“It’ll have to,” Arlen said, wondering why in the hell the county judge seemed to be heading up the investigation.
Solomon Wade said, “Al,” and at the one soft word, the sheriff put his right fist into Arlen’s belly. A snake of cold-to-warm pain rippled through Arlen, and his knees tried to buckle, but Tolliver kept him upright and smiled in his face.
“So we begin,” he said.
It went that way for an hour at least. Wade asked questions, and Arlen answered them, and when he couldn’t, Tolliver swung. He was ox strong and knew all the soft spots, and it wasn’t long before breathing was difficult and Arlen’s kidneys were coiled flames.
Mostly Wade wanted to know where they’d gone and what had been said. He showed no interest at all in the explosion that had taken Sorenson’s life. No mention was made of the Cypress House or of Rebecca Cady. No, just questions of what Sorenson had said and where he’d stopped and whether he’d had any money on his person. Arlen answered what he could, and he didn’t resist the blows. Tolliver had a gun on one side of his belt and a hickory billy club on the other and a deputy waiting outside. Giving him even a taste of the fight he wanted was going to work out poorly in the end, and so even as Arlen marked the weaknesses in the larger man’s approach, saw the openings and envisioned the bloody shattering of that broad nose, he kept his hands down and took what was offered.
Tolliver was a strong man but not a fit one. Before long the exertion of knocking Arlen’s ass around the hot, clammy room had taken its toll, and he was breathing damn near as hard as Arlen and mopping sweat from his face and neck.
Wade reached up and adjusted his glasses. “Doesn’t seem to have been very productive.”
“He’s a stubborn son of a bitch, I’ll give you that,” Tolliver said.
“Could be he’s telling the truth.”
“You think?”
Wade shook his head.
“That’s where I landed, too,” Tolliver said. “Shall I keep at it?”
“No.” Wade came off the bars and looked down at Arlen as if he were studying a carcass. “We’ll let him sleep, let him get used to the way that cot feels and stare at those bars and begin asking himself if it’s worth it. We’ll let him remember that if we’re so inclined, it can be arranged for him to stay here a powerful long time.”
He tilted his head at the cell door, and Tolliver opened it and Wade stepped out, then turned and looked back at Arlen with cold eyes.
“On behalf of the good people of Corridor County, we’d like to thank you for being such a helpful witness, Mr. Wagner.”
Arlen dragged in some of the dusty air and didn’t answer. Tolliver locked the cell and followed Wade out the door. For a long time after they were gone, Arlen stayed down on the floor, sweat dripping into his eyes and salting the corners of his mouth. Outside, the wind gusted hard against the stone wall and found it solid. Still it pushed, though, undeterred, driving on as night settled and the slanted light in the empty jail edged toward gray dusk.
9
THEY BROUGHT PAUL BRICKHILL in before it was full night. By then Arlen was back on the cot and breathing normally, and the deputy locked Paul in the cell next to him and brought them each a plate of buttered bread and a mug of water. When he was gone, Arlen said, “How rough did they go on you?”
“He did some shouting.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes. Why? They didn’t try anything more than that on you, did they?”
“No,” Arlen said. “No. Was the judge there?”
“Yeah. He didn’t say much. He just listened. But I don’t know why he was even there. I mean, you don’t think… Arlen, there’s no way they’ll keep us here, is there? We weren’t anything but bystanders, we’d—”
“Settle down,” Arlen said. “They’ll kick us loose soon enough.”
Paul said, “We should’ve taken our chances on that train.”
Neither of them spoke much after that.
* * *
Night passed and dawn rose and with it the heat, and no one set foot in the jail. Paul couldn’t sit still—he paced the narrow cell most of the night and then in the morning began to do push-ups on the floor, grunting out the count as he went. Poor as this predicament was, Arlen still couldn’t help grinning. The kid was acting like a con from some prison flicker. Before long he’d probably start laying escape plans, set to work sawing on his cell bars with his fingernails.
“Aren’t they going to feed us any breakfast?” Paul said when he tired of exercising. “That’s a legal requirement, Arlen! They can’t deny a man food.”