The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,104

ought to go before he gets here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sievers said. He took his time settling the rifle in the rack at the back of the truck, adjusting himself in his seat, leaning out the window to consider the distant, red-gold flicker of the bonfire. Someone had turned up the music, and to judge by the shadows, they were dancing again. “You know,” Sievers said, “it’s really a shame the pigs didn’t finish her. I thought the eco-dyke would have appreciated being shat out by her own fucking herd.”

Then he hit the gas, and the truck leaped forward, tires slewing as he turned hard. The tailgate barely missed Jem, and he had to drag Tean back a step to keep him from being hit.

“Asshole,” Jem shouted after the winking red taillights. “Motherfucker!”

“Did you hear what he said?” Tean asked.

“I heard.”

“Did the police tell anyone where they found the body?”

“What?”

“Was it in any of the news stories? How would Sievers know that someone had tried to destroy the remains by feeding them to the pigs?”

Jem just shook his head. The day was catching up to him—Brigitte Fitzpatrick, the smell of her household garbage on him, Ammon, the key to apartment 4D, the fire, the music, the fight, the Fireball smell of whiskey and cinnamon, the tailgate whipping past Tean, almost hitting him. It all churned together into a white roar.

Tean looked at him, frowned, and said, “We need to get you home.”

They were halfway up the drive when they saw a man lying in the grass, one hand over his thigh, moaning. A woman knelt next to him. It was the girl in the bikini top. When Jem looked at her, she smiled and rolled her eyes.

“He got me right in the leg,” the man kept saying. “Right in the leg.”

“You’re not shot,” the girl said in the tone of someone who has already said something a hundred times. “Get up, Uncle Hiram. Another beer will help.”

“Is he really ok?” Tean asked.

“He’s fine,” the girl said. “He’s just a hysterical old drama queen.” The girl shivered, and Jem could see her skin dimpled from the cold as she wrapped her arms around herself. “Although, I guess to be fair, a run-in with John Sievers is enough to make anybody act like a drama queen.”

“He shot me,” Uncle Hiram said.

“Nobody shot you.” To Jem and Tean, she said, “You can’t blame them for thinking he’d do it, though. Those videos he puts out, damn. He’s got to be psycho to do that stuff.”

“Pretty ugly stuff,” Tean said. “The traps. The way he goes after that coyote.”

“What? Oh. Not that one. I’m talking about the things he does to that poor bear.”

29

At eleven o’clock the next morning, they were sitting in an interview room at the SLCPD main station. PROCEEDINGS ARE ALWAYS MONITORED AND RECORDED was taped to the two-way glass, and someone had doodled penises around all the vowels. Tean had a cup of coffee, eight sugars and four creams, that he was spinning in slow circles. Jem had a cup of coffee, two sugars and two creams. The coffee almost masked the lingering smell of vomit that filled the room. Jem kept touching his head. Tean had already asked him three times if he was all right. The first two times, Jem had mumbled something. The third time he had ignored Tean completely.

“Thank you for bringing this to us,” Ammon said. He’d just about worn the phrase out during the meeting. Then he rubbed his eyes. Dark circles ringed them, and they were bloodshot. “I promise we’ll take this information into consideration.”

Kat had been silent most of the time, sitting with her arms folded, grinding her teeth so hard that Tean thought once or twice he could hear her.

“It’s all there,” Tean said. His throat hurt from talking, and he could feel a headache of his own coming on. He’d been up all night, first watching the videos that the girl had mentioned, and then compiling everything he’d learned. He wasn’t sure when he’d last slept a full night. Two days ago? Three? “He’s got that bear somewhere on his property, and that’s how he killed Joy. That bear is sick and hurt, and he’s tortured it until it’s crazy. It ripped Joy’s arm off. Then he dumped the body in the pig pen. It’s only his bad luck that they had the gravel delivered the next morning and ripped out the pen; otherwise, Joy would be gone completely, and nobody would