An hour later he sat in a very small room at the sheriff’s station. It had a narrow table pressed against one corner with a chair next to it in the other corner, and two chairs by the other end by the door.
Del was tired as hell. There was no clock in the room, but on the way in he’d seen that it was barely nine in the morning. It felt like he’d been awake for days.
He’d gotten a ride from a deputy when it was time to leave the hospital, and because he hadn’t had the chance to change, there were a few drops of Justin’s blood on the knee of his jeans. He picked at it as he sat there, waiting for someone to come get his statement.
He’d written it down already, trying to sound as clear as possible when his memories of what had happened that night were already fuzzy and incomplete. He knew
