“Colson Lutz,” he booms from overhead as he wrenches my arms behind my back, “you are under arrest for the crime of menacing by stalking and trespassing…” I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my jaw in frustration.
“That’s excessive force!” a girl shouts from somewhere on my right.
“This shit’s police brutality,” another guy calls from behind me.
But Wells and his underling don’t seem to be swayed, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” the other officer grips the back of my neck, pressing my cheek into the desk so I can’t move, “you have the right to talk to a lawyer and have him present with you while you are being questioned,” I feel the handcuffs around my wrists and hear the zip as they’re locked in place.
In my limited field of vision, I see Sydney Van Doren still sitting at her desk two aisles over, knuckles white, her silvery blue eyes gaping at me in shock. She lives next door to me…kind of. She lives in the mansion behind the dense grove of trees next to my house, but our driveways dump out onto the road right next to each other.
“Sydney,” I lock eyes with her, my face still smashed against the desk, “tell Scott I’m in Canaan.”
She keeps looking back and forth between me and Wells, but nods frantically and starts rummaging through her bag for her phone.
Once I’m cuffed, Wells grabs the back of my shirt and hoists me upright, continuing to read me my rights as he marches me to the front of the room past a crowd of cell phones. Mrs. Slone is at her desk, on the school phone, angrily watching the scene unfold.
“Have you solved his sister’s murder yet?” Kylie Rodriguez shouts as we pass her desk in the front row, eliciting a wave of indignant cheers.
I can’t help but smile as the class descends into chaos, erupting in jeers and claps as they parade me across the front of the room.
“Don’t tell those pigs anything, Col!” a deep voice yells at my back as I step out into the hallway.
I’m shocked that Tate didn’t come arrest me himself. Maybe that would’ve been too obvious, as would be sending Jay and Wells’s father. Instead, Tate’s waiting patiently for me in an interrogation room after I’m booked into custody back in Canaan. He tries to ask me about the night at the railroad bridge and get me to give up everyone else. That’s the point when I should’ve followed Aiden’s advice and asked for a lawyer, but I have a few things of my own to say to him.
We both know the real reason I’m here, and it’s not because of some flat tires and ruined date.
“He has an alibi, Colson,” Tate sighs with exasperation, “Bowen was with his sister and friends that night. Let it go!”
“Yeah, I’m sure none of them would cover for his ass,” I roll my eyes, “as if you don’t know what a goddamn liar he is.”
Blood is thicker than water, and you protect your own when it really matters. I can’t fault the Garrisons for that—it’s exactly what I’m doing. Evie and I may not share blood, but she’s still my sister, and she’s the one who’s been butchered and stuffed in a pipe, while Bowen’s family is running the investigation.
Tate leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, “Look, I’ll give it to you, Bowen’s a little shit. But I can’t go around arresting people based on shit-talking. We have a thing called evidence to consider. Until then, handle it yourselves.” He throws his arms in the air, “Duke it out behind the Sunoco if it’ll help, I don’t care, I’ll look the other way.”
“You’ve been doing a lot of looking the other way, lately,” I mutter.
Tate plants his elbow on the table and points a finger at me, “Watch it, now,” he warns, “what I should do is charge you with assault for what happened at Evie’s funeral.”
I glare back at him with indignance, “Then why don’t you?”
He doesn’t miss a beat, “Because your family’s been through enough. This town’s been through enough.”
“Because you know what he did,” I growl, “and he’ll do it again.”
Tate gives an irritated huff and glowers at me like I’m a dried-up wad of gum that just won’t come off the bottom of his boot.
“I hear you’re heading to college,” he changes the subject, “full scholarship, right?”
I don’t know what the fuck he’s getting at.
“From what I hear, criminal convictions don’t jive with that kind of opportunity.” He points a finger at me and peers over the rims of his glasses, “Do not let your emotions wreck your future. Because that’s where this is headed.”
Is he seriously trying to give me some inspirational pep talk?
“Like Evie?” I deadpan, “Maybe if she hadn’t thought Bowen was such a dreamboat, she could’ve made it out of this fucking hellhole, too.”
“I spoke to Hildy,” Tate counters, “she said this stuff about Bowen and Evie dating is news to her. Why would Evie tell you something like that and not her best friend?”
“Are you new here?” Now he’s just being asinine. “Do you seriously have to ask why Evie was worried about pissing off Hildy? After what Hildy did to Sydney?”
Tate is losing patience, as if he had any to begin with, “I’m talking about a murder here, Colson, a real case, with a real crime scene. Not a feud between two high school girls over the same guy.”
“At least he got the justice he deserved…” I scoff, ignoring the vein popping out of Tate’s forehead, “oh yeah, and what the hell is this trespassing bullshit?”
Tate’s expression relaxes and he shifts in his seat, “I’m glad you asked. You and your friend—Mason, is it?” I don’t answer him. “You went searching on private property. So, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he sniffs, “how did you know where to look for Evie’s body?” Then he tilts his head, studying me from over the rims of his glasses.
I stare back at him in silence, realization slowly washing over me. I know what he’s doing.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I shout across the table, my blood boiling.
But before I can say more, I hear Scott in the hallway, his voice like a roll of thunder engulfing the entire building.
“Listen to me, Colson,” Tate lowers his voice, shooting me a threatening look, “leave town, go to college, and make something of yourself. Because I promise you, if you keep this up, it’ll be nothing but grief and heartache from here on out for you and your family.”
No audio feed or playback from CCTV could’ve caught it; the subtle darkness that flashes behind Tate’s eyes when he all but guarantees my destruction if I insist on Bowen being brought to justice, whether by legal means or otherwise.
Suddenly, the door flies open and Scott bursts into the room, “Come on, we’re going home,” he nods to the door.
“Scott, good to see you,” Tate greets him with fake enthusiasm, “we were just having a talk about Colson’s plans for the future.”
