Page 108 of The River We Remember

Brody unlocked the cell door. Charlie and Wicklow walked out. Hank Evans was on duty at the sheriff’s desk and he gave them a hearty “Good morning.”

Brody locked the door to the cellblock. “Sorry I had to cut you short in there, Sam.”

“Okay if we come back sometime?” Wicklow asked.

“If Bluestone’s willing.”

Charlie and Sam Wicklow left the jailhouse together and stepped into the late morning sunshine. Wicklow stood a moment, hands in his pockets, leaning a little on his good leg.

“You okay, Sam?” Charlie asked.

“I’ve heard it, too,” he said.

“What?”

“The crying where people have died. During the war. Faint, coming in on a soft wind over a patch of jungle that had been obliterated, all stumps and charred vegetation and bodies torn apart. I chalked it up to frayed nerves. But it wasn’t. I knew it even then.” He looked back at the jailhouse. “I’m sure he’s killed people, Charlie, but that man’s no murderer.”

“Going to put that in your book?”

“If you’re any good at what you do, maybe I won’t have to.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

SUNDAY DINNERS WERE always the same. Brody arrived at the Dern farm a little before one. Sean Cassiday, Brody’s brother-in-law, and Tom were on the front lawn with the kids playing touch football. They called to Brody to join them, but he begged off for the moment, citing his desperate need for some ice water first.

He found the women in the house, in the final stages of preparing dinner. His sister, Amy, kissed him on the cheek and told him to stay out of the way. His mother said he looked too thin and that this whole Jimmy Quinn mess was wearing on him. Garnet gave him a terse hello and a mysterious look that he couldn’t interpret.

When he went back outside, the game was over, and Tom and Sean were sitting in chairs in the shade of the porch. Brody joined them. They asked about the Quinn case, and he filled them in on what he could, which wasn’t much more than they’d already heard through gossip.

“Got to tell you, Brody,” Tom said. “I thought Terry Quinn might’ve had something to do with his dad’s death. That’s why at Jimmy’s funeral I told you about him stealing the land out from under his son. Thought it might be a motive. You ever follow up on that?”

“Right there in the cemetery. I asked Terry where he was the night his father was killed. Turned out he had a rock-solid alibi. He was sitting up all night with a cow who was calving. Difficult situation, and their local vet was there with him a good portion of the night. I confirmed it with the vet. Terry wasn’t one bit happy about being a person of interest, even for a day. I’m pretty sure I’m at the of top his shit list.”

“No doubt,” Tom said. “I heard he’s looking to come into a lot of that property Jimmy left behind, but the whole of Jimmy’s own farm is going to J.P. Is that true?”

“I heard the same,” Brody said. “As far as I know, it’s still just a rumor.”

“I could have predicted,” Tom said.

“Oh?”

“Never heard Jimmy Quinn say one good word about Terry. Always running him down.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“You were younger. Noah and Terry were my age, same class in school. Let me tell you, there was bad blood between those two from the moment Noah started helping his dad work Quinn’s land. I remember sometimes after church listening to Jimmy Quinn cut into his son. But, you know, when it came to Noah, Jimmy never had a bad word to say. Back then, anyway.”

“Why?”

“I always figured Noah was the kind of kid Jimmy wanted his own son to be. Athletic. Hardworking. Iron in his constitution. Terry? Now there was a kid hard for anyone to like.”

“Hasn’t changed much,” Brody said.

“I know. But cut him some slack. It had to be tough growing up always being compared unfavorably to another boy.”

The children ran past the porch in a game of tag and the men paused for a moment in their conversation to watch.

Tom said, “Dad was always telling me I should be more like you, Brody, live a little, be willing to take chances.”