5/1 19:05

The Sheriff offered only the shallowest expression of regret over what had happened to Cooper, then spent a long while talking to Hugo about the town's finances — because his cousin the mayor might not be able to scrape together a single dollar, and the way things were going, Cooper was liable to dig up every old grievance and demand the town council pay for all of it, which could multiply the compensation figure several times over. And if the reserve problem turned Cooper's losses into a recurring expense, it wouldn't just be bad luck for the current mayor — the next mayor, already tacitly understood to be the very Sheriff sitting across from me, would find his own term's finances hit as well. Hit hard.

"So, Mayor — no, sorry, Sheriff — what would you have me do?"

"The old way — just, just keep smoothing things over with Cooper." The Sheriff said this with obvious reluctance. "And quit needling me about it, don't I have enough on my plate already?"

"Oh sure, sure. If drinking coffee, reading the paper, and driving off to the next town to see a woman under the pretense of a car repair all count as 'plate,' then you really are a busy man." But this was something Hugo only said in his own head.

"Creak." The office door was pushed open. It was a middle-aged woman; Hugo recognized her at a glance — Mrs. Brown, who lived not far from the reserve.

"Good evening, uh, ma'am. I know we're past the hour we normally take reports, but what can I do for you?" The Sheriff changed the subject at once, laying it on thick for Mrs. Brown. Hugo gave a disdainful little sneer — a future mayor who couldn't even put a name to her face, that told you everything about how little he cared for this town.

"Sheriff, this is Mrs. Brown," Hugo cleared his throat deliberately. "She lives out near the reserve."

"Thank you, Deputy Hugo, thanks for the reminder. Mrs. Brown, what's brought you here so late?"

"Mrs. Brown, what happened? Where's your husband? Did you come here alone?"

"Sheriff, Hugo — my husband's down at the river right now. My son Joey never came home after school yesterday. My husband and I, and our neighbor Mr. Louis's son and daughter, we searched the riverbank all day, and there's no trace of him anywhere..."

Hugo and the Sheriff exchanged a glance. Both of them were thinking of the same thing — the pack of spotted alligators lazing on the sandbar, none of them longer than three or four meters. Could gators like that really devour three cattle and a middle-schooler in a single week? Maybe a big enough pack could manage it, but the weather lately didn't look anything like drought season — were they really that desperate for food?

"Mrs. Brown, how did you get here? I remember your family only has the one car, don't you?" Hugo pulled on his jacket.

"Mr. Louis's son Kevin was coming into town to pick up his drunk father, so I rode along with him to file the report — I thought, more hands looking, maybe we'd find him faster..." Mrs. Brown's face had gone pale, as though some ominous thought had crossed her mind.

"Sheriff, mind if I drive Mrs. Brown home in the cruiser, and take a look along the riverbank on the way?"

"Why not?"

"Good. Then I'll leave the paperwork to you?"

The Sheriff blinked. "Small stuff like that, you can fill it in when you get back, or tomorrow's soon enough. Go on, go on."

Hugo grabbed the car keys and walked out of the station.

"That old fox — too lazy even to fill out a report form." Hugo muttered this to himself as he slid into the driver's seat, before Mrs. Brown climbed in.