Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“That, he did.” How he ever could have been so stupid …
“So, what happened, exactly?” Matt has abandoned his paring knife and lemon, giving up all semblance of work.
The last thing I want to do is fuel the rumor mill. “They were pulled over for a traffic violation. Swerving, I think it was. But they had guns and drugs in their truck and things went sideways fast.”
“Stuff that came off a plane flying over from Manitoulin,” Stan jumps in. “They traced the guns to the US. Likely brought over on a boat from Drummond Island in Michigan.”
“Cross border.” Matt whistles. “That’s big time.”
The retired officer sets his pint on the counter and drops onto the stool, getting comfortable. “Ian shot and killed Officers Whitley and Combs, but not before Combs fired a round, taking him down. The Landry boys were set to run, but Whitley had called for backup before lighting up and the platoon sergeant arrived then. More bullets flew and Jason Landry took one here.” Stan taps on his own chest, over his heart. “Died straight away. Logan was left holding the bag. Or the gun, I should say.”
Matt’s interest is riveted. “And this cop killer’s back in Cold River now?”
“As of this—”
“Logan didn’t kill any cops,” I interrupt. He didn’t even aim at them. Jay shoved a gun into his hand, pushed him out of the truck, and screamed at him to run. Logan panicked when bullets started flying and fired two rounds aimlessly into the dark before tossing the weapon and putting his hands in the air.
Stan shrugs. “It didn’t matter much. Two cops died, they had a truck full of contraband, and someone had to pay the piper.”
That night still plays in my mind sometimes, as does the day after. Holt and Annie sat in our kitchen, Holt demanding information from my father that he couldn’t give, Annie sobbing on my mother’s shoulder, switching between insisting that the police had it all wrong and asking where she went wrong.
I was in shock and angry. At first, I didn’t believe anything being said. Logan meant so much to me. But then all I could think about was what if it’d been my father who pulled them over that night? Would he have been lying in a morgue?
Logan paid, all right. The crimes had all the ingredients for a steep sentence. Luckily for him, the Crown agreed to manslaughter, but there was no ignoring all the other felonies committed that night, or the residue on his hand to prove he’d fired a gun in a situation that left two officers dead. No matter what, he was doing hard time. The judge gave him twenty years.
I nearly threw up when I heard that number, when my father explained what it meant. The likelihood of early parole was fleeting—parole boards don’t like granting it when cops die. Maybe Logan would have gotten it, though, if not for an altercation with a prisoner about six years into his sentence that left the other guy beaten half to death. Logan pled self-defense and the shank they removed from his rib cage lent its weight, but not enough to escape another eight years added.
Something has always told me there’s more to that story. Or maybe it’s just me resisting the truth that the boy I knew is gone forever.
“Damn.” Matt dumps the citrus drink fixings into a container. “I always thought the Landrys were good people.”
“They are good people,” I retort, sharper than intended. That was the first place Cold River folks went for years. Both boys turning out like that? Must have been how they were raised.
Matt lifts his hands in surrender.
I temper my tone. “I can’t explain why Jay would get himself mixed up with Ian, and I sure as hell can’t make sense of how Logan was stupid enough to do what he did.” Maybe I’ll get an answer straight from the source one day. He’s had plenty of time to ponder where he went wrong. “Listen, it’s been great catching up. I’ve got paperwork to do before I call it a day.”
“Good to see you again, Emery. I’m sure Barb’ll be up to making a batch of her oatmeal raisin cookies again soon.” Stan sets his empty glass on the counter with a thud. “My advice? Best you take a gander, sooner rather than later. Make sure he knows he’s bein’ watched by more than just his parole officer.”
I bite my tongue against the urge to remind Stan that I run the detachment and I don’t need instruction. “Have a good night, boys. Try not to overserve again, huh, Matty?”
He grins. “Come on back for that drink on the house.”
“Yeah, we’ll see.” The only place I’m going tonight is home to hide.
Chapter 5
Logan
Pickup trucks line the driveway when I emerge from my new home just before six p.m. I’d heard them roll in and watched from my bathroom window as strangers piled out of vehicles, their hands laden with foiled dishes and bottles of booze. There’s so fucking many of them, and everyone seems in a cheerful mood.