cried, “Hey, man, what’re you doing?”
Shaw ran after him.
Adam didn’t hesitate. He reached the cliff at full speed and launched himself into the air.
Breathing hard from the run and the shock, Shaw stopped just shy of the edge and watched the young man spiral to his death.
Sheriff Welles’s car eased to a stop on the shoulder of Old Mill, near the boulder the suspects had been sitting on.
A hundred feet below, Adam’s body was lying facedown, utterly broken, one leg twisted at a horrible angle. Blood pooled and glistened brightly in the sun, mocking the nearby river.
The sheriff climbed out of his sedan. The passenger door opened as well, as another man got out. It was Dodd, the sniper. His face was just as emotionless as before. Or was it? Did he register just a hint of disappointment that he hadn’t had a chance to shoot any heretics?
Both men hitched their belts simultaneously, as if it were procedure to do so upon exiting an official vehicle in Hammond County. They walked toward Shaw, the sheriff’s shoes scraping on the asphalt. Dodd wore rubber-soled hunting boots; his transit was silent.
When they stopped they too turned their gazes to the valley floor far below. The other deputies were there, near the bridge over the speedy river. Shaw would have thought they might cover Adam’s corpse. But no. Then he realized: Why bother? No passersby to shock. A blanket would also interfere with the selfies. He felt a wave of disgust, watching them click photos.
What the hell had happened? Killing himself? Adam must’ve understood that he’d get a fair trial back in Pierce County. Also, he might have hoped for a chance to escape from Shaw, given that he was only in wrist restraints and Shaw’s transport wasn’t a paddy wagon but a Kia sedan.
Why just give up and leap so casually to the flinty ground below?
Shaw was furious with himself. He knew that Adam was unstable. He should have kept the man closer to him, though he’d hardly expected his lightning-fast sprint to the cliff’s edge.
Welles said, “So. Guess they weren’t where you sent us.”
When would the man ask why Shaw had zip-tied the prisoners and had taken custody when he’d told them specifically he wasn’t here to apprehend? He wondered if he himself would see the inside of the Hammond County lockup.
Dodd asked, “Where’s the other one?”
“After Adam jumped I went back for Erick but he was gone.” Shaw pointed to a trail that led into the woods. “Went down there.”
“You zip-tie him too?” Welles asked.
“Yes.”
The sheriff was looking over the shoulder and the cliff. “He jumped, did he?”
“That’s right.”
“Not an accident, you sure?”
“No. We weren’t near the edge. He had to run for it. I have no idea why.”
“Where’s the weapon?”
“It wasn’t on him when I found them,” Shaw lied.
All three men gazed downward for a moment more, then Welles looked in the direction Shaw had pointed, the trail down which he’d said Erick had escaped. The sheriff asked, “You’re certain he went that way.”
Meaning: You lying to us again?
“Positive.”
The sheriff seemed to believe him. “Okay.” He pulled a walkie-talkie off his belt. “Jimmy?”
Clatter. “Sheriff.”
“You and somebody, head over to Morgan Road. The second boy’s probably gonna show up there, a half hour or so. He’s on the logging trail. He’s in zips.”
“His feet?”
“Of course not his feet. What’s he doing, hopping like the Easter Bunny?”
“Sure, Sheriff. Roger that.”
Welles slipped the unit back onto his service belt. “We’ll track him down. No hurry. Even if he gets scared and hides, don’t suppose a punk like that, from Gig Harbor, knows the lay of the land here. He’ll get hungry and break for the road, sooner or later. We’ll get him.”
Welles added in a low voice, “You sure pulled one over on us, Mr. Shaw.”
Here it comes.
Welles gave a wry smile. “But don’t you worry, sir. We’ll back you up.”
Dodd nodded and offered a semblance of smile. Shaw could tell it was an alien expression for him.
Welles stuck his hand out.
Mystified, Shaw gripped the lawman’s palm. “I’m proud of you, sir,” Dodd said.
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh, I know, you have to play it that way.” Welles gave a knowing grin. “I was thinking, at first, gotta say, I thought you were trying to send us in the wrong direction so you could snag those boys and get ’em to a do-gooding liberal lawyer.”
“Fuck them,” Dodd muttered.
Welles’s voice was now dropping in decibels even further, as if spies, or reporters, lurked. “I mean, you’re a sharp one. Calling us in the first place and reporting them boys here, and then sending us off.” He snapped his finger. “You made it all seem on the up-and-up.”
Dodd: “Was smart.”
Welles frowned. “Course, I woulda liked to do the honors myself. But we all got the result we wanted, didn’t we?” A nod toward the cliff’s edge.
Shaw now realized his meaning. The sheriff and his deputies believed that Shaw had planned this out—killing the boy intentionally and making it look like a suicide: wreaking private vengeance upon the preacher shooter.
As disgusted as it made him feel, Shaw gave a smug smile. “Oh, I could hardly say that now, could I?”
“Lips sealed.”
Dodd the sniper said, “Sir, I must say, I do regret not being able to end that sinner’s life. But, if I was the one to handle the task, he never would’ve felt an instant of pain.”
A bullet travels at close to three thousand feet per second.
“But, thanks to you, that sad excuse for a human being had a most unpleasant time between you shoving and him hitting.”
Shaw gave an amused
