Free The Seeker A Novel (R. B. Chesterton) by R. B. Chesterton Page B

that big fir.”
    “Probably someone from the inn.” He closed the door and slid behind the steering wheel.
    A second later we were gliding away from the inn. I twisted in the back seat and tried to examine the woods. A streak of red shifted between the dark tree trunks. She was still there. She didn’t want to be seen by anyone but me.
    The bare green walls in the holding room were marked with brown stains that could have been dried blood or other bodily effluvium. Every corner was crusted with filth and dust. The place hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned in at least a decade. Justice in Concord was neither swift nor sanitary.
    A particular wall blotch put me in mind of Granny Siobhan’s birthmark. Another spray of reddish brown reminded me of a pod of whales. No matter where I found myself, I was never far from my heritage.
    I’d been alone for the better part of an hour, waiting to be questioned. Waiting to be charged. Waiting for the words that could end my academic career. I doubted I could get a job teaching with a conviction for assault and battery on my record. What would I do with myself if no school would hire me? The answer was a black void.
    “Look, Ms. Cahill was defending herself.” Joe’s voice funneled down the police department’s main corridor. Dorothea had been as good as her word.
    “I have witnesses,” Joe said. “Cassidy Holmes saw the whole thing. Karla Steele accosted Ms. Cahill and struck her in the back of the neck. Aine was only defending herself. If anyone should press charges, it should be Aine.”
    The mumble of the officer wasn’t clear.
    “She cannot have this on her record,” Joe said. “A conviction for assault could jeopardize her future career.”
    More mumbling.
    “Charge her, and you open the city to a lawsuit. Karla Steele isn’t rational, and you know it. Look up her record before you make a big mistake.”
    The hubbub died down and I was left to walk the width of the small green room with minimalist furnishings—a table and two chairs. I wondered if there were cameras or audio devices so they could hear and watch me. I didn’t care. Pacing wasn’t a criminal act.
    After an eternity, the door opened and Joe came in. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This is my fault.” An officer stood at the door, looking in. Joe closed it.
    My temper had cooled enough that I didn’t respond with mayhem. Practicality was my new mode. “I need a lawyer.”
    He shook his head. “No. Karla dropped the assault charge. I just talked with her.”
    My heart thudded against my ribs, and the inexplicable pressure of tears built. I was suddenly furious once again. Tears were ridiculous. “She got what she wanted, didn’t she? Your attention.”
    “Not in the way she wanted, I assure you.” Anger pulsed in a jaw muscle. “I’ll make this right for you, Aine.”
    Watching the pain shift across his features, I didn’t doubt his apology. I couldn’t hold him responsible for Karla’s actions even though I wanted to. “Who’s Mischa?”
    Had I slapped him, he could not have jerked back more sharply. “Who told you?”
    “Told me what?”
    “Who told you to ask about her?”
    “Karla. Who is Mischa? Another girlfriend?”
    “God no.” His hands splayed on the desk. “We’ll talk about this when we get out of here.”
    “Why not now?”
    “Because it’s private, and this is a police interrogation room. Can we leave it until I get you home?”
    I considered. His reaction made me want to pursue the matter, but pushing him into a corner wouldn’t yield results. “Okay.”
    “Let’s go.” He tapped on the door and it opened. When he stood aside, I walked out. The police department hummed with activity, but several officers looked up.
    “Golden Gloves contender,” an officer said as I passed.
    I didn’t bother to respond. I only wanted to step into the sunshine and go home.
    “I’ll take you to the cabin,” Joe volunteered.
    I didn’t own a car, and walking in the cold from