“Thank you for talking me off the ledge,” I tell him.
“It’s nothing a decent bartender couldn’t have done.” He shrugs. “They solve most of the world’s problems, you know.”
“If you ever retire, some bar owner is going to snap you up.”
For a moment, we smile at each other. Then he gets to his feet and pulls me up to face him. “Too bad we can’t play hooky today,” he murmurs.
“No way we can pull that off.”
He leans into me, slides his arms around my waist, and presses his mouth to mine. “On the other hand.” He looks down at me. “It’s not yet five thirty in the morning.”
“Which means I need to get going.”
“Or it might mean we have an hour or so to kill before our cell phones start ringing.”
“You’re already dressed.” I straighten his tie, flick the knot with my forefinger. “You’re wearing your good suit today.”
“Fuck the suit,” he says, and sweeps me into his arms.
CHAPTER 23
I’m sitting in the Explorer in front of the Vernon Fisher’s gas station, windows down, watching the sun rise and listening to a cardinal chip from atop the maple tree a few yards away. I’m thinking about Aden Karn and Emily Byler, the masks people wear, and how those masks contrast with the personas they present to the rest of the world. I’ve always believed I have good instincts when it comes to seeing any darkness that lurks in the hearts of men. I’m loath to admit it, but I’d been wrong about Karn—and blind to a slew of possibilities in terms of motive.
Not a good look, Kate.
The crunch of tires on gravel pulls me from my thoughts. I glance left to see Vernon Fisher pull up next to me in an old Chevy pickup truck I’ve never seen before. His window is down, music blaring, and he’s glaring at me, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Not happy to see me parked in his driveway so early in the morning, a fact that gives me a disproportionate rise of pleasure.
Frowning, he jams the truck into park, tosses the cigarette to the ground, and gets out.
I meet him at his vehicle. “Get a new truck?”
“Bought it this morning for fifteen hundred bucks.”
“Nice.” I run my hand over the fender. “You must be an early riser.”
“Ain’t been to sleep yet, so…” He shrugs. “This about Aden?”
I tug the photo of Paige Rossberger and the red Altima from my pocket, unfold them, and show him the picture of the woman. “Have you ever seen her?”
He gives the photo a cursory look and shakes his head. “Who is she?”
I shuffle the photo of the Altima so that it’s on top. “What about this vehicle?”
Another perfunctory look. “Nope.”
“Are you sure? You didn’t take a very good look. Take your time. Take a good long look. This is an important moment for you.”
He narrows his eyes, not sure of my meaning. He doesn’t look at the photo. “No offense, Chief Burkholder, but I looked at those photos. I answered your questions. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me go inside and get some sleep.”
I’m aware of the cardinal chipping away. The truck engine ticking as the engine cools. The sun warm on my back. I think about Emily Byler, and I feel that dragon of rage snap its tail.
“I understand you’ve had a few parties here at the station,” I say, keeping my voice conversational.
“That isn’t against the law, is it?”
“No, it’s not.” I look at the gas station, pretend to study the façade. “Kind of an interesting venue for a party. How many have you had out here?”
He tosses me a look that’s part perplexed, but mostly annoyed. “We might’ve had a few. What does that have to do with anything?”
“We?” I assume my own perplexed expression. “Who else?”
“Just me and a few buddies. You’ve seen them out here.”
Emily’s voice comes at me from the recesses of my mind … And then they all came in.
“Maybe I should talk to them, too,” I say. “What are their names?”
“I reckon you’ll have to figure that out on your own.” One side of his mouth hikes into a smile, a chess player realizing he’s about to checkmate. “I haven’t been playing the music too loud, have I?” He looks around, Mr. Innocent, indicating there isn’t a neighbor in sight.
“Silly of me not to notice something so obvious.” I add an amicable tone to my voice. “By the way, you do know the age of consent in Ohio is sixteen, right?”
“I’m not sure why you’d mention that,” he says. “I haven’t had any young girls out here. I don’t do that shit.”
I hold my temper at bay. “Rape and sexual-battery laws in Ohio cover a lot of different scenarios.” I shrug, a teacher explaining a complicated algebra problem to a student who doesn’t quite get it. “I mean, a person can be charged with rape if they coerce an individual into drinking or taking drugs so that the victim is impaired and unable to resist sexual advances. Did you know that?”
The good-old-boy pretenses fall away. “I thought this was about Aden.”
“It is.”
He stares at me, all semblance of good humor and cockiness giving way to nerves—and thinly concealed temper. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his hands clench into fists, and I’m keenly aware of my radio mike pinned to my lapel, my .38 strapped to my hip. That I’d like nothing better than to punch his fucking lights out.
“The law is fascinating,” I hear myself say. “Did you know that rape is a first-degree felony?”
He stares at me, eyes level and set, his nostrils flaring.
“Also.” I say the word with emphasis. “Did you know there’s a mandatory prison term for certain conduct, like drugging the victim? And if force or coercion was used, the offender faces life imprisonment.” I shake my head. “Life. Can you imagine?”
“I don’t know why you’re telling me that.”
“Judging by the look on your face, you know exactly why I’m telling you this.”
“You’ve no cause to speak to me like that.” He glances over his shoulder at the gas station. “I have to go.”
“Please do. Get some rest. In fact, you’d better get as much sleep as you can because in the coming days and weeks and months, you’re going to need it.” I raise my hand, touch the tip of his nose with my index finger. “I’m relentless, Vernon. One wrong move, and I’m going to be all over your shit. Do you understand?”
Looking shaken, he steps away from me, looks me up and down as if he’s expecting a physical attack. I hold my ground, stare hard at him.
“You’re not allowed touch me like that. You can’t threaten a citizen,” he snarls. “Just because you can’t figure out what happened to Karn doesn’t mean you can come here and take it out on me.”
“Maybe you should file a complaint.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Better yet, why don’t you take your best shot right now?” I motion toward his hands, which are still clenched into fists. “Look at you. All that rage. All that scary teeth grinding. And you don’t have the balls to do anything about it.”