Page 280 of Property of Whiskey

“Yes.”

“You were scared.”

“Same damn thing when you got a badge.”

I shake my head. “You were grieving.”

“And those girls were somebody’s daughters.”

That lands between us.

Whiskey looks away, giving us privacy without leaving.

I hate him a little for understanding exactly when to disappear while sitting three feet away.

“Why didn’t you tell me when I joined the department?”

Daddy laughs bitterly. “Because I spent years convincing myself it was over.”

“You knew it wasn’t.”

“I hoped.”

“You cleared reports.”

His eyes snap to mine. “No.”

“Somebody did.”

“Yes.”

“You know who?”

“No.”

“Daddy.”

“I swear to you.”

“Who had access?”

“Half the damn department over twelve years. Sheriff before me. Records clerks. Deputies. Dispatch. County IT. State people. Anybody with credentials high enough.”

“Did you investigate?”

“Quietly.”

“And?”

“Every time I found something, it disappeared.”

“Why didn’t you go outside the county?”

“I did.”

That surprises me. “To who?”

“State police.”