Blowout

without any proof? Why take the chance of another killing? So there’s your truth, but don’t ever think you can do anything with it. There wasn’t ever a lick of proof, I made sure of that since I was the sheriff, responsible for investigating Samantha’s murder. No murder weapon, no witnesses, no suspects. Well, the husband, there’s always the husband, but he was pouring drinks for a dozen party guests, a great alibi. Who killed her? Hey, I tried my best, but I couldn’t find the killer.”
    Martin’s hands were tight fists at his sides. “I hope you got an ulcer worrying about me over the years.”
    “Nah, you became ancient history. So you’ve found out what you wanted to know. Why not do us both a favor, get lost, and get over it. You’ve been someone else for nearly twenty years anyway. If I were you, I’d stay that person, and I’d stay away from your daddy. No telling what he’d do if you confronted him now he’s got that nice, rich wife and two daughters. He’d want to protect them from you. Hell, he might even kill you himself if you went to him and told him that you knew what he’d done.”
    “Are you planning to kill me, Sheriff Harms? Not here, you wouldn’t be that stupid. But you’re afraid I’ll tell someone, aren’t you? You wouldn’t like that, it would mean a scandal, wouldn’t it, open everything up again? And there’s my father. You think I’d let him off the hook? Because of my half-sisters?” Martin walked up, grabbed the sheriff’s shirt collar in his fists, and shouted right in his face, “For the love of God, you crazy hick, he hired you to kill my mother! My mother!”
    Sheriff Harms said very quietly, “Step away from me, boy, or I’ll heave you out the door. Believe me now. If you do ever say anything, ever lay your hands on me again, I’ll kill you and your wife. Count on it. Now get out, Austin.”
    Martin stepped back, lifted his right arm, and unbuttoned his cuff. He shook his wrist, and Sheriff Harms saw the small gold medical alert bracelet. “This is my wire, Sheriff. Things have progressed, haven’t they? Everything you’ve said is crystal clear, for the future jury, on a tiny recorder in here. You’ve been had, Sheriff.”
    “I see you think you’ve been pretty smart about this, don’t you,” Sheriff Harms said, eyes hot and dark. “But it won’t do you any good, you fucker. Your little wife either, if there even is a wife.” He looked again into the deserted street outside and raised his gun. “Okay, Austin, I don’t want to do it here, but it looks like I have to. What could I do, what with you coming in here and going crazy on me?”
    A man’s deep voice said from behind him, “I don’t think so, Sheriff Harms.”
    The sheriff whirled around to face the man he’d worried himself nearly sick over since that snowy night two and a half weeks before, the man who’d claimed to have seen Samantha Barrister. “You!” He started to raise the pistol, but Savich was faster. He turned, kicked out his leg so fast it was a blur, and sent the pistol flying into the front window with such force it shattered the glass and skidded on the sidewalk in front of the sheriff’s office.
    Sheriff Harms yelled from the pain in his wrist, at the unfairness of it all, and lunged toward Savich.
    Martin grabbed the sheriff’s injured arm, jerked him around, and sent his fist into his jaw. The sheriff staggered, but didn’t go down. Martin hit him against the side of his head, then landed a punch in his belly. The sheriff fell hard against his desk, landing facedown on the floor.
    Savich stepped over him and tapped Martin’s shoulder. “Looks like you laid him right out. Good job.” He was grinning as he shook Martin’s hand. “Well done, Martin. Do you feel you got everything we came for?”
    Martin grinned back as he rubbed his knuckles. “Yeah, I do.”
    A Pennsylvania state trooper, Sergeant Ellis Wilkes, stepped in from the back of the office where a door led to three jail cells, then three more state troopers crowded in behind him. He stared down at the sheriff. “Imagine,” he said, “this man has been the sheriff of Blessed Creek for more than half of his life, and all of it because of a vicious, cold-blooded murder.”
    Martin said, “Are you sure we’ve got enough on him?” He handed the small gold bracelet to Sergeant Wilkes.
    “With the witnesses we have here today and that recorder, Sheriff Harms is toast. Oh yeah, he’s