Page 53 of The Burning

“Just a few minutes,” Bogart replies. “Like I said, I missed the first part of it. But they were yelling their heads off.”

The sheriff continues. “What happened next?”

“Burkholder jabbed his thumb toward the house and ordered Swanz off his property. We’re talking foaming-at-the-mouth pissed. Swanz was cussing like a damn truck driver. Next thing I know, Burkholder tore the fence stretcher off the end post. For a second, I thought he was going to slug Swanz with it. Instead, he threw it on the ground. He told Swanz to get off his property and never come back. And Swanz ran.”

Chambers poses the next question. “What made you decide to report it?”

“I didn’t think too much of it until I heard what happened to Swanz. At that point I thought ‘Oh shit’ and made the call.”

Ten minutes later, Sheriff Rasmussen and I are sitting at the table in the war room. Chambers left without commentary, but I know he’ll be back. People like Chambers don’t go away easily and usually don’t go of their own accord. The only sound comes from the hum of the ceiling lights and a not-quite-comfortable silence that’s as encompassing and cold as ice on a winter lake.

“Well, that was a clusterfuck,” the sheriff says.

“Which part?” I ask.

He sighs. “All of it.”

I nod, fingers of unease walking up my spine. The last thing I want to do is recuse myself from the case. The reality that I may have no choice in the matter sits like acid in my stomach. “Mike, do you think I need to sit this one out?”

“That’s not my decision to make.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“All I can tell you at this point, Kate, is that if your brother is involved, even in a peripheral way, you’re walking a fine line.”

“Have you talked to Auggie about it?” I ask, referring to the mayor, who is officially my boss.

His frown deepens. “That’s out of my bailiwick.”

“Has Chambers talked to him?”

“I don’t know.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw, looks at me over the tops of his fingers. “I think that’s something we need to be prepared for.”

“Prepared for what?” I ask.

“You know as well as I do that Chambers made some valid points. We can’t ignore that. I’m not saying I agree with everything he said. What I am saying is that we need to keep the public eye in mind and be transparent about what we’re doing.”

A dozen questions dangle on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t voice them. I already know what the answer is. What he’s going to say. I also know that once things are said, they can’t be taken back.

I look at Rasmussen, really look at him, and I let down my defenses, let him see what’s really there, that I’m speaking from the heart. “We’ve known each other how long, Mike? Eight? Nine years?”

“We’ve known each other too long to be having this conversation,” he mutters.

“Mistrust is the kiss of death when you’re a cop.”

“This is not a matter of trust.”

I nod, but I’m aware of the tinge of doubt tweaking my chest, and it hurts a hell of a lot more than I want to admit. “I need to speak to my brother.”

Rasmussen groans. “You know that’s not a good idea, right?”

“I also know that he won’t talk to you. He sure as hell won’t talk to Chambers.”

“I hate to say this, Kate, but your talking to Jacob at this juncture is going to be a problem. For him. For all of us.”

“Is he a suspect?”

“He just became a person of interest.”