She couldn’t make such a statement. Cain always went outside. He fed the dogs, let them in or out of their pen, watered or weeded his garden, performed small maintenance chores. “It wasn’t him,” she said.
Peterson meticulously rearranged the calendar, the pencil holder and the steno pad on the desk. “How are the dogs, by the way?”
“They’re fine.”
“All of them?”
“I think so. Quixote seemed a little lethargic this morning, but I’m pretty sure that was just because the sedative hadn’t completely worn off.”
He smiled, but Sheridan could tell it wasn’t sincere. “Where do you suppose this person got a tranquilizer gun?”
“Cain checked. They used his.”
“So now you’re telling me Cain’s dogs were shot with his own gun.” That smile was back.
“Whoever did it broke into Cain’s clinic and took the gun. You can see the damaged lock, if you want.”
“We’ll get to that in a minute. I’m still wondering about the dogs. They didn’t go crazy with a stranger on the property? I thought they woke Cain up with their barking when you were attacked, which happened much farther away.”
“Whoever did this knew how to handle them, I guess. Maybe he tossed some steaks inside their pen before he broke into the clinic. That would distract them until he could get the gun, don’t you think?”
“I’m thinking it would be pretty easy for Cain to break his own lock.”
“You seem pretty eager to believe Cain had something to do with Amy’s death,” she said.
“And you seem pretty defensive of him,” he retorted.
“He’s been a good friend to me.”
“A friend.” He nodded slowly. “I see. You’re sure there isn’t more to your relationship?”
“Like…”
“A closeness that would motivate you to lie for him?”
“I’m not lying!”
“But you’ve lied about your relationship with him in the past, correct?”
Sheridan unclasped her hands and curled her nails into her palms. “I didn’t broadcast the fact that we slept together. There was no reason to do so.”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully, but it was all for show. Officer Peterson seemed to think he was being clever. “Will you answer one more question for me, Ms. Kohl?”
“What is it?” She felt cornered and uneasy. She wanted Amy’s killer found; she wanted the man who shot Jason and attacked her captured and punished. Instead, the cops were searching for evidence to charge Cain.
“How many people can you name who’d know which kind of sedative to use—and how much—in order to put a dog to sleep but not kill it?”
She glared at him.
“Ms. Kohl?”
“None,” she admitted. “But all the supplies were right there. And the amounts wouldn’t be hard to figure out, especially if whoever shot Amy came prepared with a little information from the Internet and wasn’t particularly worried whether or not the dogs died.”
“You just said they survived. All three of them.”
“Maybe we got lucky.”
“Or whoever did it knew what he was doing.”
“So now you’re saying Cain killed his own stepbrother, nearly killed me twice and shot Amy?”
“You tell me,” he said.
“Why would he do all of this?”
“He shot you and Jason out of jealousy.”
She rolled her eyes but he lifted a hand as he continued.
“And he got away with it. What you told the police back then wasn’t enough to cause him trouble, and you went away. It was over. Done. But then someone found that rifle, which he probably never expected, and you came back. It’s logical to assume he’d be spooked.”
“So why didn’t he finish me off when he was beating me in the woods?” she challenged.
“He heard or saw something that led him to believe he’d been spotted, so he acted as your savior instead.”
“Who could’ve seen him?”
“A hunter. A camper. A hiker.” He paused. “Or maybe it was Amy.”
Sheridan came to her feet. “What? Amy just happened to be randomly patrolling the forest near Cain’s place at midnight and stumbled upon him beating me?”
“She went up there all the time. She was there last night, wasn’t she?”
“Because she was making sure whoever hurt me wasn’t lurking around. That’s what she told Cain. Why else would she be there so late?”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Knowing Cain, what do you think?”
They’d stop at nothing to disparage him. “He hasn’t been sleeping with her.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because of what Amy told me. Besides, she was a police officer. If she saw Cain doing something he shouldn’t—”
“She was a cop, but she was a woman first. Maybe you don’t know how much she loved him.”
Sheridan did know. Unfortunately, she also knew that Amy wasn’t the only one. “You’re saying she was covering for him.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Until last night. Maybe she threatened to come out with the truth and that’s why he killed her.”
16
When Peterson and Sheridan emerged from Ned’s office, Sheridan didn’t look happy. She sent him a warning glance, but Cain already knew things were going to get worse before they got better.
His stepfather was acting more remote, more formal, than ever. And he’d obviously come to the station for a reason.
“Cain, do you mind giving me a few minutes?” John motioned toward the now-empty office. “I’d like to talk to you alone.”
Cain did mind. His emotions were so complex when it came to John Wyatt that even he didn’t know how he felt most of the time. There’d been periods in the past when Cain had wanted to please him, to finally achieve the love and acceptance his stepbrothers took for granted. But everything changed once his mother got sick. Almost from the day of her diagnosis, John began to act as if she didn’t exist. Maybe everyone else thought he was a saint, but Cain knew what he’d really been like.
With a curt nod, he headed into the office, then watched his stepfather slip past him and around the desk to take Ned’s chair.
“Sit down,” John said.
Cain didn’t want to sit down. He was filled with too much nervous energy. First, that rifle had been found in his cabin. Then Sheridan had returned to town and nearly been killed. And Amy—God, Amy. Now that the shock was wearing off, what he felt about her death was a bleak sadness, a sense of waste.