Page 136 of We Are All Guilty Here

“Dale Loudermilk is in Dooley State Prison serving out the rest of his sentence.”

“Shit.” Adam crossed his arms, sat back in the chair. “You know that fucker was here, right?”

Emmy felt her heart tremble. This time, she needed to stretch out the silence to regain her composure. “When was Dale Loudermilk here?”

“Changed out the blade on his lawnmower when I was doing repairs in the shed.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the backyard. “Motherfucker didn’t even pay me.”

Emmy remembered Dale’s lawnmower story. He’d used it to explain away the chipped paint on the Audi’s trunk. “When was this?”

“What do you care?”

“I care because you just told me that Dale Loudermilk was at your house. I want to know when exactly he was here.”

“When exactly,” he mimicked.

“Adam—”

“You know who did it, don’t you?” Adam started tapping the table again. “You know, but you’re protecting him.”

Emmy tried again, “Adam—”

“North Falls people,” Adam said. “They always protect their own, don’t they?”

“He’s from North Falls?” Emmy couldn’t keep the eagerness from her voice. “The man who has Paisley lives in North Falls?”

Adam’s mouth twisted into a smirk. He wasn’t looking at Emmy. He was looking at the phone in her vest. “I want a lawyer.”

“Adam—”

“I want a lawyer.” Adam slowly raised his hands into the air. “I want a lawyer. I want a lawyer. I want a lawyer.”

Emmy stared at him, silently begging him to change his mind. But he didn’t. He kept his hands raised. Emmy turned to the door, nodded for Brett to come in.

She broke the shotgun. The damn thing wasn’t even loaded. “Adam Huntsinger, you’re under arrest for threatening the life of a law enforcement officer and violating the terms of your bail.”

Adam made a show of keeping his mouth tightly closed.

“Stand up.” Brett’s handcuffs came out. He grabbed Adam’s arm.

Emmy remembered her phone was still recording. She took it out of the vest pocket, stopped the video. She told Brett, “Take him out to Rick. Let Verona have him.”

“What the fuck?” Adam’s hands were already cuffed, but now he was resisting. “You can’t hand me over to Verona. They’ll put a bullet in the back of my head.”

Emmy asked, “Where’s Paisley?”

“I don’t know where the fuck she is!” Adam lunged at her, but Brett yanked him back. “You can’t give me to Tuttle! Jesus Christ!”

“Last chance,” Emmy said. “Where’s Paisley?”

Adam’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Fuck you!”

Emmy stepped back, knowing what was coming. Adam hurled a glob of spit in her direction. Brett slammed him face-down onto the counter, started patting him down, emptying his pockets. Keys to the Chevy truck. Packet of Marlboro Reds. Wallet. Android cell phone. Ziploc with stray stems and seeds. A pack of rolling papers. A plastic Bic lighter.

Emmy told Brett, “Read him his rights. Get some evidence kits on your way back in so we can process all this.”

“Yes, chief.”

Emmy tuned out the sound of Brett’s voice as he recited the Miranda Warning. She could hear Walton’s familiar shuffle down the hallway. His expression turned heartsick when he realized what was happening in the kitchen.

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