Divine Evil

ought to be able to figure it out.
    The buzzing went on, over the counters, through the telephone wires crisscrossing town, beside the swings in the park, where toddlers raced in the bright May sunshine.
    Cam fielded dozens of calls and sent Bud or Mick out to ease the spreading anxiety from in and around town. People were jumpy enough to lock their doors, to peer out of dark windows before they climbed into bed. He could almost see the shotguns and hunting rifles standing oiled and loaded beside doorways, and hoped to God he wouldn't have to deal with a rash of accidental shootings.
    It was bad enough during deer season when the lawyers and dentists and other desk jockeys from the city crowded the woods, shooting at one another more often than they shot at a buck, and mostly missing. But the people of Emmitsboro knew one end of a twenty gauge from the other.
    If the town panicked, he'd have to go to the mayor about signing on another deputy, at least temporarily, to help handle the nail biters who would see Charles Manson every time a tree branch rattled a window.
    He pushed away from his desk and went into the broom-closet-sized bathroom in the back of the office. It smelled-no, reeked, Cam thought-of Lysol. That was Bud's work. The germ-fighting deputy.
    Bending over the bowl, he splashed cold water on his face, trying to rinse the rust out of his mouth and eyes. He hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, and his mind was almost as sluggish as his body.
    There had been a time when he and his partner had stayed up as long, trapped in a freezing or sweaty car during a stakeout. Taking turns catching naps, drinking atomiccoffee, making up stupid word games just to relieve the impossible tedium.
    He lifted his head, face dripping, and stared into the spotty mirror. He wondered if there would ever come a time when he wouldn't remember. Or at least when those memories would dull a bit around the edges and become more comfortable to live with.
    Christ in heaven, he wanted a drink.
    Instead, he rubbed his face dry and went back into the office for more coffee. He'd just scalded his tongue when Clare walked in. She took one look at his shadowed eyes, the stubble of beard, and shook her head.
    “You haven't been to bed at all.”
    He drank again, burning his already raw mouth. “What are you doing here?”
    “I sent Angie down to make tea and snuck out. She and Jean-Paul would make great wardens. I figured if I called you, you'd put me off. This way it'll be tougher.”
    “She came around. She's a little vague on what happened, but she knew her name, the year, and her address.”
    “You said you'd call.”
    “I figured you were still asleep.”
    “Well, I'm not.” Clare paced to his desk, then to the window while she struggled with her temper. It was a lost cause. “Damn it, Cam, official business or not, I have a right to know.”
    “And I'm telling you,” he said evenly.
    “I'm going to see her.” She turned to the door.
    “Hold it.”
    “Fuck that.” She whirled around again, ready to fight. “I not only have a right to see her, I have an obligation.”
    “You're not responsible. What happened to her happened in the woods.”
    “Whether she was hurt before or after I ran into her, I was there.”
    “You didn't run into her,” he corrected. “Your car doesn't have a mark on it. She may have bumped into you, but that's as far as it goes.”
    Her temper sizzled in spite of her relief. “Damn it, I was there. And let's get something straight,” she continued before he could get in a word. “I don't need or want to be coddled or patronized or protected. If I've given you that impression, well, too bad. I've been running my life for too long to let you tell me what I should or shouldn't do now.”
    Because he figured it was safer for both of them, Cam stayed where he was. “You get a hell of a lot across in a short time, Slim.” He set down his coffee, very carefully. “I thought you'd like to know that I contacted Lisa's brother. He's on his way to the hospital, and when Bud gets back to take over here, so am I.”
    “Fine.” She felt stupid, angry, and guilty but couldn't let it stop her. “I'll see you there.” She slammed the door on her way out. She'd only taken two steps when she ran into Jean-Paul. “Oh, for Christ's sake.”
    “I thought you might be here.”
    “Listen, I appreciate your concern, but I'm in a hurry. I'm going up to the hospital to see Lisa MacDonald.”
    He knew her too