I woke at about noon. My entire body ached, and my head pounded as if I were hung over. Roger must have heard me get up because he ran into my bedroom and licked my hand as I swung my legs off the bed. The sweatpants and shirt I had picked up at the hospital felt rough and scratchy. My arm hurt, but it didn’t burn or itch—two signs of infection the doctors at the ER had warned me to watch for. That was nice.
I drank a glass of water before showering and getting dressed. The doctors at the ER had given me some antibiotics and painkillers, so I took both and drove into work. I should have taken the day off. If I did that, though, I’d sit around all day thinking about the shooting. The round that grazed my arm could have hit my chest, or it could have nicked a major artery.
As a police officer, I knew the risks that came with wearing a badge. I had never lost a colleague while in St. Augustine, but a couple hundred police officers per year died in the United States in the line of duty. Despite the risks, I put on my badge every morning because I believed in the work I did. People needed help, and I gave it. Nothing I did could bring a murder victim back from the dead, but I could give a family justice.
I didn’t like the thought of almost dying while chasing Christopher Hughes. He had taken enough from me. He didn’t deserve more.
Trisha stopped me as I walked into the station. The waiting room was empty, making it a rare quiet moment during fair week.
“I heard what happened to you in St. Louis. You don’t need to be here.”
“I’ve got paperwork to fill out,” I said. “I either do it here, or I sit home alone. The ambience here is nicer.”
“I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Me, too. Thanks,” I said, starting toward my desk. Before I could go more than a few feet, I stopped myself. “Have you seen Travis this morning?”
“He’s with a detective from St. Louis. They’re trying to track down Christopher Hughes to ask about the shooting.”
“So Christopher’s gone to ground?”
“Best we can tell, yeah. We tried his hotel this morning, but he’s not there. His lawyer claims he hasn’t seen him, either. He’ll show up. He’s suing St. Louis County. There’s too much money at stake.”
I nodded. Even after thinking about it, I didn’t know what happened last night. The shooters could have been trying to kill me, but they could have been after Christopher Hughes. They might have even targeted the shop’s owner. The investigating officers would figure that out. As a witness, I needed to stay away from it.
“Those missing high school kids ever show up?” I asked.
Trisha shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
Now that was troubling. If they had been adults, I would have suspected they had eloped and gone on a honeymoon to spite their parents. Missing teenagers should have returned by now. They didn’t have enough money to disappear this long.
“And no one’s even seen their car?”
Trisha shook her head again. “Not that we know of. Highway Patrol has issued a statewide notice on the car. If it’s in Missouri, we’ll find it.”
I nodded, already thinking. “If they’re gone too much longer, we’ll bring in some help. If you need me, I’ll be at my desk. I’ve got paperwork to fill out.”
She smiled and nodded. Her phone rang almost the moment I turned my back. No rest for the weary during fair week. I looked forward to having free time again.
I walked to my desk and checked my messages. My boss had called and left me a voicemail, which told me I was on desk duty pending an investigation into my shooting in St. Louis. St. Augustine wasn’t big enough to have our own internal affairs section, so the St. Louis Metro Police Department would handle the investigation. It was a formality considering I had only fired my weapon after being fired upon, but it was important. The rules mattered. I wasn’t above them because I carried a badge.
While all that was going on, Travis, officers from the Highway Patrol, and detectives from both St. Louis County and the city were trying to find Christopher Hughes. They could have him. He may not have killed the garage owner, but he was there when it happened, and he had gone there to commit some kind of crime. Once they found him, they’d book him on felony murder charges. He was toast.
I spent the afternoon writing reports. Those missing teenagers worried me. Desk duty or not, I planned to follow up.
I started by calling Paige Maxwell’s and Jude Lewis’s parents. Neither had heard from their children or their children’s friends. Next, I called the principal at their school, who said the kids hadn’t attended since their disappearance. Next, I called the local bank and learned neither had used their debit cards or withdrawn money from the ATM since going missing. After that, I checked their social media accounts, but neither had posted anything since their disappearance.
On the off chance they were sitting in a holding cell somewhere out of state, I called law enforcement agencies in Illinois, Arkansas, Kentucky, and Tennessee. Nobody had seen the kids, and there had been no reports of traffic accidents involving their vehicle.
After striking out all afternoon, I stood up from my desk with my stomach rumbling. It was a little after five. I hadn’t wasted the day, but it felt like it. The swing shift would come in soon. They didn’t need me.
I got my things together, told Trisha I’d see her tomorrow, and then headed out. On my way home, I stopped by a grocery store and picked up a twelve pack of a pale ale I liked, two rice bowls with chicken and teriyaki sauce from the prepared food section, and a big bag of ice.
At home, Roger met me on the porch and bowed in front of me, his signal that he wanted to play. I put my groceries away and tossed him a ball until he calmed down.
Years ago, I couldn’t tire him out no matter what I did. We’d run through the woods for an hour in the morning, and then he’d want me to throw him a ball or a stick all day. Now, if he followed me jogging in the morning, he’d go—maybe—a quarter mile before turning around, and he’d only chase a ball a few times before having to sit.
Every day, I saw fresh signs of his aging body, but every day, he gave me a new reason to love him. I couldn’t ask for more from a friend.
