’t actually made it all the way over here yet.
Mallet had stopped yelling by the time we made our way back, although his face was flushed and Borde looked both infuriated and cowed. He was, however, doing more work than I’d seen him do at most crime scenes.
Gunderson went over to talk to Mallet, and I went back to my job, my knee aching and my feet killing me from being stuffed in too-small boots. If I was lucky, I might wrap up by dawn.
It was still dark,although it wouldn’t be for too much longer, when I pulled out of the driveway, headed back toward Shawano and looking forward to getting at least a few hours of sleep. I’d tried to text Lacy to ask about coming in late, but there wasn’tany cell service out at the burned-out house, so I’d have to wait and do it when I got back into range.
When I did, however, my phone lit up—buzzing and flashing notifications. I saw Elliot’s number, then Judy Hart’s, Elliot again, then Judy, then Hart?—
I pulled over to the side of the highway, my heart pounding in my throat.
Something happened. There was no other reason why that particular combination of people had been blowing up my phone for what looked like most of the night.
I had multiple voicemails.
I started with Elliot.
“Seth? I—I need help. Please.”Then he coughed, and it sounded pained.“Gonna call Ma.” Then he hung up.
“Don’t call Judy, you stubborn dumbass,” I hissed at the phone, even though there was no possible way he could hear me. “Call 9-1-1.”
There were no more calls from Elliot, but at least four from Judy. I tapped the most recent one.
“Hi, sweetie, just an update.”She sounded tired and worried, but not panicked.“He’s in surgery, but the doctor says he’s doing great, considering. Might even be able to go home tomorrow. We’ll be here with him, so you just go ahead and give me a call when you get to the hospital.”Shawano only had one.
Fear gripping me, I pulled back on the highway, heading back toward Shawano faster than I should have. But not before I called Judy Hart on speaker.
“Oh, sweetie! I’m sorry to have bothered you at work.”
Only Judy Hart would apologize for calling me.
“Judy, what happened?” I knew I sounded scared.
Her tone was serious when she replied. “Elliot went out for a dig and was hit by an ATV,” she said, her voice tight. “He calledus, and we sent an ambulance over, then came straight to the hospital.”
“Shit,” I hissed. “Sorry. Is he—” I wasn’t sure what to even ask.
“Still in surgery,” she told me. “For a broken arm and collarbone, thank God it’s nothing worse.” There was relief there. “He lost some blood, lots of scrapes and bruises, cracked ribs, but no concussion and no major internal damage, somehow. His father must be watching over him.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I ignored it. “Thank God,” I agreed with her, although I got the sense that she meant it more than I did—the God part, not the grateful part. My upbringing had left me rather disenchanted with religion in general. “I’ll be there as soon as I can—I’m up near Aniwa.”
“Don’t rush, sweetie,” she told me. “I’m sure you’re just desperate to see him, but he’ll be in for another few hours at least,” she said. “We’ll be here.”
I checked my texts—one from Judy, asking me to call her, and the one from Hart, also telling me to call his mother.
I forced myself to breathe deeply a couple times, then got back on the road. My eyes kept checking the notification bar, just in case Judy sent me a text.
What she hadsaidwas that he was in surgery for his arm and shoulder. That he had no internal damage and no cranial trauma. I knew that was all good news. That he would almost certainly be fine—at least in the grand scheme of things.
