Massey cut him off. “Of course she wouldn’t. I know that. And you know that. But you know how it looks. You know how the media is. They don’t care about the truth. They want a good story. If you start on all this conspiracy-theory nonsense, who knows where it might lead? Everyone knows that your girl has had dealings with that kid and his little gang before. She’s always sticking her nose into things, stirring up trouble. What if someone with a grudge decides to blame her for what happened? What if they say she’s involved? The daughter of the chief of police, a mass shooter? That would be some headline.”

Mike sat back and closed his mouth. He understood.

He listened quietly through the rest of the meeting, as they locked down all the details, so no one outside Middleton would ever know how bad it was or what really happened. Even when they got to the part about him turning in his badge in front of the media, he didn’t say anything. He behaved. He got his pension. He protected his daughter.

He went along quietly. He let them bury the truth.

God, Carrie would be so disappointed in him. He’s carried this shame around with him for twenty years. He would like to blame Carrie for all of it. It would be easier.

But it wouldn’t be true. He’s the one who fell short. Not her.

And he’s afraid that if she’s back, if it’s all starting again, she will find out.

Mike turns around, ready to go home.

That’s when he sees it for the first time. He’s been so deep in thought that he didn’t notice the car trailing him.

He raises a hand and waves, and the car rolls forward silently. It’s moving fast enough that it disturbs him. He casually glances over his shoulder and sees another vehicle, a white van. There is no one on the street. There are no houses, only the golf course and, on the other side, the back of a strip mall.

He’s in trouble. It dawns on him only now, too late to do any good.

Stupid, he thinks. It’s a kind of arrogance he’s seen in other old cops. They think nothing can hurt them because they used to be the toughest guy on the block.

He bends over, still smiling, still acting friendly, as if to clean up after Pearl. Instead, he unhooks her leash. He tells her to run. She looks up at him with the blind loyalty of a dog, as if she smells something wrong in the air. But he tells her to go again and she does. She always bolts for home when she gets a chance. Usually it’s a pain in the ass. Now he’s glad.