Page 153 of We Are All Guilty Here

“Thank you.” Jude paused, giving herself another moment to reset. “Listen, I know therapy is a dirty word around here, but you’ll need to talk to someone about what happened with Virgil. Not only because of the betrayal. It’s a hell of a thing to kill a man.”

“Yep.” Emmy was going to leave it at that. Of all the things she didn’t want to think about, Virgil was the thing she did not want to think about the most. “How long is it going to take you with Dale Loudermilk?”

“As long as it takes,” Jude said. “I think I’m going to stick around for a while either way. I know we’re strangers, but I’d like to change that.”

Emmy felt the awful sensation of tears stinging her eyes. Her body was working against her again. She had to get some sleep before she turned into a full-on basket case. “You’re right. We’re strangers.”

“We are,” Jude agreed. “But sometimes it’s good to have a stranger around if you ever need to talk it out.”

Emmy blinked, trying to stop the tears. Instead of Jude, she saw Gerald’s office. His empty chair. The photos he’d printed out and framed himself. They used to talk over their desks occasionally, just the two of them, the people who had never talked to anybody had talked to each other.

She said, “Yep.”

Emmy wiped her eyes as she walked back into the hallway. She tried to take in a breath, but the pain from her bruised ribs felt like a burning hot poker pressing into her chest. The usual number of phones was ringing in the squad room. The FBI support staff and volunteers had gone home. Third watch was already patrolling the streets. The two sheriff’s detectives were at their desks. It occurred to Emmy for the first time since Gerald’s death that she was solely in charge of the force now. There was no one backstopping her. No one to turn to but herself.

“Chief Clifton?” Sherry Robertson looked pissed off, which meant she’d seen the video of Emmy and Hannah talking to each other in the jail complex. “Can I have a moment?”

Without thinking, Emmy nodded the woman into her office. She didn’t realize what she’d done until she was reaching for the light switch. The fluorescent bulbs popped on. Two desks, one facing the other. A folding chair that could be turned in either direction for visitors. Emmy looked down at the floor. Her boots had already crossed the threshold. She couldn’t sit right now. She leaned against her desk and waited.

Sherry said, “I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know that I’m going to have to release Hannah Dalrymple.”

Emmy wasn’t going to get into that. “What about Paul?”

Sherry crossed her arms, but she didn’t press the Hannah issue. GBI agents were trained to be diplomatic with bumbling local law enforcement. “He’s sobered up and finally listening to his lawyers. They want the death penalty off the table. He’ll confess to shooting Gerald if we agree to life in prison without parole.”

Emmy knew that a plea deal meant there wouldn’t be a trial. Hannah would not be asked to testify under oath. Witnesseswould not take the stand. Paul’s defense attorneys wouldn’t try to pick apart the case. He would plead guilty for murdering her father, then he would die in prison.

She said, “Have you asked Tommy how he feels?”

“He said it was up to you.”

Tommy never failed to deliver. “Give Paul the deal. My family’s been through enough. So has his.”

There was nothing more to say. Sherry left. Emmy closed the door. She looked at the empty office. Photos of Cole and Emmy in uniform. Tommy in a porkpie hat. Celia with her cat. Citations on the wall. A picture of the governor, another of the president. There was no paperwork on Gerald’s desk. The last few weeks had been hard on him. The cancer had metastasized to his spine. Some days, the pain had made it hard for him to dress himself in the morning.

Emmy knew that she should take a moment. Give herself time to grieve. Process what she had lost. Find a way to work through it. Instead, she took her phone out of her pocket and called Dylan.

“Babe?” He sounded worried. “Are you okay?”

She realized he wasn’t panicked about the phone call. It seemed like a lifetime had passed between now and Emmy killing Virgil and finding Paisley. For Dylan, it was only a handful of hours.

All she could tell him was, “I’m at the station.”

“Has the GBI interviewed you about the shooting yet?” Dylan sounded like a lawyer. “They’re not allowed to talk to you without representation.”

“My union rep’s on the way.” Emmy felt her throat go tight. She hadn’t called to talk about killing Virgil. “Hannah’s being kicked loose.”

Dylan needed a second. “How did that happen?”

“I tainted myself as an eyewitness by joking with her on the jail CCTV.”

“O-kay,” Dylan drew out the word.

“It’s not just that. No one could put her hands on the gun when it was fired. The GBI couldn’t build the case. They’re going after Paul. His lawyers are talking him into a plea deal to avoid rolling the dice at trial.”

Like Jude, Dylan knew how to let the silence play out, which probably said more about Emmy than about them.

Finally, he said, “I know this is a stupid question, but how do you feel about that?”

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