Page 55 of Twice Missing
Carl McNeal stood there, a ghost from the past made flesh, his presence as unsettling as it was unexpected.
"How did you get in here?" Hugh demanded, his voice a mix of surprise and irritation.
Carl's response was maddeningly casual. "The rear door was open."
Hugh grumbled, a wave of frustration washing over him. This forgetfulness, this... slipping, had become all too common lately. The doctor's words echoed in his mind: early Alzheimer's. It was a diagnosis that terrified him more than any criminal he'd faced in his years as sheriff.
"You know I could have you arrested," Hugh said, trying to regain control of the situation.
Carl's reply was swift and cutting. "Likewise."
Confusion flickered across Hugh's face, quickly replaced by a mask of indifference. He took in Carl's disheveled appearance, noting the wild look in the man's eyes. "You look like a disaster," Hugh remarked, cracking open his beer with forced nonchalance.
"That's what running from the Ashfords will do," Carl shot back. "Tell me, Hugh, does your son Noah know about your involvement with Luther Ashford?"
Hugh chuckled, the sound hollow and unconvincing even to his own ears. "He knows I do business with him."
"And by business, you mean being his errand boy, covering up his mess, keeping people back from the truth — even if it's your son's ex-wife Lena."
The accusation hung in the air, heavy and damning. Hugh smirked, taking a long swig of his beer to buy time. "You should check yourself into the local hospital. I'm worried about the state of your mind," he deflected, moving to the window and staring out into the darkness.
Carl pressed on, his words sharp and relentless. "I wonder what Noah will say when he finds out about your involvement with Lena's death, or Alicia's."
"That has nothing to do with me," Hugh snapped, his composure cracking.
"No, of course it doesn't," Carl replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He paced the room, eyes never leaving Hugh. "Luther is very good at keeping the trail fromleading back to him. What do they call it? Six degrees of separation. That we are all six or fewer connections away from each other. In the Ashfords’ case, the more, the better. It's so much easier to dismiss, arrest, kill using someone else than it is to get their own hands bloody. But nevertheless, blood is on their hands."
Hugh's patience wore thin. He strode to the phone, picking it up with a threatening glare. "How about I call the cops now?"
"Go ahead," Carl said, his calm demeanor unnerving. "You would be doing me a favor."
Hugh hesitated, the phone heavy in his hand. After a moment, he set it back down, the unspoken threat dissipating.
Carl's voice softened, taking on an almost philosophical tone. "I used to think Noah was a pale version of you, but now I see he's nothing like you. He goes after the truth. Sure, he has some flaws, don't we all. But there's one thing about Noah that sets him apart from you."
"Yeah, what's that?" Hugh asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.
"He's not a sellout."
The words cut through Hugh like a knife, twisting in his gut. In all his years, through all the accusations and insults hurled his way, "sellout" had never been one of them. It stung more than he cared to admit.
Carl continued, his words precise and cutting. "Oh no, I can see why Lena liked Noah, and how he rubbed off on her. Lena wasn't one for taking hush money. That justwasn't her. She had morals. Standards. Something you don't know much about, do you, Hugh?"
Anger flared in Hugh's chest, his fists clenching at his sides.
Carl's expression shifted to one of genuine curiosity. "But here's the thing that I haven't figured out yet. What does Luther have over you? What is so damning that you would turn a blind eye to his and the cartel’s activities in a county where you were sheriff?" A knowing smile spread across Carl's face. "Yeah, I know about the cartel. I know about his connection to them. The money laundering, the drug deals, the human trafficking, the legit businesses that are a cover."
He chuckled, a sound devoid of humor. "I was ready to blow the lid off the whole thing, with your son's help, of course. I would have really made a name for myself, but I guess I underestimated Luther's trust in me. Bugging the office. Listening in on my conversations. Recording my every movement."
Carl shook his head, his voice tinged with a mix of regret and anger. "You know, I was kind of naïve to think that he would just dismiss me. Let me go without any retaliation. But that's not how he operates, is it? He likes to keep a clean house. Aiden West is proof of that, isn't it?"
Hugh remained silent, his face an impassive mask as Carl continued his tirade.
"Yeah, you have to imagine my surprise when this morning I showed up at the prison to get his story. Who did Luther get to kill him? Or should I say, who did you pay off inside?" Carl's voice rose, filled with righteousindignation. "Of course, it will all be brushed under the rug. Just another inmate who couldn't handle doing time. He took the easy way out. Now, Luther doesn't have to worry about loose lips."
Carl fixed Hugh with a penetrating stare. "Have you ever wondered if you might end up in the same grave? There's a saying, Hugh, maybe you've heard it. There is no honor among thieves. When Luther has used you up, he will spit you out like the rest of them. What then? And even if he doesn't, what will you do when Noah uncovers the full truth about Lena, and Alicia, and whatever Luther has over your head?"
Hugh moved towards Carl, his patience finally snapping. But Carl was prepared, producing a taser from his pocket. "Don't. Don't even try," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.
