Page 8 of The Killing Plains

The night terrors had been better since he’d started counseling. Had bringing him to Crescent Bluff been a mistake? He’d looked so small and vulnerable walking through Mrs. Boyles’ classroom door, white-faced and clutching the straps of his backpack like a parachute. At least Brenda would be close by in case of trouble. She might be draining to talk to, but she was family.

Colly yawned and glanced at the dashboard clock. No time to hit up the Starbucks on the eastern outskirts of town. She’d have to make do with stationhouse swill.

The police station occupied the oldest building in Crescent Bluff, a nineteenth-century structure that locals still called theOld Courthouse, though it hadn’t served in that capacity since the 1950s. Built of rough-hewn limestone, it sat in a grove of mature live oaks at the west end of Market Street, a little apart from the shops.

Colly parked in the lot next to the station. As she got out of the car, a side door in the Courthouse opened, and a man in a policeman’s uniform and western boots trotted towards her, waving. Colly felt something twist painfully in her stomach.

Russ Newland was in his mid-forties, broad-shouldered and powerfully built, with coarse, sandy hair and a weathered face. Colly had first met him six months into her relationship with Randy, when he came to Houston to visit his twin after finishing his first tour of duty in the Marines. She went with Randy to pick up his brother at the airport, and the three of them spent the evening drinking and dancing—not the club dancing she’d grown up with in New Jersey, but Texas “boot-scooting”—at a place called the Silver Spurs Dancehall and Saloon. Colly hadn’t known what she was doing and made an absolute fool of herself, but it was fun watching the two men kicking and twirling in their western boots and broad-brimmed Stetsons.

Physically, the brothers had been nearly indistinguishable, Russ being the slightly stockier and more heavily muscled of the two. But their personalities were quite different. While Randy was outgoing and affable, Russ was more reserved. Colly had liked him immediately.

His deep-set eyes were the same piercing blue that Randy’s had been. Now, as he approached, Colly found it painful to look at them.

“Saw you from the window,” he said. “Glad you made it.”

After a quick, awkward hug, they turned towards the station.

“Appreciate you coming out at such short notice, Col. Hope the farmhouse is okay.”

“It’s perfect, thanks.”

“Been empty since Wanda’s folks died. I sent Alice to clean it up, but you know teenagers.”

Wanda, Russ’s wife, had died of breast cancer a decade earlier, leaving him to raise their daughter alone. Colly found it odd that he’d never remarried.

“How old is Alice now? Sixteen?”

“Seventeen. Spitting image of her mother. Hard to look at her, sometimes.”

I know the feeling, Colly thought.

She followed him through the station’s side door, which opened into a small workroom. On a table beside the copier sat a box of sweaty-looking pastries and a dilapidated coffee maker.

“Want some?” Russ asked. “Costco’s finest, but it’s caffeinated.”

He poured her a cup and then led the way into an open office area, where an elderly receptionist and three uniformed officers sat at their desks—two men and a woman.

The woman caught Colly’s eye immediately. She was young—in her late twenties, Colly judged, though she looked younger. Thin and pale, with dark, heavy eyeliner and a purple streak dyed into her straight black hair, she seemed more like a rebellious teenager than a cop. A white birthmark ran down the right side of her face and neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her shirt. She stared at Colly with sullen intensity.

Russ cleared his throat. “Listen up—most of y’all have met my sister-in-law before. You know she was a detective in Houston for years. She’s here at my request to review the Denny Knox case. I want you to give her every consideration.”

Silence hung in the room. The receptionist and the male officers nodded grudgingly. The pale young policewoman continued to glower.

“Let’s get to it,” Russ said. “C’mon, Parker, you’re with us.”

The young policewoman stood.

Russ led them down a hallway and through a door marked “Chief of Police.” His office was large, and cluttered with papers and files, the only personal touches a spindly cactus on the windowsill and a sun-faded photograph of Wanda pushing a four-year-old Alice on a swing.

Russ shut the door and sat at his desk, waving Colly to a nearby chair. The young patrolwoman planted herself on a stool in the corner.

“Hope you don’t mind Avery sitting in. I’ve asked her to assist with the review. I should stay out of it as much as I can, so it’ll be good for you to have someone who—”

“People don’t hate?”

Russ’s mouth twitched. “I was going to say ‘who knows the town.’ Avery grew up here, and she’s got a special interest in this one. Plus, she’s new and could use the experience.” He hesitated. “Having a cop along will help. I’m not sure about the legalities, you being retired and all.”

Colly glanced at the young woman. She looked anything but helpful, but it would be nice to have an insider’s perspective. Maybe she wasn’t as ill-humored as she appeared.

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