I woke up the next morning feeling worse than I had when I went to sleep. The image of my father lying in the ICU stayed with me through the night. I had nightmares of him crawling out of his bed, calling out my name and searching for me while a dozen or so Heath’s laughed all around him. It made me sick in the stomach.
I got dressed quickly, eager to get to the police station and really take out my frustration on the Sheriff, and made my way downstairs. The aroma of scrambled eggs and bacon mixed with the gentle giggling coming from the kitchen.
Kelly was at the kitchen table, stuffing her face with what looked like the breakfast for champions. Jenni was sitting across from her, hair tied back in a loose ponytail and eyes still drooping with sleep. She looked gorgeous nevertheless. My mouth watered as the aroma of breakfast filled my nostrils.
“Morning,” I said with a smile, opening the fridge and taking out the orange juice.
“You sure took your time,” Kelly said, frowning at me. “We should have been at the hospital by now.”
“You look like you woke up five minutes ago,” I replied, grabbing a glass and sitting down beside her.
“And I’m ready to go,” she said. “So, let’s go.”
“In a minute,” I replied, taking the fork from her hands and tossing a bite of eggs and bacon into my mouth. She elbowed me in the side, took her fork back and pointed it at me angrily.
Jenni laughed and held up her mug. “Fresh pot,” she said, gesturing to the coffee machine.
“That’s okay,” I said. “Seems like the chipmunk’s in a hurry.”
And so was I. Ever since our meeting with the Sheriff at the hospital, I wanted to give the bastard a piece of my mind. I had contemplated finding Heath myself, making him pay for what he did, but I knew that wasn’t the right solution. What good was my badge if I didn’t follow the laws I had sworn to uphold? Besides, the Sheriff’s incompetence would give me an excuse to make his life a living hell. If shit like this went down around Kent and he was doing nothing about it, then he shouldn’t be the man for the job in the first place.
I drank my juice, tried to steal more breakfast from Kelly’s plate, then rushed upstairs and got changed into jeans and a t-shirt. By the time I came back down, Kelly was already waiting by the door, tapping her feet impatiently and urging me to hurry up.
“You’re not coming?” I asked Jenni.
“No,” she said. “I have to get to the diner, and then run a few errands. I’ll meet you both back here for dinner.”
“You really don’t have to do this, you know?” I said, although a large part of me was grateful for her being here. “We’ve put you through enough.”
“Shut up, will you?” she said, turning me around and pushing me out the door, much to Kelly’s delight. “Now get going, and give Baker hell.”
“I totally intend to,” I replied.
* * *
I dropped Kelly off at the hospital and made my way downtown. I knew I should have gone in with her, but I felt that if I had, I wouldn’t have been able to pull myself away from Samuel’s side. Right now, I was furious, and I wanted to keep that feeling alive until I got to the station.
Besides, I couldn’t shake away the feeling of guilt I had. I should have been there when it had happened. I should have dropped Jenni off, driven home and been at my father’s side when that bastard Heath came calling. My instincts had warned me about the possibility of something like this happening, and I had brushed it off, thinking that I was just being paranoid. That visit from Heath on the day I arrived was enough to give me an idea of how messed up he was. I had been naïve to think Kent was still the small town I had grown up in where everyone left their doors unlocked and you could take a walk around town at midnight without having to worry about anything.
So much has changed.
I clenched my teeth and shook my head in frustration. Changed or not, I wasn’t going to let Heath get away with this. If the Sheriff wanted to take his sweet time, I was definitely going to light a fire under his ass and get him moving.
The station was just off North Main Street, down Berkley Drive and surrounded by open fields. The post office sat idly on the other side of the road adjacent to the supermarket that boasted its rich supply of organic food. There were very few cars parked here, but my eyes immediately caught the Mustang parked at an obscure angle to the curb. I pulled up beside it, and as I climbed out of my car, I took note of the license plates and made my way up the steps and into the station.
Being a DEA agent in Miami, I was used to the welcoming sound of a busy police force running back and forth, rushing to get things done. Telephones would be ringing, fingers would be tapping furiously at keyboards, and someone would always be shouting in the phone. It was a symphony of activity I had learned to love and appreciate.
Walking into the Kent Sheriff’s Station made me feel like I had stepped into a church. A couple of officers sat lazily at their desk, staring at their phones with their legs propped up. A copy machine was being operated somewhere in the background, the swishing sound of paper falling into the tray almost deafening in the otherwise silent space. No one seemed to even notice that I had walked in.
I walked up to one of the officers and asked to see the Sheriff. The officer looked up at me, stretched and yawned, then looked back at his phone.
“What do you need to see him about?”
“I was asked to come down and give a statement,” I replied, fighting the urge to grab the phone and smash it against the wall.
“You can give your statement to me,” he said, swiping a finger across the screen of his phone.
“I would, but you seem a little too preoccupied by important police matters for me to bother you,” I replied. The officer shot me an annoyed glare that made me smile. “I’d rather talk to Sheriff Baker.”