He stilled, sensing something beneath his words. “They’re fine, I guess.”
The sheriff smiled broadly. “That’s good to hear.” He paused for a moment. “By the way, I noticed how you went out of your way to comfort the Lattimore woman the other day after her kid found the body—damn thing that was, by the way. I still don’t understand what a little thing like that was doing scaling the side of a canyon. But in any case, you be careful how much time you spend with her, you hear? I asked you to keep tabs on her activities, not what’s under her skirt. I wouldn’t want you getting caught up with someone unacceptable unless unacceptable is what she’s looking for.” He chuckled softly. “Type of woman like that, little kid depending on her, she’s gonna try to trap you if you let her.”
Camden’s hands fisted on his thighs. “Yes, sir. I’m aware of her type.”
The sheriff’s smile grew. “Course you are.” He turned his gaze to a folder on his desk. “I received the full autopsy results from the victim recovered two days ago, Kandace Thompson.” He paused for a moment. “I sure do wish you would’ve let us handle it first,” he said, his smile unmoving. “Instead of calling in outsiders. We would have preferred to complete the autopsy right here, in our Farrow lab. The guild won’t look favorably on your choices.”
Camden let out a breath. “There didn’t seem to be a way around it, sir, since Ms. Lattimore knew the victim and her mother. Strangest coincidence.”
“Strange indeed,” he said. “That’s what happens when those not vetted by the guild move to town. We should’ve stopped that. We’ll have to see what can be done about it now.”
Dammit. Camden’s gut churned, but he nodded. “Was there anything more found in the autopsy report, sir?”
The sheriff smiled, quietly watching him for a moment. “The gunshot wound to her torso caused her death.”
Yes, he’d figured that. He still felt sick. They’d shot her. They’d chased her through the forest and shot her like an animal.
Hey, Dreamboat. He saw her smile and a ribbon of sadness wound through him. She’d tried. She’d done her best to exact justice.
The sheriff sat back, lacing his hands over his flat stomach. “The girl obviously ran into some trouble. Whoever helped her run away must have shot her. We figure it was about drugs. The root of all evil. She had a history and all.” He eyed Camden. “Something similar happened before, if you didn’t know. Three girls ran away from Lilith House, back to their life of depravity and fornication. They were never seen again.”
Three girls. No, he hadn’t heard about that. Hadn’t found it anywhere in the crimes database for the town of Farrow. Why? Because it hadn’t been considered a crime at all, but just three runaways, missing of their own accord? Or had the sheriff known enough to hide that from him? Camden sat frozen, watching the man in front of him lie to his face, accuse others of what he himself had done. He cleared his throat. “No, sir. I didn’t know about that.”
“Of course, you didn’t. You would have been, what? Two or three when that happened I guess. In any case,” the sheriff went on, sitting forward, “I just wanted to let you know. Case closed. Shame the choices people make.”
Camden hid his disgust with a clearing of his throat.
The sheriff stood, his chair creaking and rolling backward. “Well, now that that nasty little business is over, I’m going to go make myself some tea. Would you like a cup?”
“Uh, no, sir. Thank you. I’m just going to catch up on a little paperwork, and then follow up on some calls from a few folks in town.”
“There ya go,” the sheriff said, clapping him on the back and then squeezing his shoulder. He made eye contact, held it for just a beat more than felt comfortable. “There ya go,” he repeated, removing his hand. They both exited his office. The sheriff walked past Camden, entering the kitchen just down the hall. Camden heard him whistling from inside. He turned quickly, grabbing a tissue from a box on the sheriff’s desk, heading directly toward that drawer, and removing the box. He used the tissue to pick up the gun, the serial number already shaved off, but maybe, maybe—God willing—containing prints not only from the sheriff, but from Gene Miller too.
“I was hoping I was wrong.”
Camden whirled around to see the sheriff standing in the doorway of his office. “Dammit, Cam, I really hoped I was wrong. About all three of you. But mostly about you.” He shook his head, looking truly sorrowful. “You just can’t wash the sin away, can you? It’s embedded in your marrow. From those women who conceived you.”
“I don’t think you know the meaning of the word sin, Sheriff,” he said softly. “I don’t think any of you do.”
The sheriff sighed. “You’re wrong, son. No one knows the meaning of sin better than us. We’ve been attempting to cast it off since Farrow began. As my son, my blood, I thought you might come to know that. I thought you might be able to fight the evil inside you.”
Camden’s mouth parted. As my son. He was the sheriff’s son? His blood. His head swam. He swallowed. “That’s why you let me come back,” he murmured. “It’s why you let me have the job.”
“Of course, son.”
He felt lightheaded. Off balance. Son. “You hid me in the basement of Lilith House for most of my life,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word.
The sheriff’s jaw hardened momentarily. “They wanted to leave you out on that rock in the woods. All of you. I didn’t allow it. They told me I’d come to regret my compassion, said evil only begets more evil, but I was stubborn. I’m sorry to say I should have listened to them.”
“Who was my mother?”
“Your mother was a sixteen-year-old whore who had track marks on her arms.” He smiled, and it was disgusting in its callousness and lack of shame. He had raped that sixteen-year-old he called a whore. “Pretty thing though. Real pretty. I blessed her every time. Only me. It’s how I know you’re mine. She shouldn’t have run. I would’ve kept her.”
Kept her? Like she was an animal?
“What was her name?”
“Can’t say as I recall.”
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“Georgia’s and Mason’s mothers?” he asked, and it sounded like his own voice came from a great distance.
The sheriff eyed him. “I don’t remember the specifics, just that they fell pregnant. Too low a dose of birth control, Dr. Bill figured. He replaced it with a stronger type after that. Unfortunately, those two were born . . . damaged as well.”
Damaged.
“What’s my damage?”
The sheriff cocked his head to the side. “Why, none, son. None at all. We thought you’d suffered an accident of birth, but”—he swept his hand toward him—"clearly that’s not the case. It’s why my hopes were so high. So high.”
Camden heard the disappointment in the sheriff’s words. He shook his head, screwed up his face. So many questions, so many, and yet he knew the clock was ticking. He had to get out of there. If the sheriff was telling him this, it was because Cam had become dispensable. He wasn’t going to let him simply walk out the door. Not now. Whatever roles he’d played in this town were over.