Nearly a week passed before Ben returned to the county jail. The trip had a surreal quality. His wife had recently been an inmate here, and passing through the iron gates would always remind him of that. The last time he had walked through this door, it had signaled the end of a desperate journey. He’d rescued his wife and imprisoned a cop. When he’d left the building that day, he’d delivered Alex to her son and father in what was the proudest moment of his life.
In the hours and days that had followed her release, he had not left her side. They ate, slept, and bathed together. It was the stuff of storybooks, and Ben had never felt more alive, especially during their private homecoming, after Jake was finally in bed. But there was unfinished business to attend to. Ben found Corporal Reynolds again on duty.
“Good morning, Sergeant Sawyer. He’s waiting for you in the interview room.”
“Thanks, Darnell.” Every head turned and every jailer greeted him as Ben passed through the series of gates that led to the interview room. Of all the publicity the story had gained, none of the experience was more important to him than to be back in good standing as a cop and to have the unqualified respect of his peers. He walked into the interview room and found the man there waiting with the patience only an experienced con can display. A patience that acknowledged that time was not a factor in his life.
“Heard you wanted to see me, Sawyer,” Harlan Lee said in an emotionless voice still raspy from his injury. “I thought I’d pretty much filled you in on what you needed to know driving down from Florence.” He snorted in what seemed to be admiration, then said, “You done good. You ain’t gotta rub my face in it. I’m gonna do my time, but it’ll be time I earned. I got no beef with that.”
“I appreciate your willingness to see me, Harlan. Then again, you really should get yourself an attorney.”
Harlan’s smile was thin and cold, and Ben felt a chill run down his spine. This was a dangerous man; the black patch that covered one eye added to his air of menace.
“Sawyer, I admitted to killing a half-dozen folks, including a cop. I’ll admit it again in open court. Ain’t no lawyer gonna get me a better deal than life. And as long as I can keep myself in a Wisconsin courtroom, I ain’t looking at the chair. Gotta love the bleedin’ hearts in this state, don’t ya?”
A very strong though strange connection had grown between the two of them in the hours they had spent alone in the sheriff’s four-by-four, driving back from Florence County. After Ben made the conscious decision not to kill Harlan, he’d declared the man under arrest and driven straight to Newberg. During the four-hour drive, Harlan had been handcuffed and seated in the backseat behind the wire mesh as he told Ben his story. Ben was here to review part of that tale.
“I wanted to let you know,” he said. “I looked into that murder in Florence, eighteen years ago.”
Harlan’s one eye showed only the slightest interest, but Ben knew he had the man’s attention. “Whaddya mean? That case is off the books.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t look into it. One thing struck me as odd. You said the gun they pulled out of your car was reported stolen, right?”
“So?”
“It was stolen,” Ben said. “But it was stolen in Newberg. I got to wondering why a kid from Florence steals a gun in Newberg, goes back to Florence to use it in a homicide, then ends up with it back in Newberg.”
“Seems unlikely, don’t it? But maybe you oughta ask that father-in-law of yours.”
“Yeah, maybe I will ask around a bit. But I just thought I’d let you know that I believe you. I don’t think you killed the fella up in Florence. You should have taken it to trial. All this”—Ben waived his arms in a wide circle—“all this could have been avoided. It just took a little police work.”
“Is that how you see it, Sawyer? All it took was police work?” Harlan’s voice was bitter and held more emotion than Ben had heard in their extensive conversations. “And who was I gonna get to do this police work, Sawyer? Lipinski? Norgaard? How about you? If your wife hadn’t been locked up, would you have crossed the street to help my convict ass?”
Harlan turned his head and spit into a corner of the room, then locked his one eye on Ben’s face. “You all stuck me in prison and were set to leave me there. You finally took the time to figure out what really happened all those years ago, but it’s too damn little and too damn late.”
“Okay, Harlan, you got every reason to be mad as hell at Lipinski, Petite, even Lars Norgaard. But all those others, Harlan. Why?”
“What do the bigwigs in Washington call that shit, Sawyer? ‘Collateral damage,’ right? I don’t hear you taking a high-and-mighty tone with them.”
“I thought you deserved to know, Harlan.”
“What about what’s his name? McKenzie?”
“Attempted murder. Conspiracy. Half a dozen other charges. He’s right down the hall from you. He’s going to end up doing near as much time as you. Maybe you two will run across one another.”
Harlan scoffed. “He’d better hope not. I’d kill him on general principles. I got nothing to lose.”
After a short pause, Harlan spoke again. “And your woman. How’s she?”
Ben tried to imagine the circumstances that could’ve led him to having a near intimate conversation with a man soon to be a convicted of multiple homicides. It still seemed altogether unreal. Even more so when he found himself answering the question without hesitation.
“She’s good, Harlan. She’s home. Where she belongs.”
Harlan grunted, “Norgaard?”
Ben looked at Harlan with honest conviction. “He knows, Harlan. He knows the part he played in all this.”
Harlan looked away. Ben wondered what he was thinking.
“So, Harlan. Are you sorry? Any part of you sympathetic to the people you killed? The victims?”
Harlan thought for a moment before answering. “Sympathy is one of them reciprocal kind of emotions. Kinda get a little, give a little, but not a lot has ever been thrown my way, and I don’t lay much out for other folks. Regret, though? Now, hell, Sawyer. That’s a whole different creation. I might sense a bit of regret.”
The men sat in silence for several minutes. Then Ben said, “All right, Harlan. I’ll leave you alone now.”
“Yeah. All right, Sawyer.”
The two men looked one another over. Neither extended a hand or offered a parting word. Ben banged on the door as Harlan stood. A guard arrived and both men turned and walked away. One returning to his life, his home, and his family. The other to his private cell.