“We know you were at his house, Wilde. You came in through the sliding glass door. You messed around with his computer. He had a sophisticated CCTV system. We know it all.”
“If you know it all,” Wilde said, “then you know I didn’t kill him.”
“Just the opposite,” the gruff voice said. “We know you did it. We want to know why.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
Without warning, the cattle prod zapped him again. Wilde felt every muscle involuntarily stiffen. He slid off the seat to the ground, flopping like a fish on a dock.
Two strong hands picked him up and dumped him back in the chair.
The gruff voice said, “Here’s the thing, Wilde. We want to play this straight. We are going to give you a chance, not like what you did with Henry. We just want to know what happened. We will then locate the evidence to back up that truth. You’ll get arrested. You’ll get a fair trial. Sure, you’ll tell people about this little meeting, but there will be zero evidence it occurred. It won’t affect the trial. Still, this is your best bet. You tell us what happened to Henry. We free you and find the evidence. It’s all straight and fair. Do you understand?”
Wilde knew better than to contradict Gruff Voice: “Yes.”
“We aren’t interested in pinning it on you, if you didn’t do it.”
“Good, because I didn’t. And before you hit me with that zapper again, I know you don’t have me on CCTV. If McAndrews had those kind of surveillance videos, then you’d have also seen the killer weeks earlier.”
“You broke in.”
The metal was against Wilde’s neck again. He shuddered.
“Are you denying that?”
“No.”
“Why did you break in?”
“He was anonymously harassing someone.”
“Who?”
“A reality star. He used bots and fake accounts.”
Another voice: “You really think you can talk shit about Henry?”
This blast from the cattle prod must have been set at the higher level because it felt to Wilde as though his skull had exploded into a thousand pieces. His body wouldn’t stop convulsing. He dropped again to the floor, but this time whoever had the cattle prod kept it on him. The voltage kept coursing through him. His legs jerked. His arms spasmed. Wilde’s eyes started rolling back. It felt as though his lungs and internal organs were being overloaded, as though his heart would burst like an overfilled balloon.
“You’re going to kill him!”
Through the din, Wilde heard the buzz of a phone. The cattle prod went silent. Wilde kept convulsing. He flipped over and vomited.
From seemingly a great distance, Wilde heard a voice say, “What? But how?”
Everything stopped, except Wilde, who was still madly twitching, trying to ride out the agony, the hot electricity still scalding his veins. His ears rang. His eyes started to close. He let them. He wanted to pass out, anything for relief. Then he felt the strong hands picking him up again. Wilde tried to help, but his legs wouldn’t obey any command.
Soon he was back in the car.
Fifteen minutes later, the car stopped suddenly. Someone uncuffed him. The car door opened again. The strong hands shoved him out. Wilde hit the asphalt and rolled away.
“If you tell anybody about this,” the gruff voice said, “we’ll come back and kill you.”
Chapter
Twenty-Two
When Oren Carmichael answered Wilde’s knock, his eyes went wide.
“My God, what the hell happened to you?”
Oren Carmichael had been there that day thirty-five years ago when little “feral” Wilde had been found in the woods. He’d been the first one to talk to him, lowering himself to the boy’s level and, in the most comforting voice, telling him, “Son, no one is going to harm you, I promise. Can you tell me your name?” Oren Carmichael had driven Wilde to his first foster home, stayed in his room until he fell asleep, been there when he woke up the next morning. Oren Carmichael had both tirelessly investigated how Wilde had ended up in those woods and been a huge help in that lost boy’s transition into this new world. Oren Carmichael had coached Wilde in various sports, chosen him to be on his teams, looked out for him, made sure that Wilde felt as much a part of the community as a boy like Wilde could. Oren Carmichael had offered advice when he felt Wilde needed it, and even helped a rebellious Wilde navigate teen trouble. Oren Carmichael had been the first officer to arrive at the car accident that killed David.
Oren had always been kind, compassionate, strong, measured, professional, intelligent. Wilde admired the way he carried himself, and he’d been happy when Oren and Hester started dating. Hester had been the closest thing Wilde had to a mother, and while he wouldn’t go so far as to call him a father figure, Oren Carmichael had been the closest thing Wilde had to a male role model.