shoulder. The oppressive heat made it feel like she was walking through thick soup as she made her way to the glass door, but she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other until she got there.
She walked into the tiny lobby, which was painted a muted green color that reminded her of the moss out behind her old trailer. There were three metal chairs pushed against the wall, and a bulletproof reception window with a speaker in it.
“Can I help you?” A uniformed woman raised her eyebrows from behind the glass. Jess was surprised to realize she didn’t recognize her. Somehow she’d figured she’d recognize everyone, like nothing had changed in the thirteen years she’d been gone.
“Yes.” She blew out a breath. “I have information—on a crime.”
The eyebrows went higher. “Have a seat. Someone will be right with you.”
One minute later, the door opened and an officer whose face actually looked familiar motioned her through, then waved her into a seat beside his metal desk. He reached out a hand. “Victor Carlyle. You graduated with my son Tyler. Or—well, you were in the same class, right?”
Right. She hadn’t graduated. He’d probably remembered that just one beat too late. She remembered Tyler as one of the smart kids, one of the ones who lived closer to Charleston, one of the ones whose parents probably made Sunday dinner and gave him an allowance.
She put her hand in his for a brief second, then pulled back.
“You want a coffee or anything?” His eyes were concerned as they flipped from Jess’s shaky hands to her eyes.
“No, thank you.”
“Okay.” He sat down behind his desk and pulled out a sheet of blank paper. “How about you tell me why you’re here.”
Jess took another deep breath, tried to find the words she’d practiced on the flight, but they wouldn’t come. Instead, in the face of Victor’s concerned expression, something happened. Maybe it was the fact that she was back here in Smugglers’ Gully breathing the dank air and wishing to be anywhere but here. Maybe it was the fact that she’d finally dared walk into the police station after all these years.
Maybe it was the fact that her admission to Cole had stripped her so bare last night that she had no defenses left.
She had no idea.
But instead of the phrases she’d rehearsed, different words flew out of her mouth. She talked about Mack, and seeing him crumple, and not telling what she knew. And Victor nodded, and his pen moved on a yellow pad, and Jess found the noise of it somehow comforting.
“What happened after you left the convenience store?” He stopped his pen, and Jess swallowed.
“I’m not sure that’s—relevant,” she tried. “That’s all I know about the night he shot Mack.” She closed her eyes tightly, trying not to see the gun, the flash, the crumpling.
“I know Billy, and I have a feeling there might be more to the story.” Victor put down his pen. “We can help you, if you let us.”
She shook her head, feeling tears spring up behind her eyes. No. This wasn’t why she was here. She just wanted to confess her role in Mack’s shooting. Wanted to confess that she’d known Billy did it. Wanted to confess that she’d never, ever told anyone. Wanted the officer to show her a cell and take her keys and purse. Wanted to sit quietly and stop remembering.
“Billy’s incarcerated, hon.” He leaned down to try to look into her eyes. “He’s away for a long, long time. He can’t hurt you.”
“He—he is?” Jess’s eyes widened as she looked up.
Victor nodded, but didn’t elaborate.
“For—this? For Mack?”
“This, and a pretty long list of other things. You weren’t the first woman he hurt, and you definitely weren’t the last.”
“How—” How did he know?
“We got an anonymous tip about a month after the shooting.” He paused. “I think we both know who it probably came from.”
Grampy. Her hand flew to her mouth.
“My theory is he waited until he knew you were safe, out of Billy’s reach, and then he called.”
“But if Billy’d ever found out—”
“Billy had a lot of enemies, Jess. They were more than happy to see him get put away. We had a lot of help with this one.”
“Oh God.”
Victor reached across the desk. “Billy needed to be behind bars. And until he’s approximately 153 years old, that’s where he’ll be.”
Jess felt her shoulders slowly deflate. The man was never going to be able to hurt anyone again. Was never going