Five

It was nearly two by the time Megan and Denver arrived at the Winsome police station. They were immediately ushered into an austere, windowless room and asked to wait for King. He marched in fifteen minutes later carrying two cups of black coffee, his expression grim.

“Sorry, Megan. Didn’t know you were coming too. Want my coffee?” King proffered the paper cup. Megan declined.

“Okay that she stays?” Denver asked. “Just for moral support.”

“That’s fine for now.” He glanced at Megan, obviously weighing his words. “Maybe she can offer some insight. Being a former lawyer and all.”

Confidentiality issues, Megan thought. Which must mean Dillon’s involved.

Sure enough, King’s next words gave her chills. “The boy found the body.”

“Damn,” Denver muttered. “Dillon’s been through enough, Bobby. Do you know about his past?”

Bobby nodded. “Father is in prison. Accused of killing his mother.” King rubbed his temple with a beefy paw. “Look, this is a rough one, I get that, but before I can tell you anything, we need to ask you some questions. On the record. Any objection?”

“None at all.” Denver sat straighter in the chair.

“Not here. One of my officers will talk to you.” His expression was apologetic. “She’ll want to know where you were this morning.”

Denver nodded. “Chase was a friend. I understand. You need to be thorough.”

“Your aunt too. It’s just routine. You get it.”

Denver said, “Not exactly our first rodeo.”

King nodded. None of them needed reminding that Chase’s body was not the first to turn up in Winsome. King started to stand as the door to the room opened. A red-haired, heavily freckled officer entered.

“If you could go with my officer, that would be great.” King turned to Megan. “Can you stick around?”

“I’m with Denver, so sure.”

Megan watcher Denver leave. Silence hung between King and her, a silence filled with the dread of resignation. Both parties knew that a murder in Winsome meant news media, shock, rumors, and panic. Especially an unsolved murder.

Megan waited for King to speak. He’d want to keep the lid on this for as long as possible. But he knew she was discreet. If he wanted to talk with her it was about something other than discretion.

Finally, he said, “We got a messed-up kid here, Megan. I didn’t want to say anything to Denver until we go through the official protocols and get his statement, but Denver’s right. Dillon has been through a lot. He could be a ticking time bomb.” King paused. “I’m glad you’re here, though.”

His shrug seemed almost shy. It was such a young gesture, one that reminded Megan that their Chief was not that much older than a kid himself. She felt fondness for King rush through her. Fondness and a strong sense of protectiveness. They’d been through a lot together. She was glad he consulted her, even unofficially.

Megan nodded, meeting his gaze with a half smile that, she hoped, conveyed empathy. “What can I do?”

King sat forward in his chair. He folded his hands on the scarred wooden table wedged between them. “Thing is, this kid—Dillon—found the body. At least he says he did.”

“You don’t believe him?”

“You know as well as I that it’s not my job to believe or disbelieve. It’s all about establishing facts.”

“Fine, Bobby, but you know what I mean. You have some reason to think he’s lying?”

After a pause, King said, “I have every reason to believe Dillon is lying.”

“Ouch.”

“I’ll say.” King stood up and walked to the door. He opened it, glanced into the hallway, and pushed it shut again with more force than was necessary. “Denver’s aunt. A potential media blitz. Winsome’s collective mental health. It’s a nightmare. But Dillon…no investigator wants a kid like Dillon to be their chief suspect.”

“And poor Chase.” Megan said, thinking of the man she saw the day before. “Having him die, and in our beloved Lyle Lake State Park, no less, is a nightmare, period.”

“Yes.”

Megan motioned toward the chair opposite her. “Sit, Bobby. There’s a reason you wanted me to stay. What is it?”

King turned the chair backwards and straddled it. “The victim was found with the murder weapon. A utility knife. We’ve identified it as Chase’s utility knife.”

“Were they alone?”

“From what we can tell, the victim—”

“Chase.”

King nodded absentmindedly. “Chase. Had been alone. The kid split off from the group and wandered down into a clearing by the pond. Chase went after him. They were gone for a short while—some witnesses say five minutes, others twenty—when screams erupted. Three of the adults went to find the source of the screams while the others stayed with the kids.”

“Chase had been screaming?”

King shook his head. “No. They found Chase on the ground. He was already dead.” King swallowed, hard. “It was the kid who was screaming.” He closed his eyes. “For his mother.”

Megan remembered what Eloise had said. The boy’s father was in prison, mom was deceased. Megan felt bile rise in her throat. “Oh, Bobby.”

“Sad, right? Heartbreaking. Problem is, he was covered with the victim’s blood.”

Megan frowned. “That doesn’t necessarily make him guilty.”

“No, it doesn’t. But take a troubled kid with a family history of domestic violence, add an isolated setting, and give him the means—access to the murder weapon—and the opportunity, and you have a problem on your hands.”

“You need motive too, Bobby. Why would Dillon want to do that to a man he barely knew?” Her face contorted in horror. “Could it have been self-defense? Have you asked him?”

“That’s the other thing.” Voices could be heard on the other side of the door, and King lowered his own. “The kid won’t talk.”

“Won’t say anything until he has an attorney? Or won’t talk at all?”

“Just won’t talk.” King’s young face sagged. “It’s like he’s comatose. Just stares out into space, silent.”

“Shock?”

A curt nod. “He’s at the hospital now being evaluated. We’ve asked for a psychiatric evaluation. It will take time.”

Megan let all of this sink in. Dead businessman in Winsome for a charitable deed. Troubled teen at the scene of the crime, screaming for his late mother. A killer? Or an unfortunate witness?

“Where was the staff? The other people from BOLD?”

King said, “They were up at the campsite involved in their own groups’ activities when this happened. No one was paying much attention.” King pulled a beefy hand through limp blond hair. “Denver will be back any minute, and I’ll share some of this with him. But I want Denver and Eloise Kent to know I’m not the enemy here, Megan. This kid looks guilty. And maybe he is. You didn’t see him in that hospital room.” He shook his head as though ridding himself of the memory. “This big kid rocking like a child. If I know Eloise, she will fight me tooth and nail to protect Dillon’s confidentiality. She’s stubborn. I want the truth, not a scapegoat.” His gaze was beseeching. “I’d appreciate if you’d help me get through to them.”

“I can’t convince Eloise to do anything she’s uncomfortable with. She’s a pediatrician. Her concern will be for Dillon, Bobby. You know that.”

“I’m just afraid in her effort to protect him, she’ll make things worse.”

Megan understood. Bibi could be the same way with Megan’s father, Eddie—so determined to protect him that her actions hurt him in the end. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”

The door handle jiggled, and King hopped out of the chair. “She needs to know we’re on the same side. I want him protected too. From the media. From those who will assume guilt.” The door opened. King turned in the direction of the entryway, and said, “And from himself.”