Page 83 of We Are All Guilty Here

“Martha?” Virgil Ingram was standing outside the station. He’d been looking at his phone, but he quickly tucked it into his back pocket. Virgil was at least fifteen years older than Jude. Her memories always had him in uniform standing beside Gerald. Now, he was in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. His hair had gone gray. She assumed from the muscles rippling under his clothes that he was still spending every free moment riding and showing horses.

He said, “I wondered if you’d show up.”

Jude took a deep, bracing breath. “I gather the report of my death was an exaggeration.”

“Gerald told me last year. Said you were some kind of FBI bigwig.”

She didn’t let her mind dwell on the fact that her father had relayed the information to Virgil. “I’m here to help with the Paisley Walker case.”

“They could use it. I’m technically retired. Doing PI work now. Emmy asked me to come in and help. Poor little girl vanished off the backroads. Just like the last time.” He started to explain, “There was a case—”

“I listened to the podcast.Misguided Angel?”

Virgil grunted. “Jack Whitlock is an asshole, and that was some class-A bullshit putting all the focus on Emmy. She wasn’t in charge of the case. Gerald was. And for the record, nobody was misguided. They got the right guy. You remember Adam Huntsinger? He was always rotten to the core.”

Jude knew people could say the same thing about her. She looked up at the sheriff’s station. The red brick had been painted dark gray. There was a lighted sign instead of the brass letters. “Who’s in charge now?”

“Emmy, I guess. Gerald made her chief deputy after I retired.”

“She up for it?”

“For doing the job? Definitely. She’s basically been running the shop for the past two years. Gerald was pushing her to take over, but I dunno. I don’t think she wants it. And I’m not sure the squad would accept her anyway.”

“Even though she’s been doing the job already?”

“Big difference without Gerald backstopping her.”

“A man has to prove himself once. A woman has to prove herself every day.”

He laughed. “You some kind of feminist now?”

“I’m a realist.” She nodded toward the station. “What am I going to find in there?”

“Let’s see.” He held open the door. “After you.”

Jude had spent her career walking blind into squad rooms. The smell was always the same—sweat and desperation. Usually, there was an air of hostility or resentment. For a lot of cops, calling in the FBI was a necessary evil at best and an admission of failure at worst. The fact remained that no one was ever happy to see her. She couldn’t blame them. When the FBI took over a case, the FBI got the credit. Unless the case went sideways, then the blame lay squarely on the local force.

“Holy shit,” a man said. “Dr. Archer?”

She watched him practically leap across the desks to reach her. Short hair combed to the side. Crisp white shirt. Light blue tie. American flag pin. Jude recognized the clean-cut, button-down look of a career FBI agent. His hand was out. Jude could feel the sweat on his palm when she shook it.

“Dr. Archer, what an honor to meet you in person. I’m SA Seth Alexander.” He sounded like a breathless fanboy. “My boss told me he was sending the big guns, but I didn’t know it’d be a howitzer. Thank you so much for coming, ma’am. I saw you speak at Quantico a few years ago. I’m honored to be on your team.”

“Thank you, but I’m officially retired. I’m here in the capacity of a consultant.” Jude looked for Emmy, letting her gaze skip over Gerald’s empty office. “Where’s the acting sheriff?”

“Stepped out for a minute. You want me to locate her?”

Jude didn’t think she could handle Emmy right now. It was far easier to fall back into a familiar pattern. “Catch me up to speed first. What do we know?”

“Paisley Walker, fourteen-year-old female.” Seth led her to the back of the squad.

Jude looked down at the map of North Falls that was laid out on a desk. Circles tracked the abductor’s possible trajectory.

“Here.” Seth pointed to a red X on Coleman Avenue. “Mother says Paisley left by bike to go to school a little before seven. Around seven thirty, a witness called 911. She was here, on one of the dirt farming tracks that locals call the backroads. Caller said there was an abandoned kid’s bike. No sign of the rider. Back tire bent, chain off, blood at the scene. Local responder called the usual places, searched the family home. All came up negative.”

Jude looked at the map, though the route was already mapped out in her head. She used to ride her bike on the backroads with Henry and Tommy to fish at Millie’s pond.

She asked, “And then?”

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