Page 9 of Wham Line
“Aren’t you going to interview everyone?Someone might have seen something.”
“Yes, I’m going to take statements.”She watched me, but whatever she was expecting to see, she must not have found it because she said, “I’m asking you not to get involved in this investigation.”
The pieces snapped together.“You think—” I glanced at the busy kitchen and lowered my voice so that it barely carried over the ambient noise.“You think Indira had something to do with this?”
“I think that this is a complicated, sensitive investigation, and I think your feelings could compromise your judgment.”
I couldn’t say anything.And then I could.“Sheriff, Indira didn’t kill Mal.She wouldn’t kill anyone.”
The sheriff cut her eyes away.
“If you don’t know that,” I said, “you’re—you’re a pretty lousy sheriff.”
Her gaze came back to me.“She was standing over a man who had been shot.She was holding a gun that had been recently fired.A sworn deputy found her like that.Why don’t you tell me, Dash?What am I supposed to do?”
It took me several seconds, and when I finally spoke, my voice had a limping uncertainty that I hated.“Her gun had been fired?”
The sounds of chopping, of pans scraping over burners, of shouted instructions floated between us.After the comfortable shadows of the dining room, the fluorescent work lights hammered against all that stainless steel.
“Bobby is going to take you home now,” the sheriff said.“I can’t make you keep your nose out of this, but I want you to understand that I won’t let you compromise my investigation.”
I nodded and rubbed my forehead.“I’m sorry.I didn’t mean to say that.You’re a good sheriff and a good person.I know you want me to go home, but I’m going to come to the station.I’m going to call a lawyer.And I want to be there if Indira needs anything.”I couldn’t help myself.“I know Indira, Sheriff.I know she didn’t do this.”
The sheriff nodded.She didn’t say anything because, at heart, she was kind.But I knew what she would have said if she were a character in one of my books.If my fictional detective, Will Gower, had found himself nose-to-nose with the chief of police.She would have said,We never really know anybody.Or something like that.And she would have been right.
I might have said something else, but a shout from outside the restaurant interrupted us.It was loud enough to carry even inside the noisy kitchen, and a part of me recognized that meant it must have been very loud indeed.The sheriff turned toward the exit door at the back, and I followed.
Outside, the rain was still coming down in that thick, miserable drizzle, but the gloom had been pushed back by portable LEDs that painted the alley in black and white.A protective canopy sheltered Mal’s body from the rain, and plastic barriers screened him from view.Someone was moving around behind the barriers.At the mouth of the alley, a van marked DISTRICT MEDICAL EXAMINER was parked.
All of that passed through my mind in an instant because then I saw Salk, Indira, and Keme.
Salk—Deputy Salkanovic, who had been Hastings Rock’s star quarterback in high school, and who had gone through a three-month period of giving me noogies in a weirdly cute way, and who once, in a truly epic disaster of a conversation, had been way too encouraging about me dating Bobby, including such memorable lines asBobby’s so strongandHave you ever seen him back up a truck?(which, it turns out, wasnota euphemism)—was walking Indira toward a patrol car parked next to the medical examiner’s van.Indira’s hands were cuffed behind her, and her head was down.
Keme walked backward in front of them, grabbing at Salk, trying to break his grip, lunging up into Salk’s face and shouting, “Let go of her!Get your hands off her!What are you doing?”Salk, who had at least six inches and fifty pounds on Keme, walked resolutely, not fighting back, but also not letting Keme stop him.Keme must have realized he wasn’t going to be able to stop Salk, because all of a sudden, he went totally silent, stepped back, and gathered himself.
My hind brain registered it before my conscious mind knew what was happening: threat, danger, the way you can tell when an animal is about to attack.
Indira yelled, “Keme, no!”
“Hey!”the sheriff shouted.
I started to run.
Keme launched himself at Salk.As far as I knew, Keme had never played football, but it looked like a textbook tackle: he buried his shoulder in Salk’s stomach, and the force of the impact drove Salk backward.Salk released Indira, who stumbled and bumped up against the restaurant.Keme pressed his advantage, wrapping his arms around Salk’s waist, forcing him along the alley.Salk, who was of the gentle giant variety, grabbed Keme by the shoulders, but that seemed to be as much as he was willing to do—he stumbled back, clearly trying not to hurt the boy.
“Get off him!”I snapped, and I grabbed Keme’s arms and tried to pull him free.Keme ignored me, but Salk must have realized what I was doing and started to help.He forced one of Keme’s arms loose, and I got Keme in a bear hug and lurched back.Keme let out a wild noise that was more sob than shout, and he wiggled and thrashed for a moment before elbowing me in the side as hard as he could.
Somehow, I held on.“Stop!Stop it!Just stop!”
“Let go of me!Let go!Let go!”
And then Bobby was there.He caught Keme by the shirt, gave him a violent shake, and barked, “Keme!”
Keme went limp in my arms.
It had all taken less than ten seconds.
The alley was silent except for the rain.
