Page 107 of The Killing Plains

The man obeyed. Avery shone the light full in his face, then let out a long, low whistle of surprise.

Chapter 29

For several seconds, the captive stood blinking in the glare of the flashlight. He was a stranger, Colly saw—a white male in his mid-thirties, broad-shouldered and dark-haired, with the tanned face and pale forehead of a hat-wearing outdoorsman.

“Well, well. Dave Carroway,” Avery said finally. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Colly stared. “DaveCarroway?”

“Leave me alone—I didn’t do nothing.”

“How’d you get here? Where’s your truck?” Avery demanded.

“Down yonder.” Carroway gestured towards the road. “I just come to leave a note. Read that, and lemme go home.” He turned, but Avery blocked the way.

“Someone broke into this house today, and now you’re snooping around. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

Carroway spat. “Have it your way. I ain’t no burglar. Just get that damn light out of my face.”

They walked back to the farmhouse in silence. The white envelope still lay on the mat. Colly picked it up. In the living room, she sat on the couch. Avery flopped down beside her and pointed Carroway to an armchair.

Colly studied the newcomer. The indoor lighting revealed a pinched, sharp-featured face and arms pocked with blotchyscars—from long-healed meth sores, most likely. The knees of his jeans were dirty and ripped where he’d landed on the gravel outside. She glimpsed blood through the torn place.

“Why’d you run away?” she asked.

Carroway gestured sullenly towards the envelope in her hand. “Just read that.”

Colly tapped it thoughtfully against her palm, then dropped it onto the coffee table. “I’d rather hear it from your own mouth.”

“Aw, hell, read it, will ya? You can ask me questions after.” Though his tone was hostile, Carroway seemed more anxious than angry. He glanced wildly towards the door and leaned forward, ready to bolt.

Beside her, Colly felt Avery shift, preparing to give chase again.

“Relax, David. Everything’s fine,” Colly said. “The sooner you tell me what this is about, the quicker you’re out of here.”

Carroway stared blankly at her for a minute, then ran a hand roughly over his face. “Yeah, okay.”

Colly waited, but he seemed unable to begin.

“Need some water?” Avery sprang up without waiting for an answer and headed for the kitchen, returning momentarily with a glass.

Carroway drank half the water in one long swallow. “Thanks.” He took a deep breath and looked at Colly. “I reckon you know about me?”

“I know you own a farm on Salton Road, and you’ve had a few run-ins with police. And I know my brother-in-law Willis molested you when you were a kid.”

“No, he didn’t.”

Colly wasn’t sure what she’d expected to hear, but it wasn’t this. “Excuse me?”

Carroway reddened. “That’s the story, all right. But Willis Newland never touched me. I kept my mouth shut for thirty years.But when she come by the farm asking questions this morning”—he nodded towards Avery—“it stirred things up.”

Colly stared. “You lied?”

“Yes—no. I don’t know. Not at first.”

Colly held up her hand. “Start from the beginning.”

Carroway shifted uneasily. “My family and the Newlands went to the same church when I was a kid. Willis was seven or eight years older than me, but he was kinda slow, so mentally we weren’t so far apart. I liked him. We used to play together, sometimes.” Carroway took another quick gulp of water. “One day, when I was six, Willis was pushing me on the swing set after church. I needed to take a piss, so he took me inside to find my mom. But we couldn’t find her. I was about to wet my pants, so Willis took me to the bathroom. Nobody else was in there. I had trouble with my zipper, so I asked him for help. My dad walked in just as Willis was unzipping my pants.

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