An Evil Heart (Kate Burkholder, #15)(30)
He frowns at me. “Yeah. Right.”
“Is there anything else you haven’t told me that I should know about?” I ask.
“I think I’ve said enough.”
I close my notebook and tuck it back into my pocket. “If I find out you’ve lied to me about any of this, I’ll be back for you, Wayne. Do you understand me?”
“I told you everything I know.”
“If you have to leave town for any reason, let me know.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
At that, I turn and walk away.
* * *
One of the fundamental truths I’ve learned from my years in law enforcement is that people usually don’t lie without a reason. I don’t believe Wayne Graber murdered Aden Karn. I checked his alibi, after all; he was at work and clocked in the morning it happened. His supervisor at Mast Tiny Homes substantiated it. However, because he’s playing it loose with the truth, Graber stays on my suspect list. At least for now.
I enter the police station to find my first-shift dispatcher, Lois, sitting at the switchboard, fielding calls and burning up the keyboard.
“I’m surprised that computer isn’t smoking,” I say by way of greeting.
“It was a minute ago.” Grinning, she waves a stack of pink message slips at me. “Everyone you know has called at least twice in the last hour.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I pluck the messages from her hand.
She places her caller on hold. “Vernon Fisher is in the interview room, Chief. Been in there for nearly an hour and he’s mad as a hornet. Every ten minutes or so he starts pounding on the door and calling his mother the most awful names.”
Having overheard our exchange, Glock stands, looks at me over the top of his cubicle, and grins. “Morning, Chief.”
“You got a few minutes?” I ask.
“You bet.”
“Let me grab some coffee,” I tell him. “I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”
Ten minutes later, Glock and I walk into the interview room. It’s a small, windowless space that was once used to store office supplies. Vernon Fisher slouches in a chair at the table, looking like an unhappy kid who’s been sent to detention. He’s trying to look calm, as if he’s taking all of this in stride. But he can’t hide the anger radiating off him.
I set my file on the table and pull up a chair so that I’m sitting across from him. Glock closes the door behind us and takes his place against the wall, folding his arms in front of him.
“I appreciate your agreeing to come in and talk to us,” I begin.
Fisher makes a sound of irritation. “Like I had a choice. I’ve been sitting here for an hour, Chief Burkholder.” His eyes flick to Glock. “Your goon over there picked me up and here I am. No one bothered to come in and talk to me.”
“I’m here now.” To keep all of this on the up-and-up, I recite the Miranda rights to him from memory. “Do you understand those rights?”
He chokes out a sound of disbelief. “I don’t need to know my rights because I didn’t do anything wrong!”
Ignoring his outburst, I open the folder. “Why didn’t you tell me you and Aden Karn were friends?”
“What?” He blinks as if Aden Karn is the last topic I’d raise. “You didn’t ask.”
“Let me refresh your memory.” I look down at my notes from the last time I spoke to him. “When I asked you about the truck, this was your answer. And I quote: ‘You come here to my place of business and accuse me of killing some freakin’ dude I barely know?’”
“I don’t remember saying that.”
“You did. Verbatim. Which means you lied to me.” I make eye contact with him. “You know lying to the police is against the law, right?”
He sits up straighter. “Look, Karn wasn’t exactly my best bud. I didn’t know him that well. I didn’t—”
I slap my palms down on the table hard enough to make him jump. “You lie to me one more time and there will be consequences. Do you understand?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Were you friends with Karn?”
“We hung out sometimes. Drank beer. That’s it.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Just … since we were little kids.”
“And yet you weren’t friends? Didn’t know him well?”
“We were frickin’ Amish. When you’re Amish, everyone knows everyone.”
“When’s the last time you talked to him?”
“Shit.” He lowers his head, sets his fingertips against his temple as if trying to remember. “Three or four days before he was killed. I told you that.”
“Can anyone substantiate that?”
“I think Wayne was there. I mean, I went to Aden’s house to tell him I wanted my money back.”
“Did you argue?”
“Well … yeah. I mean, I wasn’t happy with him and I let him know it. For God’s sake, I gave him six hundred bucks and the truck turns out to be a piece of crap. Then he goes and repossesses the truck. So, yeah, I was a little hot. But, for God’s sake, I didn’t fuckin’ kill him!”