Page 135 of We Are All Guilty Here

Emmy let the silence play out until Adam got antsy. He shifted in his chair. Started to tap his fingers against the bottle of Jack. She asked, “Adam, what are we doing here?”

“I’m having a drink.” His lip snagged on the gap between his teeth when he grinned. “You want one?”

“No.” Emmy let her hand move from her Glock and rest on the counter behind her. She knew that she could reach her weapon far more quickly than Adam could reach his. “You called me on the emergency line. You are clearly drunk. You told me you had a shotgun. You threatened to kill my deputy. Did you think I was going to come in here and shoot you? Or did you want to talk?”

He stopped tapping. “You’re not gonna believe me anyway.”

“Try me.”

He held up his hands in an open shrug. “I didn’t hurt ’em. None of ’em. I don’t know where Paisley is. I didn’t have nothing to do with Madison or Cheyenne. Jesus Christ, who named these kids? It’s like a shirt, a street and a fucking city in Montana.”

“Wyoming.”

“Shit.” His hands dropped back on the table. “Just like your smartass sister. Always correcting people. Still thinks she’s fucking better than everybody else.”

Again, Emmy waited a few seconds to make sure he was finished. “If you didn’t kill Madison and Cheyenne, then who did?”

“That podcast bitch said Dale did it.”

“Okay,” Emmy said. “What’s your proof?”

“Don’t you think I would’a said twelve years ago?” He slammed his fist so hard on the table that the hammer jumped to the edge. “Do you know what it’s like sitting on death row just waiting for somebody to stick a needle in your arm and kill you for something you didn’t even fucking do?”

“Tell me who else it could be.”

“You stole twelve years of my life,” he said. “You and your daddy. He wouldn’t even listen to me. I told him I didn’t do it. I told everybody. Nobody believed me. Not even my own goddam family. I’d still be waiting for my execution date except for that prick with the podcast.”

Again, Emmy waited for his anger to dial back down. “Who would want to frame you, Adam? Who would put that hammer in your toolbox?”

“The person who killed them girls!” he yelled. “The same dude that took Paisley! For fucksakes, that’s what I’m trying to tell you!”

Emmy waited again. “I thought you said that Jude put the hammer in your truck.”

“Maybe she’s in on it, too.” He waved away the inconsistency. “Somebody’s trying to jam me up. I never did nothing wrong. Just sold pot to kids so I could have a little fun.”

“Who would frame you?”

“You’re the fucking police. Why don’t you figure it out?”

“Let’s talk it through. Is there someone in your life who would want to do you harm?”

“Only the whole fucking town. Didn’t you see ’em out there screaming for my head when your daddy got shot?”

“What about a friend?” Emmy asked. “Somebody who might want you to go back to prison.”

“Fuck, nobody talks to me. I don’t got no friends. I’ve got lawyers. I’ve got that podcast prick trying to get me to sit down for an interview like he’s Walter Cronkite.” Adam pointed his finger in her direction. “Don’t think I don’t know he’s trying to trick me. Hang me up on that rape charge from that bitch I don’t even remember.”

Emmy watched him grab the bottle, take another swig. Again, she waited until he was finished. “Let’s go back to twelve years ago. Talk to me about before you were arrested. Who’d you hang around?”

“People. I don’t know. They all peeled away once you motherfuckers told everybody I was a goddam pedophile.”

“Did you have somebody you were close to back then?” Emmy asked. “Somebody you shared your interests with?”

Adam didn’t explode again. His demeanor changed. His eyes narrowed. He started drumming his fingers on the table. Moved his hand an inch to the left, then the right, then back, like he was trying to decide whether to grab the hammer or the shotgun. “What are you asking me about?”

She shrugged. “I’m trying to help you figure out who put that hammer in your truck.”

“Why ain’t you asking Dale these questions?”

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