For the rest of his sorry life.
First, however, there was one housekeeping detail he couldn’t put off.
Jackson County Sheriff’s Office
3104 Magnolia Street
Pascagoula, Mississippi; 3:15 p.m.
Wyatt waited for one of the three men sitting across from his desk to break.
An hour and counting. He’d called these three deputies into his office as soon as he’d returned from the Arnold crime scene.
Brett Guthrie. Lance Cochran. Dillon Swift.
Three holdovers from the old regime. Good deputies but loyal to the end to former Sheriff Zeke Grider. All three were buddies with Jed Stovall and Simon Cook, men who worked for Cyrus Cooper and his no-good spawn, Clay. If there was anyone in Wyatt’s department—and that was a big-ass if—who would leak details of an investigation related to Addy, it would be one of these three. Before a single one walked out of this office, he would know which one, if any, it had been.
“Sheriff, it’s Christmas,” Cochran said, breaking the silence. Tall, skinny red-haired guy who typically followed the lead of the men sitting on either side of him. “My kids are probably wondering why their daddy’s not home. How long you going to keep yanking our chains with this nonsense?”
Wyatt turned his palms upward. “We can all leave as soon as I have the truth. Otherwise,” he said, reclining in his chair, “I’ve got all night. My family had Christmas dinner last night.”
Addy and Womack were going over the new interview reports that Robert Cummings, the detective in charge of the Arnold case, had faxed over. Comparing any comments by friends and family to what they had in the Prescott case. He didn’t want her to know about this little tête-à-tête.
For more reasons than one.
Guthrie stood. “Fine. You want someone to speak up, I’ll do it.” He hitched a thumb toward the door. “You lethercome back here after what she did. You’re working with her like none of that stuffever happened. That’s what’s wrong here. We haven’t done a damned thing wrong, Wyatt. You’re the one who’s making this department look bad.”
Wyatt checked the immediate reaction. No need to let the man see he’d hit a nerve. That would only confirm his accusation. Guthrie was the oldest of the three. He’d been closest to Grider. Like a brother. But he was a third-generation cop and he hadn’t wanted to give up his badge despite his indignation over the events that had transpired nine years ago. At fifty, his hair had grayed and he needed glasses for reading, but age hadn’t slowed him down when it came to taking care of the business of being a cop. Wyatt understood that despite his loyalty to the badge, Guthrie’s hatred for Addy ran deep.
Fierce emotions were involved. Maybe Addy was more right than he wanted to admit.
“Sit down, Guthrie.”
His deputy defied him for about two seconds before lowering his bulk back into his chair.
“This isn’t about whether or not you agree with my decision to allow Detective Cooper to be involved with this case,” Wyatt explained. “This is about breaking the law. Violating the department’s trust. If one of you passed the details of those letters along to anyone else who might have let it get out, I need to know. Now.”
Swift wouldn’t meet his eyes. Hadn’t since he’d learned the topic of this meeting. He was the one Wyatt had pegged for the infraction.Ifthere had been an infraction.
“Tell him,” Cochran said with a fierce glare at the man beside him. “I’d like to get the hell out of here before Christmas is over.”
Swift glared right back at his fellow deputy.
“Are you saying there’s something to this?” Guthrie jumped to his feet once more, sent a glower first at Cochran, then at Swift. “Dillon Swift, I’ve known you since you were a snot-nosed kid. If you did thisyou’d better fess up, buddy. You do not want me to find out some other way.”
Swift launched to his feet and stuck his finger in Guthrie’s face. “I didn’t do nothing,” he snarled before sending another drop-dead glare at Cochran.
Swift was the youngest and most hotheaded of the three. He’d joined the department the same month Addy had. They’d been rivals of a sort from the beginning.
“He and Clay Cooper have gotten to be pretty big pals,” Cochran said to Wyatt, cutting to the chase.
“Asshole!” Swift shouted.
“You better settle down, boy,” Guthrie growled. Swift held his ground. “You may not agree with the sheriff’s decision but you owe him the respect that goes with the office. Now sit your skinny ass down and explain yourself.”
After Swift had taken his seat once more, Wyatt gave him a moment to pull himself back together. “Start at the beginning,” he instructed, the fury simmering deep inside him making his teeth clench on each word.
“Me and Clay are buds, that’s right,” Swift boasted. “It’s a free country. I chill with him and the others from time to time.”