I owe you both an explanation, he says. A long overdue one. We'd like to hear it, Addie says, sitting down beside him. Josie sits on his other side, quiet, waiting. Frank is silent for a moment, gathering himself.
Your father was the best sheriff this county ever had. He starts fair, honest. Never once took a shortcut, even when it cost him. About 9 years ago, he started asking questions about a Whitmore project. Land records that didn't match up.
Permits signed off too fast. He never got to finish that investigation. I remember the night before it happened, Frank adds quietly. He came by my house late. Said he'd found something in the county records.
Wouldn't tell me exactly what. Said he wanted to be sure first. Said he'd show me in the morning over coffee like always. That morning never came. The accident, Josie says quietly.
That's what we were always told. That's what the file says. Frank agrees. I never believed it. Not fully.
The the skid marks were wrong. The timing was wrong. Too many things didn't fit. But the case closed within a month and I was young. I had a family, a badge.
I wasn't ready to lose. I told myself it wasn't my place to push. His voice cracks slightly on the last few words. I've carried that decision for 9 years, he says. It never got lighter.
Addie reaches over and rests a hand on his arm. You were scared, she says. That doesn't make you a bad man. It makes me a man who chose safety over your father, Frank says. That's a hard thing to forgive myself for.
Josie speaks up, gentle but firm. He wouldn't have wanted you carrying this alone. He believed in second chances. He told me that more than once. Maybe this is yours, she says.
Help us finish what he started. Frank looks at both of them for a long moment, eyes wet. I'd like that, he says. More than you know. That evening, the three of them sit together at Frank's kitchen table.
Old case files spread out between coffee cups and a half-eaten pie. Frank walks them through what he remembers piece by piece, careful and thorough. Your father kept his own notes, he says. Separate from the official file. Where?
Addie asks, leaning forward. He never told me. Exactly. Said it was safer that way for all of us. A man like Walter didn't trust paper he didn't control himself.