I, of course, had no idea who any of these people were. “Arthur said something about the evening feeding. I want to help him out.” That felt super important to me. He hadn’t asked for much. And given how much pain he’d likely been in, the fact that he focused on the shelter suggested it meant everything to him. Well, along with the young man before me whom Arthur took a bullet for.
Quakenbush said, “We’ll take a statement from you now. The shelter can wait half an hour. Give me your ID, and I’ll make sure we have your address so we can follow up later.” He met my gaze with dark-gray eyes. “You’re going to want to wash your hands and arms well with soap and water, but the blood’s gone.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure.” The cop’s dark-brown hair shone in the late afternoon California sun. A very different shade from Arthur’s red-tinged light brown. Clean-shaven too, where Arthur had a full beard and a long curling mustache I’d thought a bit comical, until the man turned out to be a damned hero.
Ridiculous man, letting himself get shot, standing in front of a gun like he was invincible. God, I hope he’ll be all right. I couldn’t recapture the disinterested amusement I’d felt as I approached down the sidewalk, noting a tall, broadly built stranger with a wild beard, in the moment before that shot rang out. Arthur wasn’t just some stranger now.
Alec said to Quakenbush, “I suppose you need Kevin’s statement, too.” He didn’t look pleased.
“We’ll make it as easy as possible.”
Officer Branson smiled and, for a moment, I noticed she was attractive. “In fact, why don’t you take the boy on home? We know who you are and where he lives, and the perp’s in custody so there’s no huge urgency. Quakenbush can get Brooklyn’s statement now, then drop by and get Kevin’s. No sense having the boy waiting around on the scene—” She gave Kevin a compassionate look, which he didn’t seem to appreciate if folded arms and a raised chin were any indication. “—or dragging everyone down to the station.”
“I’m not a child?—"
I interrupted before Kevin could antagonize a friendly cop, asking Branson, “You got Frank’s gun, right?” I couldn’t remember any deputy having brought the gun out with them. “The bastard won’t get out on bail and come right back and use it?” The quiver in my stomach told me I had some shocky anxiety waiting to pounce, the moment I stopped finding things to keep me busy. I hope the shelter needs me for hours.
Branson told me, “We’re waiting on a warrant, and we’ll do a search of the entire house and confiscate any weapons. He certainly shouldn’t have been waving one around his backyard. Plus, he won’t get bail till tomorrow, if then.”
“Dad, if Mr. Brooklyn’s going to the shelter, we need to find the loose dog. She’s probably scared.” Again, Kevin looked back and forth between his fathers. The closeness between fathers and son touched me. So unlike my own upbringing.
“Kevin, I understand you want to help. I really do. But for tonight, we should go home, have some dinner, speak to the nice police officer, and then call it a night. If you want, I can spend some time with you tomorrow looking.” Joe caught my gaze. “I’m a writer, so my schedule’s flexible.”
I wouldn’t have asked, but writer sounded cool. I didn’t, to my knowledge, know any writers.
He kept his attention on me. “Do you need a ride? We’ve got our car…” He waved down the street.
“Thanks for the generous offer. I don’t live far from here… and I know where the shelter is. As soon as Officer Quakenbush is done with me.” My gaze passed between the two police officers.
“Let me clean up and then we’ll get to your statement.” Quakenbush disposed of the gloves and cloths in a plastic bag he sealed. Then he set about tidying up the first aid kit. He hadn’t needed to take care of me personally. I was appreciative and offered my hand. “Thank you.”
He shook it. “I’m glad you were here.” His gaze settled on Kevin. “Things, although they’re bad, could’ve been much worse.
Not going to get any argument from me. “How’s Arthur doing? Does anyone know?”
“That’s confidential medical information.” Officer Branson gave me a stern look.
I held up my hands. “Innocent question.”
“You’ll have to take it up with him.” Her cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen. “Excuse me.” She stepped away as she swiped to accept.
“Hopefully I won’t need a key to get into the shelter.” I yanked my own keys out of my pocket, almost like a talisman. I had a home to get to and an SUV to drive to the shelter with, and—I glanced at the old beat-up truck. “Is that Arthur’s?”
“Yes. I wish I could drive it home for him.” Kevin nearly vibrated with tension.
“Still a few years until you turn sixteen.” Joe appeared relieved at that statement.
Although Kevin tried to appear responsible, he also had an impetuousness that couldn’t be hidden. I bet he’s a handful.
Like Cheyenne. She was thirteen years younger than me, and had been wild and demanding from the day she’d been born. Brave and defiant and never willing to keep her head down. Now, she was a senior in high school, and I despaired of her focusing enough to get a college scholarship, her escape if our parents would even let her go. She was brilliant…but undisciplined. Which was ironic, coming from a household where rules were of paramount importance. She understood that—and then broke them all anyway.
“We should call James.” Alec gazed first at Joe and then at me. “Arthur’s best friend. He’ll want to know what happened. He lives in Marina Park, and he might have a key for the truck.”
Joe nodded. “We probably should’ve thought of him first. If my best friend were shot, I’d want to know. I’d be at the hospital in a heartbeat.”
“Don’t forget he and Colin are super busy fostering,” Kevin put in.
