a copy to that Jack Palmer when he and April were hunting for you. There’s not much. I looked at it myself. Sheriff Halstead wasn’t quite the law enforcement man Sam is. I worked for Halstead for two years before Sam came. What a world of difference.”
“What happened to Halstead?” Jo asked. Maybe she could tackle the man after seeing Sam.
“He died a couple of years ago—heart attack. That’s what got Sam appointed to the job. Then he won the election last year. Otherwise I expect the good ol’ boy network would have kept the man in office forever. Oops, the line is free, which means Sam’s off the phone,” Marjorie said. She rose and went to the door near her desk, knocked and stuck her head in.
A second later she pushed it open and gestured to Jo.
For a second, walking into Sam’s office felt like walking into the past—only nothing looked the same. The walls had been painted off-white, and there were citations and awards and photos on the long wall. The windows had wooden blinds, which added a touch of class to the government-issue decoration.
Sam had an old oak desk, scarred and aged. It suited the office and the man.
“Jo,” he said, rising.
“Hi.” She swallowed hard. She shouldn’t have stormed away from Ruby’s. This was as awkward as it got. She should apologize. Would it make a difference to his looking into things?
“I came to make that statement. And ask if I could see the file.”
He looked at her for such a long time she was sure he was going to refuse. Then he nodded and asked Marjorie to get it. Gesturing to the chair across the desk from his, he indicated she sit.
Jo did, her knees feeling wobbly. “Thank you. Do you want me to type up a report? I’m good at that. Or I can just tell you what happened that night.”
He sat and leaned back in his chair. “I’d appreciate not having to write it up myself. You can use the computer in Marjorie’s area.”
She smiled. No one she knew liked writing reports.
“I hope you write reports better than Halstead did. There’s nothing to go on in his. Just some mention of wild accusations from a teenager, no follow-up with either Maddie or anyone else. And he never mentions other possibilities.”
“So Maddie didn’t get into trouble? I heard Halstead say they would take away her foster license.”
“Maybe they did, but I don’t have any information on it. As far as I know she never had other foster children after you girls were sent away. Yet she’s part of this new home for unwed pregnant teens, and I haven’t heard a hint of anyone opposing her involvement.”
“Suspicious, don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “Southern towns have loyalties to home-grown people.”
“I was born here,” Jo said, refuting his claim.
Sam set her up at the extra computer in the outer office. It took Jo longer to write the report than she’d expected. She could see every moment, and to write it all down took time. When she was finished, Marjorie printed it out and took it in to Sam. Jo followed and sat in the visitor’s chair.
She waited in silence while he read. She fidgeted a little, feeling nervous and unsettled. She looked at Sam, found his gaze on her and looked away, feeling butterflies in her stomach. How long would it take for him to read the darn thing?
The moments ticked by. The air seemed to be seeping from the room. Licking dry lips, she glanced back. He had put down the pages and was studying her.
“Stop,” she said.
“Sorry, do I make you nervous?”
“Great technique, but I’m not one of your suspects.” And the butterflies had nothing to do with the cop, more with the man.
He gave a half smile. “But you’d have me believe Allen McLennon is a suspect.”
“He is. The only one.”
Jo was relieved when Marjorie arrived with the pitifully thin folder. Sam pointed to Jo, and Marjorie handed it to her. “Let me know if you need something else, Sheriff,” the woman said before leaving. She closed the door.
Jo opened the folder and began to read. A few minutes later, she leafed through the file. “No photos, no lab report, nothing about the charges I made against Alan McLennon,” she murmured. “That alone should point to sloppy work, if not downright criminal conspiracy.”
“One way to look at it. But if you examine other files, you’d find the same kind of reports. And this from the man they elected sheriff for five terms,” Sam said.
Jo tossed it on his desk. “Well, thanks for letting me see it.”
“I don’t like the situation any more than you do,” Sam said. “If we work together, maybe we can find a way to bring out the truth, no matter what it is.”
“No matter what it is? You think it’s someone else? That I’m making this up?”
“I prefer to deal in facts.”
She thought about it. “I still like the idea of a full-page newspaper ad,” she said.
“If McLennon beat you, you want something to nail him, not just embarrass him,” Sam said.
Jo nodded. “You’re right. There has to be something.”
Sam shrugged. “I haven’t heard a word of gossip to support Allen’s guilt. What I have heard is that one of your schoolmates was the most likely suspect.”
Jo had every moment of that time engraved in her mind. She eyed her report on his desk, hoping Sam would find something in the report that would give him a lead.
“Who?”
“Josiah Heller.”
She smiled wryly. “Ironically, he’s the reason I’m back, not the reason I left. I’ve heard many people think he’s the one who attacked me. But it was Heller who told me about Maddie’s stroke, and that brought me back. I was hoping it would make a difference.”
“What?”
“Her stroke. I had some notion that maybe she’d see things differently, somehow see the truth. But she can’t even talk. And her reaction when she saw me was less than welcoming.” Jo shivered at the memory.
“Would Eliza or April have any information?”
“I doubt it. They wouldn’t have been quiet when being taken away from the only home we knew. If nothing came out then, they probably knew nothing. We can ask.” She gestured to the folder on the desk. “This stinks, Sheriff. And anyone with half a brain could see how shoddy the work is. Deliberately covering up for someone, as I see it.”
Sam didn’t respond.
“I’m telling the others tonight,” Jo said.
“I’ll come by.”
“Come at seven and I’ll reveal all to them.” Jo stood, rubbing her palms on her black pants. “And thanks. Sorry about earlier.”
He stood. “I want justice,” he said. “A good policeman does.”
After twelve years, Jo wasn’t sure it was possible. Any help she’d hoped for from the past had been shot down by the skimpy report filed at the time.
She still wanted to spend time with Maddie. To clear the air before telling everyone else the sordid tale. Even if she still refused to believe her, Jo had to try.
The older woman was in bed, eyes closed, when Jo peered around the door. She must have made some noise because Maddie opened her eyes and half smiled when she saw Jo.
Wondering if she was dreaming, Jo stepped inside. “All right to visit?” she asked.
Maddie