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got a case of amnesia about what happened.”
    “But I was there—”
    “You got there
after it happened. You didn’tsee it.”
    “But I saw the
blood. I saw the broken chair and table in the middle of the bar.
    I saw the crowd that
had gathered.”
    “I know, I know.
But what was Harvey supposed to do? Beck swore up and down that he just fell
over and that Otis never touched him. He said he’d been confused that night,
but now that his mind was clear, he remembered everything.” Miles suddenly lost
his appetite, and he pushed his plate off to the side. “If I went down there
again, I’m sure that I could find someone who saw what happened.”
    Charlie shook
his head. “I know it grates on you, but what good would it do? You know how
many of Otis’s brothers were there that night. They’d also say that nothing
happened—and who knows, maybe they were the ones who actually did it.  Without Beck’s testimony, what choice did
Harvey have? Besides, you know Otis.
    He’ll do
something else—just give him time.”
    “That’s what I’m
worried about.”
    Miles and Otis
Timson had a long history between them. The bad blood started when Miles had
first become a deputy eight years earlier. He’d arrested Clyde Timson, Otis’s father,
for assault when he’d thrown his wife through the screen door on their mobile
home. Clyde had spent time in prison for that—though not as long as he should
have—and over the years, five of his six sons had spent time in prison as well
on offenses ranging from drug dealing to assault to car theft.  To Miles, Otis posed the greatest danger
simply because he was the smartest. 
Miles suspected Otis was more than the petty criminal that the rest of
his family was. For one thing, he didn’t look the part. Unlike his brothers, he
shied away from tattoos and kept his hair cut short; there were times he
actually held down odd jobs, doing manual labor. He didn’t look like a
criminal, but looks were deceiving. His name was loosely linked with various
crimes, and townspeople frequently speculated that it was he who directed the
flow of drugs into the county, though Miles had no way to prove that. All of
their raids had come up empty, much to Miles’s frustration.
    Otis also held
on to a grudge.
    He didn’t fully
understand that until after Jonah was born. He’d arrested three of Otis’s
brothers after a riot had broken out at their family reunion. A week after
that, Missy was rocking four-month-old Jonah in the living room when a brick
came crashing through the window. It nearly hit them, and a shard of glass cut
Jonah’s cheek. Though he couldn’t prove it, Miles knew that Otis had somehow
been responsible, and Miles showed up at the Timson compound—a series of
decrepit mobile homes arranged in a semicircle on the outskirts of town—with
three other deputies, their guns drawn. The Timsons came out peacefully and,
without a word, held out their hands to be cuffed and were taken in.  In the end, no charges were brought for lack
of evidence. Miles was furious, and after the Timsons were released, he
confronted Harvey Wellman outside his office. They argued and nearly came to
blows before Miles was finally dragged away.
    In the
following years, there were other things: gunshots fired nearby, a mysterious
fire in Miles’s garage, incidents that were more akin to adolescent pranks. But
again, without witnesses, there was nothing Miles could do. Since Missy’s death
it had been relatively quiet.
    Until the
latest arrest.
    Charlie glanced
up from his food, his expression serious. “Listen, you and I both know he’s
guilty as hell, but don’t even think about handling this on your own. You don’t
want this thing to escalate like it did before. You’ve got Jonah to think about
now, and you’re not always there to watch out for him.” Miles looked out the
window as Charlie went on.
    “Look—he’ll do
something stupid again, and if there’s a case, I’ll be the first to