Page 82 of Trapper Road

Because this is a house that will always be connected with Gwen. It’s where she lived when Melvin Royal came for her. Where she lived when she stopped running and hiding.

It’s also where she and I met. I’d still been wrapped up with the Lost Angels, still drowning in my own grief and need for revenge. I’d come here to spy on her and find some way to force her to confess to her role in Melvin’s murders. I ended up falling for her instead.

This will always be the house where we became a family. Where we started to actually live again.

Then we let the Belldenes take it from us. It was the best decision for us at the time, but it’s hard not to feel a simmering resentment toward the family for pushing us out of town. I’m sure Jasper Belldene has already heard that we’re back and why. I wonder how much time he’ll give us to get the situation cleaned up before he pays a visit, reminding me of our promise to stay away.

With a sigh I begin to make a plan. I could try to clean the blood, but that would be a fool’s errand. There’s too much and it has soaked in too deep. Our best bet is take the room down to the studs. Pull up the carpet and padding, potentially the subfloor. Rebuild everything.

I go into the kitchen and push aside a bookcase along the far wall. Behind it is a metal door and a keypad — a hidden panic room that we now use as an owner’s closet to store anything we might need for the house. Inside I find an old toolbox. It doesn’t have everything I need, but at least it’s enough to get started.

I start with the carpet, ripping it up and dragging it outside, the padding as well. Then I start on the walls. The destruction feels good, and I get lost in it until there’s a knock at the door, startling me. I pull off my gloves and reach for my firearm in its holster against my lower back. Not too many people know we’re back in town, but even so there are enough enemies out there that I’m not taking any risks.

I approach one of the windows, twitching the blind aside just enough to catch sight of the driveway. There’s a dark blue sedan that’s so generic it can only mean police. I’m not surprised. I check the peephole, finding a man in his late twenties standing on the other side. He’s dressed casually in khakis and a navy blazer and if it weren’t for the badge clipped to his belt I’d think he was a neighbor’s grown kid coming to introduce himself.

I sigh, and run my hands over my face and through my hair in an attempt to shake off the grime of sweat and dust and make myself presentable. I return my gun to the holster and pull open the door.

“Morning, Officer,” I say, making sure to smile. “What can I do for you? I’m Sam Cade. My partner Gwen Proctor owns the house.”

“Mr. Cade,” the man says, taking my hand. “Nice to finally meet you. I guess you won’t be surprised to learn I’ve heard a lot about you over the months. You and Ms. Proctor are the closest we’ve got to local celebrities.”

“And you are?” I prod.

He laughs somewhat sheepishly. “Yeah, that might help if I introduced myself. I’m Detective Andreas Diakos. I work with Kezia Claremont over at the Norton PD.” He’s got a boyish charm about him, olive skin, floppy brown hair, and dark brown eyes that give him the appearance of an overgrown puppy more than anything else.

“Anyway,” he continues. “Kez — sorry, Detective Claremont — had something come up so she asked me to take your statement about what happened. You free to come down to the station to talk?”

I hesitate. I know Kez has her big doctor’s appointment this morning, but I’d feel much more comfortable giving my statement to her instead of a stranger. “Kez know you’re here?” I ask.

He smiles. “She does.”

I still take my time trying to decide whether to talk to him. Ultimately I decide I might as well. Kez wouldn’t have sent Detective Diakos to talk to me if she didn’t trust him.

I glance down at my clothes. I’m grimy from working on the house and could use a shower. “Mind if I take a moment to clean up first?”

He gives me an apologetic look. “It’d be easier if we could go ahead and get this out of the way. As you can imagine, this case is a bit of a head scratcher, and we can use all the information we can get so we’re not stuck spinning our wheels.”

He seems very insistent, while also trying to play off that this is nothing more than routine. It sets off alarm bells. “Should I be worried?”

“Not if you didn’t do anything wrong.”

It’s the wrong answer. I’ve heard it before. It’s what cops say when they don’t want admit the truth: that yes, you should be worried. “I think I’ll wait until Kez is available.” I turn back to the house.

“Mr. Cade, wait,” he calls after me. It’s more of a plea than an order. I hesitate, willing to listen.

He blows out a breath. “Truth is, Kez asked me to be the one to talk to you.”

I can’t decide if this makes things better or worse. “Why?”

“She was afraid of being accused of bias, and she didn’t want to give anyone reason to doubt your story.”

“There is no story,” I tell him. “Just the truth.”

“That’s all I’m asking for.”

I consider this for a moment. I know I’m going to have to talk to the cops eventually. It may as well be now. “Sure you’re not going to let me shower first? You’re the one who’s going to be stuck in a small room with me.”

“I’m one of seven boys,” he says in response. “I’m sure I’ve dealt with worse.”

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