A Killing in the Hills - By Julia Keller Page 0,12

her wrist, glancing at the small watch that was strapped there. ‘It’s not even three o’clock yet. Cut yourself some slack, okay?’

‘Damn it, Bell. I know what time it is.’

He wasn’t mad at her. He was mad at the circumstances. She knew that and didn’t react.

Nick Fogelsong closed the notebook by lifting it in a quick loop, causing the cover to flap shut. He tossed it on his desk. Watched it land. ‘The thing I don’t know,’ he went on, ‘is where the hell the shooter went. He’s still out there somewhere. Maybe planning something else.’

‘Still no leads?’ Bell said, knowing the answer but also knowing she needed to ask, to give Nick a place to go with his anger. A speech he could make, to siphon off the frustration.

‘Not a goddamned one. We did our sweep through the county and the state police put out an alert for the whole region, but it was way too late. Bastard could be in Pennsylvania or Ohio by now, for all we know. Or Timbuktu.’ With his right thumbnail, Fogelsong scratched his right eyebrow. ‘It just happened too fast to get a decent description. It was just boom boom boom – and three men are dead.’

‘Security cameras?’

‘They were down for servicing. Just our luck.’

‘Well, it was lucky for somebody. That’s for damned sure.’

The sheriff frowned. Bell could tell that something had stopped his thoughts cold and then got them going again in another direction entirely.

‘Hey,’ he said, voice softer, expression shifting. ‘You sure this is okay for you right now? Working on this, I mean? That was a pretty grim scene over there, and with Carla involved as a witness and all, and given everything else, I’m a little bit worried that maybe it might be too mu—’

‘Nick.’

Her interruption was swift and harsh. She knew exactly what he meant by ‘everything else’ – and she didn’t like it. Didn’t care for the fact that he’d brought it up while they were dealing with a case.

‘We discussed this,’ she snapped. ‘Over and over and over again. Four years ago. Before I was even sworn in. We talked about it until we were both damned sick of the topic, remember? It’s history. Come on. I do my job.’

‘Yeah. But this one’s different. Hits a little close to home. Don’t you think?’

She looked down at her lap to buy time. She felt exactly the way she’d felt when Deputy Mathers had tried to stop her that morning.

Get out of my way, Bell thought. Get out of my damned way.

‘Bell?’ the sheriff pressed, when her answer wasn’t quick in coming. ‘You know what I’m saying. You’ve been through some things.’

‘Me and everybody else.’ She recrossed her legs at the knee, leaned over, and picked a short white thread from the black trouser cuff. Busy work. Anything to keep from having to look at him. ‘Lots of folks have lousy childhoods, Nick.’

‘Not like yours.’

She’d heard enough. This wasn’t the time.

‘I do my job,’ she repeated. She said it slowly, with no emotion, but something brusque and unpleasant hunched behind the words.

‘Sure you do,’ the sheriff said. ‘No doubt about it. But didn’t we agree that if it ever got to be too much, if it ever started to—’

‘Nick.’ This time the interruption came even faster, even meaner, with an edge that seemed sharp enough to draw blood if you weren’t careful around it. ‘Let’s move on,’ she said. ‘What’s next?’

4

What was next was a moment of strained silence. Conversation could sometimes be difficult with the woman who sat before Nick, her arms crossed, legs crossed, body buttoned up like a storm cellar waiting for the twister to hit and move on. He was often exasperated by her stubbornness. Damn right she was fierce.

At the same time, though, he admired that fierceness. Counted on it. Truth was, nobody worth anything – this was one of Nick’s core convictions, long held, rarely discussed – ever got that way without harboring a contrary streak. The reason he rarely discussed it was because he was a sheriff, and a sheriff’s life was made much easier by rule-followers and manners-minders and instant capitulators, by the people who, if they passed his squad car going in the opposite direction, slowed down five or ten miles per hour even if they weren’t speeding in the first place. He was supposed to prefer that sort of person.

He didn’t. He secretly liked the ones who challenged him from time to time, who gave him resistance. The