“I had to,” she said. “She’s entitled to representation.”
His eyes darted to the soundproof door, ensuring it was shut tightly. “Do you really think the right thing to do is to play me? The two of you? I take it you have an end game in mind. You mind cluing me in on what it is exactly?”
She glared back at him. “What’s that mean?”
“There’s a dead body in the hospital cooler and I need answers. You and Kira are right in the middle of this.”
“You think I killed him?”
“You’re protecting her. She’s protecting you. Do you actually think I can’t see that? Do you actually think you can keep this up? It’s a homicide, Fiona. It doesn’t get any more serious than this.”
She squinted. “I’m worried about you.”
He slapped the table. She jumped back.
“Homicide! I’m talking about the fire. I’m talking about a baseball bat from Michael Engleton’s collection. I’m talking about you and Kira doing this dance that’s growing really old and is not going to hold up. You want attorneys involved? You’d rather have Peter Arian handling this than me? Jesus!” He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. “You two had better get in front of this. I had a plan—one you’ve just made a hell of a lot more complicated. I hope to hell you have one, because this thing is coming apart on you—on both of you.”
“You think I set that fire? Are you still playing like you didn’t do that for me? You want to talk? Talk.”
“Me?” he asked incredulously. “This is me we’re talking about.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you?”
He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “Now. Right here, right now. You look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t set that fire.”
“I didn’t set that fire.”
His mind raced. “No way,” he mumbled.
“I . . . told . . . you . . . I . . . didn’t.”
“Kira? Do you think she could have overheard us?”
“From inside that house? I don’t think so, Walt. You can’t hear anything from in there. It’s a fortress. And if she was in the safe room—a room I didn’t even know existed!—you really think so?”
“You should never have brought Peter Arian into this. You send him packing. I can work this out if you’d just let me.”
“Let you railroad Kira? I don’t think so.”
“‘Some cases go cold,’ ” he said back at her.
“What?”
“You said that to me.”
“Did I?”
His patience tested, he fought to stay in his chair. “Yes, you did. I’m attempting to bring charges against her. You have to stay out of this.”
“I will not stay out of it. I will not allow that. She’s been through—”
“This is my job. My world. Stay out of it.”
“Is that an order, Sheriff?” All life had gone out of her. She leaned away from him, nearly tipping over the chair.
“If I can’t push Arian off the base, if he gets to her, then my game plan is over. At that point, you two will need to get in front of this.” A mechanical silence hung between them—the eerie whisper of HVAC. “Terry Hogue’s the best criminal lawyer in town. You call Terry.”
“What plan,” she said. “You said you have a plan.”
“Had,” he corrected. “I said I had a plan. With Arian in the mix, the evidence is going to come out, and that’s coming back to bite her.”
But a worm started drilling through his head: the unidentified prints on the baseball bat; Fiona’s insistence she hadn’t set the fire; the probable height of Gale’s attacker. The bits and pieces began to come together in unexpected ways.
“The fire was not a lightning strike,” he said. “You don’t talk about something and two hours later it spontaneously combusts. Do you see how it plays out if it’s forced to play out? Kira goes off the rails at the Advocates dinner. She’s unstable. She takes after him like she almost did to me that night. Then she takes the truck and runs. Comes back and hides. Overhears us, and sets the fire. There is evidence to support most of this. My plan . . . Well, at least I had one. I hope you do.”
She was squinting and blinking and looked as if she was either going to cry or pass out.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I need a minute.” She sat there breathing deeply. He wasn’t sure what to do—an uncommon feeling in him. “I need to see Katherine. I need to talk