It was about six when we finished playing. I figured I might as well exercise, so I changed into some athletic gear and then hit the trails in the woods near my house. Roger didn’t follow far, but he came with me at first. Then a squirrel caught his attention, and he ran home.
I worked up a sweat, came home, and had my dinner on the front porch. Roger sat at my feet. It was a comfortable night, but it was lonely. I figured I had done enough drinking while alone these past few days, so I changed into some clean clothes and went to a bar on the edge of St. Augustine.
I wouldn’t take a friend to The Barking Spider, but I knew it would be the least crowded bar in town during fair week. It had two pool tables, a bar, and cheap tables and chairs through a big, open room. Someone always smoked no matter when I came in, and the jukebox seemed to play only Def Leppard.
I parked on the edge of a full lot and went inside. There weren’t many seats left, but the room wasn’t so crowded that I had a hard time making my way to the bar where I found a single open stool near the bathroom. Everyone around me seemed to be talking at once, so I couldn’t hear what anyone said. It was just enough noise to leave me alone with my thoughts.
As I sat down, the bartender nodded a greeting as he filled a plastic pitcher with Bud Light.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
“Jack and Coke with a shot of Wild Turkey on the side.”
He raised his eyebrows for a moment and then poured. I downed the shot and slipped him a ten before looking at the surrounding room. I rarely drank bourbon, but it seemed to fit the decor better than a shot of vodka would have. Plus, The Barking Spider’s vodka tasted more like rubbing alcohol than something a human being should have ingested.
The shot hit me about five minutes later, and I felt my shoulders relax. After two more shots, my mood lightened even further. I drew from the energy of the crowd. For the first time that day, I didn’t think about Paige Maxwell or her boyfriend, Jude Lewis; I didn’t think about Christopher Hughes, or Megan and Emily Young; I didn’t think about the shooting last night or the dead mechanic. I felt normal.
After about an hour, a man about my age sat beside me and smiled. I knew most of The Barking Spider’s regulars, and this guy didn’t fit in. He wore jeans and a T-shirt and polished black shoes. He didn’t even try to hide the wedding ring on his left ring finger.
“Hey,” he said. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“No thanks,” I said, already feeling my words slur.
“It’s all right,” he said, motioning toward the bartender. “Two shots. Whatever the lady’s having.”
The bartender poured, and the tourist pushed one to me. I pushed it back. My pleasant buzz subsided.
“No, thank you,” I said, forcing myself to smile as I reached to my purse for my wallet. I looked to the bartender. “I’ll cash out now.”
“It’s just a drink,” said my new friend. He smiled. “Come on. It won’t hurt you. Have a drink with me. You’re the prettiest girl in the bar.”
“No, thank you,” I said.
He put his hand on my leg and squeezed my thigh above the knee. His smile never wavered.
“I just bought you a drink. At least have the courtesy of being nice.”
I looked down. “Remove your hand, please.”
He took his hand away but then leaned his torso toward mine, crowding me.
“It’s just a drink, sweetheart,” he said. His smile wasn’t so friendly. “I’m not asking you to sleep with me. I’m alone. You’re alone. I’m asking for you to have a drink with me. No pressure.”
I looked to the bartender again. “Leo, call me a cab, please.”
The guy beside me leaned closer so that I could feel his breath on my cheek. His eyes traveled down my neck and then my chest.
“I’ll drive you home. I’ve got a car outside.”
Leo, the bartender, grabbed a phone but stayed close.
“Buddy,” he said. “Joe asked you to leave her alone. You should listen.”
The tourist smiled at me. “A pretty girl named Joe. I like that.”
I had spent a lot of evenings in bars, so men had pushed drinks on me before. As long as they backed off when I declined, I didn’t mind. Men who didn’t understand the word no pissed me off.
“When I was fifteen, a guy like you pushed a lot of alcohol on me. Then he raped me when I passed out,” I said, my voice a whisper. “I’m not a kid anymore. I’ve got a Glock 19 in my purse, a Glock 26 in a holster on my ankle, and a badge on my belt. If you don’t back off, you will see one of the three, and I can’t guarantee which one it’ll be. Your choice, but the odds are high you’ll get some gratuitous holes in you if you don’t leave me alone.”
He held his gaze on me for a moment and then leaned back.
“Fuck you, bitch,” he said, reaching to the bar for his shot. He downed it and then walked away. Leo watched him and then leaned close so we could talk over the din of the room.
“You still want that cab?” he asked. I nodded, having lost my buzz.
“Yeah. I need to get out of here.”
“Want a drink before you go? Consider it a thank you for not shooting him.”
I looked to the bar where the asshole had left the shot he ordered me. I picked it up, downed it in a gulp, and then shook my head as I stood on legs wobbly from booze.
“No, but thanks,” I said, taking deep breaths and willing the room to stop spinning. When I felt I could walk to the door without tripping over my own feet, I took a deep breath. I felt a little better. “I’ll wait outside.”
Leo nodded and leaned a little closer. He lowered his voice.
“Maybe next time leave your firearm home when you’re not on duty.”
“I’m not armed,” I said. “I don’t drink and shoot. It doesn’t work out well for anybody. See you later.”
He straightened. “See you later, Detective Court. Your cab should be here soon. Have a good night.”
I thanked him and then walked out, hoping I wouldn’t puke on the ride home.