“One. I’m a cheap drunk.”
I lean against his shoulder. “You are. And I’m sorry for putting you—”
“No.” He gives me a stern look. “Having met your sister, I now understand why you’re so quick to take all the blame. Because she takes none. If she’s putting the screws to you on this, Casey, please remind her that she knew we were sneaking her in. She chose to ignore our warnings.”
“She realizes that. She’s trying to take her share of the blame, which, yes, isn’t easy for her. Isabel thinks she might be on the spectrum.”
His brows lift.
“Autism,” I say. “It’s a spectrum disorder, which is—”
“A mental condition that can manifest in different ways, to different degrees. We had a guy with Asperger’s a few years back. High functioning. I did my research.” He considers, his head tilted. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I can see hints. It’s not nearly as marked as the guy we had, but like you said, it’s a spectrum disorder.”
“And, as usual, I’m prepared to explain something to you, and you’ve read more about it than I have.”
“That’s what happens when you don’t have a television. And you have six fucking months of darkness.”
“Well, April’s actually doing better. Isabel has spoken to her, and April asked Kenny to call her on it, when she sounds harsher than she intends.”
“Kenny?”
“That’s what I said. No idea how that happened, but it does mean April’s making an effort. She isn’t blaming me if we run into trouble getting her out of here, but I really don’t want there to be trouble. It’s tough enough between us without adding one more reason for her to treat me like a screwup.”
He mutters under his breath at that, but says, “We’ll take her with us to Dawson tomorrow. Fuck the council. I’m not even telling them.”
When I tense, he says, “Val’s dead. Phil’s been exiled here. Protocol’s blown to hell. When we ask to talk to someone, we get that Émilie lady. As far as I’m concerned, until they get their shit together, we’re on our own here.”
“That’s your story, and you’re sticking to it?”
“Yep. No one told us April can’t leave. They never even said much about it after Phil’s hissy fit. No one from the council has reprimanded us for bringing her in, so now that her job is done, off she goes. Now, did you say something about leads?”
I tell him about Sebastian and Roy.
“Roy seems like a long shot,” I say. “If it was anyone else, I’d dismiss it outright. The timeline is too tight. But he otherwise makes a good suspect. He hasn’t been here long, and Paul’s right that he’s a troublemaker. I don’t know if that’s enough to warrant you giving me his backstory, though.”
“Good enough excuse,” he says. “That’s all I need.”
The only person here who is supposed to know a resident’s “real” story is Dalton. The problem is that I’ve been brought in as a detective. Sometimes I need those stories to solve a case.
As soon as Garcia showed up, Dalton and I had discussed residents who might be the subject of a federal warrant. It was a very short conversation, one that went something like this.
Me: Has anyone in town committed a US federal crime?
Dalton: Not that I know.
Even with Paul, Dalton had only been told that Paul accidentally struck a law enforcement officer during a protest. Without more detail, it’s a huge jump from that to “has a federal warrant out for his arrest.”
Neither of us is even completely clear on what justifies a federal warrant. I gave Dalton the short rundown of what qualifies in Canada. He still had nothing.
If Garcia is actually a bounty hunter or a hit man, that throws the playing field wide open, encompassing, well, everyone really. Our hidden criminals. Our white-collar criminals. Those legitimately here seeking refuge.…
So when we have suspects, I’m going to need to know the backstory they gave. That’s the only way I can even begin to determine how likely it is that they’ve caught the attention of a bounty hunter or hit man.
“Roy’s a white-collar guy,” Dalton says. “A capital-A asshole hustler who ran a pyramid scheme, cheating folks out of their retirement money. I grumbled. I always grumble with guys like that. If they cheat a big company, I realize it trickles down to the little guy one way or another, but actually cheating regular people feels worse, you know?”
I do. Unfortunately, I know, too, that Dalton’s grumbles had been only a token show of protest. The council doesn’t care. When it comes to white-collar criminals, all that matters is whether their checks clear. If we complain, we get a lecture from Phil on the costs of running Rockton and the fact that even if guys like Roy are indeed capital-A assholes, they aren’t a threat in a society that runs on a strictly regulated economy of credits.
“We will investigate his story,” Dalton says, “but it wasn’t throwing up red flags for me. He’s here for being an asshole, and he’s continued being an asshole. That isn’t a sinner pretending to be a saint. Attacking you over that lynch mob bullshit, though, took it to a whole other level.”