Devil's Pass Read Online Free

call a lawyer.”
    â€œAny particular reason?”
    â€œYes.” But that’s all Webb said.
    â€œThat would be?”
    That would be something that his grandfather had asked Webb to do, but it would also be something that was none of the cop’s business.
    Webb said nothing. He’d learned silence was a powerful way to communicate.
    The cop let out a long sigh. Webb could tell he was puzzled. But Webb didn’t owe him any explanations.
    â€œWhat brings you to Norman Wells?” the cop asked.
    â€œAirplane,” Webb said.
    â€œFrom anyone else,” the cop said, “that would be a smart-ass answer. You, I think, are telling me to mind my own business. But after what you did at the airport, your business is my business.”
    Webb took off his belt and emptied out his pockets. Some change. His wallet. A few guitar picks. His iPod and the solar-powered charger.
    â€œYou’re forgetting something.”
    Webb shook his head.
    â€œThat tooth. If it’s not attached to you, it goes in the bag too.”
    â€œSwallowed it,” Webb said. He felt the tooth roll under his tongue as he spoke.
    After he filled in a form listing all Webb’s belongings, the cop chucked all Webb’s stuff in a bag and uncuffed Webb so that he could sign the form. Webb could see the cop watching him, as if he expected Webb to swing at him and wanted to be ready for it.
    No chance of that. The cop had control of the guitar. Webb didn’t want the cop to have a personal grudge against him. Webb could fight back. His guitar couldn’t.
    â€œGive me your parents’ phone number,” the cop said as he flipped through Webb’s passport. “You’re not eighteen.”
    Webb couldn’t imagine anything worse—after ignoring his mother at the funeral and the reading of the will, his first contact with her in months shouldn’t be a call from a police cell in the Northwest Territories. She didn’t deserve that.
    â€œI have to be out by tomorrow,” Webb said. “Don’t I get a phone call or something?”
    â€œI want to talk to your parents.”
    â€œAnd I want to talk to a lawyer.”
    â€œTomorrow,” the cop said. He led Webb to cell number two. “And if you don’t give me a number for your parents, I’ll get it another way. Trust me.”
    The benches along the walls were green. There were two large windows made of some kind of material that let in light but wasn’t transparent.
    Someone else might have made a joke about going number two, just to break the silence. Not Webb.
    He was fine with silence.
    Good thing.
    When the cop shut the door on Webb, that’s all he had for company.
    Silence.

FIVE
    THEN
    A little over a week earlier, Webb had not sat with his mother at his grandfather’s funeral. Instead, he’d waited until the service began before he slipped into the back row, noting where she sat with his stepfather, and he had been ready to escape as soon as the service ended.
    At the reading of the will in the lawyer’s office, three days before his arrival in Norman Wells, Webb didn’t have much choice except to sit in clear view of her. She’d given him an imploring look, like she wanted a hug or at least a word from him.
    He’d crossed his arms and given a firm shake of his head. It had been months since he had been in the same room as his mother. The death of his grandfather was about the only reason in the world he’d consent to it, but that didn’t mean he had to talk to her.
    The look on her face when he’d shaken his head broke his heart. It was almost enough to make him run across this room with its dark overstuffed leather chairs and couches, run past all his relatives and their solemn looks. Almost enough to put him on his knees in front of her, clutching her legs and bawling about how much he missed her and how much he wished he could live at home with her like any