1
SAWYER
The call comes in at 3:47 AM, and I'm already awake.
Been staring at the ceiling for the past hour, listening to the wind howl through the pines outside my cabin. Sleep's been a fickle bastard lately, coming in fragments that leave me more exhausted than rested. The job does that to a man. Forty-seven years old, twenty-three of them wearing this badge, and I still can't shut my brain off when my head hits the pillow.
"Sheriff McKenna." My voice comes out rough, gravelly from disuse.
"Sawyer, it's Dispatch. Got a domestic disturbance out on Maple Street. The Henderson place."
I'm already swinging my legs out of bed, reaching for the jeans I left folded on the chair. "Anyone hurt?"
"Neighbor called it in. Says there's shouting, something about throwing things. You want me to send Deputy Collins?"
"No." The word comes out sharper than I intend. Collins is a good kid, eager and earnest, but domestics are tricky territory. Too many variables. Too many ways for things to go sideways fast. "I'll handle it."
Ten minutes later, I'm pulling up to the small ranch house on Maple Street, the gravel crunching under my tires. The porch light is on, casting long shadows across the front yard, and I can hear muffled voices through the thin walls. Male and female. Angry.
I've been to this house before. Tom Henderson, forty-two, works at the lumber mill when he's sober. Has a temper that gets worse when he's drinking, which is most nights lately since the mill cut his hours. His wife Sarah is a sweet woman, the kind who makes excuses for bruises and wears long sleeves in July.
The shouting stops when I knock.
"Sheriff's department. Open up."
Footsteps. The sound of a chain sliding. Tom opens the door wearing a stained undershirt and the bleary-eyed look of a man who's been drinking since dinner. His knuckles are scraped, and there's a fresh cut on his lip.
"Evening, Tom." I keep my voice calm, even. "Got a call about some noise. Everything alright in here?"
"Just a little disagreement, Sheriff. Nothing to worry about." His words slur together at the edges. "You know how women get."
Behind him, I catch a glimpse of Sarah hovering in the hallway. She's wearing a bathrobe pulled tight around her waist, and even in the dim light, I can see the red mark blooming across her left cheek.
Something cold and familiar settles in my chest. The same feeling I get every time I see a man use his size, his strength, to hurt someone smaller. Someone who trusted him.
"Sarah." I look past Tom, meeting her eyes. "You okay?"
She nods quickly, too quickly. "I'm fine, Sheriff McKenna. Really. We were just..."
"Having a discussion," Tom finishes, stepping closer to the door frame. Blocking my view of his wife. "Nothing that concerns the law."
"Well, Tom, here's the thing." I rest my hand on my belt, close enough to my service weapon that he notices. "When neighbors start calling about noise at four in the morning, it becomes my concern. Mind if I come in? Just want to make sure everyone's safe."
His jaw tightens. For a second, I think he might try to close the door, might push this further than it needs to go. But he steps aside, and I cross the threshold into their living room.
The place is a mess. Broken glass from what looks like a beer bottle scattered across the hardwood. A lamp knocked over, its shade dented. Pictures frames lying face down on the side table.
"Looks like quite a discussion," I observe, pulling out my notebook. "Sarah, you want to tell me what happened here?"
"I told you, it was nothing," Tom interjects, but I hold up a hand.
"I'm talking to your wife." My voice carries the authority I've spent decades cultivating. The kind that makes grown men think twice about their next move. "Sarah?"
She looks between Tom and me, her fingers worrying the belt of her robe. "I... I dropped a glass. Clumsy. And then Tom got upset because..."
"Because she was nagging me about my drinking again." Tom's voice carries an edge of violence that makes my muscles tense. "Can't a man have a beer in his own house without his wife riding him about it?"
"That mark on Sarah's face." I turn to face him fully, letting him see exactly how serious I am. "That from her being clumsy too?"
