Chương 9
"GCS is twelve," one paramedic yelled, kneeling in Colt’s blood. "Pupils are sluggish. Leva-orbital deformity with severe crepitus. Get the C-collar on him now!"
Behind the paramedics, a tall, thick-waisted man in a crisp khaki uniform and a gold-braided campaign hat walked through the doors.
Sheriff Harlan Wallace.
Wallace had held the office for twelve years. He was sixty-two years old, with skin the texture of an old boot from decades of offshore fishing on the big diesel boats out of Atlantic Beach. His belt buckle was silver, shaped like the state of North Carolina, and his holster held a customized Colt Commander .45 with stag-horn grips.
He looked at Boyd first. Then he looked at the paramedics strapping Colt to the backboard. Finally, his heavy, lidded eyes drifted over to where I was standing, cuffed against the counter.
"Harlan," Boyd said, stepping toward him with his hands outstretched, as if greeting an old friend on the first tee of the country club. "Thank God you're here. This woman—"
"Quiet, Boyd," Wallace said. He didn't raise his voice, but the authority was absolute.
Wallace walked past the car dealer and stopped three feet in front of me. He pulled off his sunglasses, hooked them into the placket of his shirt, and looked down at my face. He studied the scar on my jaw for five long seconds before shifting his gaze to Deputy Harris.
"Report, Harris," the Sheriff said.
"Sir, we have an aggravated altercation on the sparring floor," Harris said, standing at parade rest beside me. "The victim, Colt Lusk, sustained extensive facial trauma. The suspect is Master Gunnery Sergeant Sloane Mercer, retired. Eyewitness testimony from Marcus Vance and available video surveillance indicates the victim initiated the physical confrontation after a verbal altercation regarding an earlier domestic incident. We have secured the DVR in the back office. No weapons were recovered."
Wallace didn't blink. "You got a statement from the Mercer woman?"
"Not yet, sir," Harris said. "I advised her of her rights and placed her in investigative detention per protocol until Major Crimes could arrive on scene."
Wallace looked back at me. "You got anything to say right now, Sloane?"
"My daughter is at Carteret Health Care with a split orbital bone and two fractured ribs," I told him, keeping my eyes locked on his. "Colt Lusk put her there this afternoon. I came here to tell him to stay away from my family. He swung on me. I defended myself. Your deputy has the tape."
Wallace’s jaw worked slowly, like he was chewing on a tough piece of cedar bark. He looked over at the paramedics, who were rolling the gurney toward the front doors. Colt’s head was immobilized in a yellow plastic brace, an IV line already taped to his left forearm, a clear plastic oxygen mask fogging with every ragged, shallow breath he drew.
"Take the cuffs off her, Harris," Wallace said.
Boyd Lusk looked as if he had been struck with an iron pry-bar. "Harlan! What in the hell are you doing? She nearly killed him! Look at the floor! Look at the blood!"
"I said take the cuffs off, Deputy," Wallace repeated, his voice cold and hard as salt-cured ham.
Harris stepped forward, pulled his key from his duty belt, and unlocked the Peerless cuffs. The steel parted from my wrists with a light click. I brought my hands forward, rubbing the faint red indents on my skin, never taking my eyes off the Sheriff.
"You're not going home tonight, Sloane," Wallace said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly tone meant only for me. "Even with Marcus backing you up, you walked into a commercial facility and dismantled a kid who was four weeks out from a regional title fight. The DA in Beaufort is going to want a full sit-down tomorrow morning before we clear self-defense on this. You’re coming down to the substation in Morehead to give a formal deposition on the record."
"My daughter is getting discharged tonight," I said. "She has nowhere to go except my sister’s property."
"Your sister is Claire, right? Up at the pediatric unit?" Wallace asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.
May you like
"Yes."
Before Wallace could answer, the phone on the reception desk began to ring.
