Trainor patted Sharon’s arm. It was a gesture meant to comfort her and continue the interview.
“And the most important thing in your life now is finding out who killed Glen Harrelson. Okay? Sharon, you’re covering up for someone; okay? You don’t need to be a part of that. You didn’t kill your husband.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“But you know who did. You absolutely do. You don’t need the kind of trouble that can cause you. And it’s just—and it’s going to prey on your mind and it’s going to get worse and worse and for your children’s sake so that they can get on with their lives and so that you can get on with your life, you need to tell us everything you know. You’re not doing that”
Like a skewered water balloon, tears flooded down her face.
She kept her head down, her hands clutching a tissue to her eyes. And she sobbed and sobbed, muttering something about knowing what happened and how she had not been a part of any of it. She had been a victim, too.
“What can you tell us, Sharon?” Tygart asked.
She didn’t respond. Glen Trainor continued to push, telling her that it was time for her to get on with her life.
“Were the kids getting in the way?”
Sharon didn’t answer, so Tygart asked once more. “In your relationship with Glen?”
Finally, Sharon said no. She said she and Glen were happy. His mother, his coworkers could vouch for that.
Det. Trainor pushed once more. “Look, Sharon, I’ve been looking at you and you’ve been doing this for a real long time and you’re a troubled woman.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You’re absolutely about to fall apart at the seams and I know why. What happened up there wasn’t supposed to happen that way. And I don’t know what happened, okay? And that’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“It’s not gonna go away. It’s not gonna change, only for the worst.”
“Sharon, tell us what you know. Look, it’s obvious you’re scared of something. We’ll protect you. We’ll put you in a hotel room and guard you if necessary. Tell us what you know.”
She regained her faltering composure and nodded.
”I will, but not here. These walls have ears.”
“Then we’ll go.”
“I want my kids.”
“We’ll go get them from your daughter’s place.”
No one said another word. Not to the sheriff’s department or to each other. They simply picked up their belongings and left. Glen Trainor had it in his mind that by acquiescing to her requests, they’d be able to maintain her trust and learn whatever it was that she was holding inside. Beyond picking up Danny and Misty, the Thornton detectives knew nothing about what they would do next or where they would take Sharon, the lady of the canyon with two dead husbands.
Once again, Glen Trainor and Elaine Tygart were driving
Around Trinidad with no idea where they were going. After the cops stopped to pick up her squirming kids, Danny and Misty, Sharon instructed them to get on the highway and drive.
No one said much. Sharon and her children huddled in the backseat, making small talk and chatting about nothing of consequence. The detective drove north on 1-25. And they drove. Every once in a while, the two partners exchanged looks. Again, the reputation of Trinidad had reared its questionable head.
Where are we going? Is this a setup? Trainor thought.
Both officers had their guns out and on their laps, just in case Sharon was leading them into an ambush. Her remarks at the sheriff s department had somewhat perplexed and slightly worried them. Why had she said the walls had ears? Did she mean that local cops were somehow involved in the murder of Glen Harrelson?
But why?
“What’s going on, Mom?” Danny asked, interrupting the steady silence of the drive.
Sharon gently parted her son’s blond head and forced a smile.
“You’ll see when we get there.”
Glen Trainor wasn’t impatient, but he didn’t like the idea that they were all out on a Sunday Drive. It would, he thought, be nice to know where they were going. Finally, he met Sharon’s eyes in the rearview mirror and asked.
“Are we just going to drive to Denver or are you going to want to stop? We can drive to Denver, if that’s what you need to make you feel safe.”
Sharon shook her head. That wasn’t what she had in mind. She suggested they continue a bit further north to little Walsenburg, Colorado.
“I know of a Pizza Hut where we can talk privately,” she said.
Pizza Hut. The venue seemed ideal. What could be more cozy and safe than a pizza restaurant? It was the ideal locale for Sharon Harrelson to spill the rest of her story. It was the place she wanted to go to sort out what had happened and how none of it was her fault. Not really.