He looked out the window. Frost climbed up the glass, the way it had Garrison’s eyes last night. Silence fell over them like a weighted blanket. But there was nothing comforting about it. It was a silence that intended to crush them––deflate their lungs, pulverize their bones to particles more minuscule than the powder cocaine that littered the streets and back alleys. Hudson was suddenly so tired he could barely stand.

He grabbed his coat off the back of the metal chair. “I have to let Pip out.”

Miserelli nodded. A spring of titian hair came loose from her low bun. “Go on. You know Garrison always preferred my company over yours anyway.” A corner of her mouth twitched, creating the faintest arrow-shaped dimple. He tried and failed to smile back.

She took over then, guarding Garrison’s body as he had done for the past eight hours. It wasn’t until he’d made it down the hall, his fingers gripping the door handle, that Hudson heard a small whimper escape from her.

He sat in his SUV, waiting for the engine to warm up before driving the few miles home. He should have started it ten minutes ago, while he was still inside, but he knew better. Luxuries such as remote-starting your vehicle were not afforded to residents of Black Harbor. A running vehicle was an invitation; it might as well have a “Free” sign slapped on the windshield. Look at what had happened to the woman at the gas station. The perp had driven off with her car. It was long gone by now, dumped somewhere across state lines and burned to a crisp, probably. But maybe not. If they found it, the case would become a lot more solvable.

Hudson unlocked his phone and studied the picture of Kai Steele again. The red dreadlocks behind the money fan. The gun in his waistband had a black grip, but he couldn’t identify it beyond that. Not that it mattered. This wasn’t his case.

And yet, he knew that if he was the one in the casket, Garrison would be on a manhunt right now. Slowly, his windshield began to thaw. He watched as the fractals of frost cleared away, white, wraithlike fingers receding. Perhaps it wasn’t a manhunt at all, he thought, but a hunt for the woman who had witnessed everything.

7 MORGAN

Morgan shivered. Water droplets clung to her skin before evaporating. She wrapped a frayed towel around herself. She would never be warm again. Not after last night. Witnessing the murder of that cop, and the words he’d whispered to her in his final seconds, had left her chilled to the bone.