Page 20 of The Perfect Divorce

“No,” I say. “I’ve got some things I need to take care of, and I should answer this.”

“Okay. I’ll be in touch with any updates. Let me know if you need anything. But don’t worry. You’ve got the whole Morgan Foundation team behind you, Sarah.”

“Thanks, Anne.” I softly smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She withdraws her hand, allowing the doors to close.

I press1Ron the elevator, so I can go out the back to avoid the reporters. My phone continues to ring, and I hitAcceptbefore bringing it to my ear. “Sarah Morgan speaking.”

“Sarah, this is Sheriff Hudson.”

I’m not surprised to hear his voice. I figured he’d be in touch sooner rather than later. The fact that it’s a call and not a visit tells me how ashamed and embarrassed he must feel. He’s got to backpedal and plead for forgiveness, or at least some understanding, during this trying time at the department.

“I assume you’re calling about the Kelly Summers case.”

“No,” he says. “That is now an open investigation, so I can’t share any details on that matter.”

It appears someone in that department finally knows how open investigations work. I liked it better when Stevens was the sheriff. He did nothing by the book, sharing details of the case with me and allowing me to walk through crime scenes—although that was all just to cover his own ass. I won’t be getting that type of insider information this time around, but I don’t think I’ll need it.

“Then, what’s this about, Sheriff?”

“I was calling to inform you that your client Ryan Stevens attempted suicide a little over an hour ago. He’s currently in critical condition at UVA.”

The elevator doors open, and I exit into a dimly lit back vestibule.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Sheriff. Stevens is no longer my client, though, but I do appreciate the call,” I say, hanging up the phone.

THIRTEEN

SHERIFF HUDSON

“The press is ready for you,” Marcy says, poking her head in my office just as I set my phone down.

I acknowledge her with an “Okay.”

Sarah’s reaction to Ryan’s suicide attempt doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. I figured she’d drop him as a client, given the media leak. She might have even been happy to hear the news. I tightly close my eyes, unable to get the image of Stevens out of my head. His frozen eyes. The belt taut around his neck. His skin a mix of burst blood vessels and bruised discoloration. I inhale deeply, trying to expel it, but it’s still there—right in front of my eyes, whether they’re closed or not, only for me to see. The doctors think Ryan will pull through. They said I got to him just in time. A minute later and he would have been dead. When he does wake up, I’m sure he’s gonna be just as pissed at me for saving his life as I am at him for ruining mine.

I look at the piece of paper on my desk, my statement to the media. I didn’t write out a full one, just about a dozen words, reminders of what to say and what not to say. I don’t want it to come off as too rehearsed. I figure the public and the media will think our office knew about the corruption for a long time if I do. But the shit storm Ryan’s caused has barely begun. It’s gonna hang over my head, raining down accusations, lawsuits, terminations, budget cuts, firings, smear stories in the press—like tennis ball–sized hail trying to crush everyone and everything in this building. That’s my forecast for now and for years to come. But I’m a better sheriff than Ryan ever was, so I’ll get us through this no matter what it takes. With the statement in hand, I stand from my desk and make my way to the front of the station.

Marcy is waiting for me in the lobby with a tight-lipped smile, like she’s saying,Sorry you have to go through this.

Me too, Marcy, I think. I hold my head high and pin back my shoulders, exiting the sheriff’s office. Reporters and cameramen are lined up at the bottom of the concrete steps. A half dozen deputies are positioned off to the sides of the podium, where I’ll be delivering my statement. Beyond the media, there are barricades in place with more officers standing guard in case the public gets out of hand. About forty or so people have gathered, many holding signs. I scan the crowd, quickly reading each sign, trying to garner their overall sentiment.

Adam’s innocent!!

ACAB

Send Stevens to the electric chair!

Kill all cops!

Recall Sheriff Hudson!

I take the steps slow, and before I can even reach the podium, reporters are already shouting questions and the crowd is frenzied, shouting and chanting. Their mouths are moving, but I can’t make out their words. I’m sure whatever they’re saying is just as vile as the signs they’re holding. A couple of my deputies look to me, displaying their solidarity with me and this office. The sun shines bright on us today, even though it shouldn’t. I briefly glance at the sky, reminding myself that this is all so small in the grand scheme of things, and then I return my attention to the crowd. My mind is racing a hundred miles an hour down a busy highway, and I can feel my heart beating in every part of my body. I’ve gotta slow my thoughts down, so I steal a firm, deep breath and focus on myself in this moment. Three things I see: Gretchen Waters from Channel 5 News standing poised a couple feet in front of her colleagues. It’s hard to pick out two more things when there’s so much chaos in front of me. A small dog cradled in the arms of an older woman. A man wearing a baseball cap, pulled down to shield his eyes. A thick blond beard covers what I can see of his face. He looks like he’s trying to blend in, but he stands out, thanks to his posture, which makes him appear like he’s ex-military or former law enforcement. He’s dressed in plain clothes, and he’s taller than nearly everyone around him. I know this man, but I can’t place him, at least not right now.

“Sheriff,” Lieutenant Nagel whispers from my side, pulling me from my frantic thoughts.

I take another deep breath and acknowledge him with a nod before looking out at the crowd.

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