More cops were arriving, and some of them, mostly younger guys that Hazard didn’t recognize, were spilling out of the cruisers, laughing, bullshitting each other, ready to tear another unlucky son of a bitch’s life apart and have a great time doing it.

“Step out of the house,” Carmichael said.

“Let me see the warrant,” Hazard said. “And I want my attorney to look at it too.”

“That’s fine,” Moraes said. “And, Emery, you’ll probably want to ask Cora to pick up Evie. We need you to come in with us.”

“Sure,” Hazard said. “Once I talk to my attorney. Once I personally make sure you don’t take a single thing not covered by the warrant, which you still haven’t fucking shown me. And once you assholes are out of my house.”

“I ought to have you on interference—” Carmichael began.

Moraes snapped a look at her, and Carmichael shut up. “Better make those calls,” Moraes suggested quietly, while uniformed officers approached the house.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

JULY 4

THURSDAY

6:45 PM

SOMERS RAN. The black oxfords weren’t meant for running, but he ran anyway, cutting across their backyard, vaulting the low cedar fence that separated them from the neighbors, and sprinting past a confused Cockapoo that stared at Somers and gave a single, wondering bark. He leaped the fence at the front of the house, sprinted across the suburban street, and barely missed getting hit by a Nissan Titan. Somers stumbled, offered a wave, and kept running while the horn blared behind him. He cursed himself, though, even as he put his head down and chugged on. That was the kind of shit that got people caught.

The first decision he had to make was his initial direction. He knew Wahredua well, and he knew that he didn’t have a lot of places he could lie low—not without making someone he loved an accessory or risking being spotted. Another day, it would probably be funny; most of his life, he had enjoyed being one of the most recognizable faces in the small town. He liked knowing people and having them know him, shaking hands, laughing, exchanging a few words. Now, that was exactly what was going to get him caught and thrown in a cell.

After cutting through two more yards, Somers changed course to a diagonal. The first thing he had to do was get out of this neighborhood and into a part of town where he’d draw less attention. A man cutting across suburban yards at dinnertime, on Fourth of July, right when people were about to start coming out for sparklers and Black Cats and Roman candles, well, that was bound to draw attention. He cut across two more lawns; in the next backyard, a man who had to be in his fifties was turning wieners on the grill. Somers was gulping air now, and he waved and tried to smile. The man waved back with the pair of tongs, still clutching a wiener.

Another helpful citizen, Somers thought, who would remember him. When police started asking, wiener man would definitely recall seeing a guy in a suit running for his life.