Free The Highway by C. J. Box Page B

done.
    “How many murder cases have you worked?” he asked.
    “You know,” she said.
    “That’s right: none. How many major felony cases? Oh, same number: none. But you went to the academy and you got hired right away and promoted right over the heads of people who’ve been in that department for years. So I guess you know it all.”
    “I don’t know it all,” she said with anger, “and I never act like I do. And I could have partnered up with Markey or Stegner or Curley. But I fought to be able to work with you. And you know why? Because I’d heard you were the best. That you were a bulldog and that you’d cleaned up your act.”
    His face reddened and his eyes bulged. He looked like he was ready to explode. She looked away because the intensity of his glare was almost violent in itself. Then he surprised her by snorting again and he laughed softly, shaking his head. He seemed suddenly more interested in the untouched shot and beer than he was in her confession.
    After a long pause, he said, “I know it was Tubman and you’re too green to go up against him, plus you owe your job to him. He used you, and you let yourself get used.”
    “I know. I’m ashamed of myself.”
    “Are you?”
    “That’s why I’m here.”
    His eyes bored into hers. She was surprised when they softened.
    He said, “You’ll find, Cassie, that it’s us against the world. We do our damnedest to put away degenerates and douche bags so innocent people won’t be hurt by them, but all the forces out there are set up to make us fail. We’ve got county attorneys that won’t take on a case unless it’s airtight, judges who want to invent the law instead of enforce what’s there, defense attorneys who want to show publicly how fucking incompetent we are, and juries who want to stick it to the man. So when we’ve figured out that someone is guilty as sin, sometimes we need to stack the deck a little. You know what I’m saying?”
    She shook her head, but was both scared and a little thrilled to hear what he’d say.
    “Somebody’s got to defend innocent people,” he said. “They need a dark angel. The deck is stacked against them, too. All those good citizens out there just want to raise their families, go to work, go to church, and keep their heads down. They don’t give a shit about county politics or political correctness or who’s running for sheriff or the sheriff’s fucking diversity program. They just want to live their lives. Somebody’s got to step up and protect them, you know? And who is tougher on bad guys than me?
    “Look,” Cody said, “B. G. did it. The two of them are big-time growers fighting for market share. I know these people because I grew up with them. I went to school with B. G., and he’s been a dirtbag in training from the minute he was born. B. G. went to Tokely’s house on some pretext and shot Tokely with Tokely’s gun, then made it look like a suicide. He murdered a man. We’re supposed to be against that. And I don’t give a shit about Roger Tokely, either. He was a reprobate just like B. G. But if we leave B. G. out on the street, look what we’ve done. We’ve allowed him to continue to beat the shit out of his wife and kids for years and they’ll never turn against him because he’s got them under his thumb. Worst of all we’ve showed him he can beat us. So the next time he gets high, maybe it’s one of those innocents out there who gets it. Maybe it’s your mom, or your kid, or my son. B. G.’s a typical douche bag. He’s been getting away with crap for years. He’s human shit and I just want to flush him away.”
    She flinched when he suddenly reached back, but instead of the weapon he slapped his wallet on the table and opened it.
    “This is Justin,” he said, jabbing his finger on a photo of a strapping, smiling teenager in a football uniform. “He’s just a great kid. He’s smart, he’s kind. He’s empathetic in a way I just look at and wonder where the hell it