investigative integrity remained. There wasn't much. We looked down at the sleeping man-child coated in dried blood, whose fingers kept flashing out.
"Did you touch him?" he asked.
"Only when I hit him."
"Did you handle the shovel?"
"No."
"Or the body?"
"No."
"Are you certain?"
"Hell, yes," I said. "You think I'd forget?"
"Just answer my questions directly and stow the remarks for the time being, all right? Can you work with that?â
âYes."
"What did you see here?"
I told him, and I made sure I was precise. He listened without a word, without even movement. I was going to repeat myself, and once again felt the odd sense that my fate, and even my love, had become entwined with Crummler's life. "Despite the facts on hand, do you really think he could have done this?"
Lowell had never hesitated on anything in his life, and didn't hesitate now. "He's no different from any of us. Why else would you have knocked him down?"
"I was taken aback."
"You were scared shitless."
"That's what took me aback."
He nodded. "I can see as it might. Tell me everything that happened. Go through it again."
I told him once more, beginning with last night, and the ice-rimed wraith from out of the darkness who had leaped into the restaurant. I expected him to smile when I got to the part of Crummler dancing with the children, but instead he only sucked air through his teeth in a low, unpleasant whistle.
Events had forced a new reality on us. What I'd hoped would paint the caretaker as harmless only led to uglier thoughts: what if he'd snapped last night in a dining room full of children?
"What did you do after you hit him?"
"Called you."
"From where?"
"Duke Edelman's gas station."
Lowell looked over his shoulder at the graveyard path that led up to the road heading back into town. "That's how far? A mile? You left him there like that the whole time?"
It sounded extremely stupid when he put it like thatâleaving a murder suspect passed out beside the mangled victim, along with my dog. "He was crying, and fell asleep by the time I got back. I didn't exactly have much choice in the matter. What did you expect, for me to carry him over my shoulder or drop him hog-tied to a tree?"
"You still running them six-minute miles, Johnny? You might consider carrying a cell phone, what with all the shit you get into. You should've borrowed one of Duke's trucks to come back."
"It's less than a mile, and by the time I pulled Duke out from under one of his junkers and found the keys and answered questions I could've run back here anyway. I figured we'd get a lot of unwanted attention soon enough. A cell phone, huh?"
Three more police cars pulled up, followed by Keaton Wallace, the Medical Examiner, in his coroner's wagon. A dull morning for everyone, and the News van crews would be coming soon. Sheriff Broghin sauntered down the hill trying desperately to keep his stomach from getting too far out in front of him, the gun belt riding way too low. He hadn't been able to resist using the siren, and now Crummler slowly roused himself from the mud.
For a moment, Zebediah Crummler looked like any man I'd ever known awakening from a two-night drunk, opening his eyes wide to whatever hell had driven him to it. I could see Lowell there after his fiancé left him at the altar on the eve of his twenty-first birthday. I saw myself when my parents died in their car and Anna remained comatose with her legs crushed; I watched my father on the couch at dawn in his dirty T-shirt back before AA saved what few years he had left. The pain seeped into the air, and it seemed familiar to me. Then the light of coherence faded, and Crummler grinned happily, shuddering and snapping, on fire again, unaware or not caring about the reek of blood on him. He sat up and shouted, "Jon!"
Broghin had a few ways to play it, and once more he surprised me with his gentleness. He reached down and took Crummler by the hand, led him up to the sheriff's car, and
"Did you touch him?" he asked.
"Only when I hit him."
"Did you handle the shovel?"
"No."
"Or the body?"
"No."
"Are you certain?"
"Hell, yes," I said. "You think I'd forget?"
"Just answer my questions directly and stow the remarks for the time being, all right? Can you work with that?â
âYes."
"What did you see here?"
I told him, and I made sure I was precise. He listened without a word, without even movement. I was going to repeat myself, and once again felt the odd sense that my fate, and even my love, had become entwined with Crummler's life. "Despite the facts on hand, do you really think he could have done this?"
Lowell had never hesitated on anything in his life, and didn't hesitate now. "He's no different from any of us. Why else would you have knocked him down?"
"I was taken aback."
"You were scared shitless."
"That's what took me aback."
He nodded. "I can see as it might. Tell me everything that happened. Go through it again."
I told him once more, beginning with last night, and the ice-rimed wraith from out of the darkness who had leaped into the restaurant. I expected him to smile when I got to the part of Crummler dancing with the children, but instead he only sucked air through his teeth in a low, unpleasant whistle.
Events had forced a new reality on us. What I'd hoped would paint the caretaker as harmless only led to uglier thoughts: what if he'd snapped last night in a dining room full of children?
"What did you do after you hit him?"
"Called you."
"From where?"
"Duke Edelman's gas station."
Lowell looked over his shoulder at the graveyard path that led up to the road heading back into town. "That's how far? A mile? You left him there like that the whole time?"
It sounded extremely stupid when he put it like thatâleaving a murder suspect passed out beside the mangled victim, along with my dog. "He was crying, and fell asleep by the time I got back. I didn't exactly have much choice in the matter. What did you expect, for me to carry him over my shoulder or drop him hog-tied to a tree?"
"You still running them six-minute miles, Johnny? You might consider carrying a cell phone, what with all the shit you get into. You should've borrowed one of Duke's trucks to come back."
"It's less than a mile, and by the time I pulled Duke out from under one of his junkers and found the keys and answered questions I could've run back here anyway. I figured we'd get a lot of unwanted attention soon enough. A cell phone, huh?"
Three more police cars pulled up, followed by Keaton Wallace, the Medical Examiner, in his coroner's wagon. A dull morning for everyone, and the News van crews would be coming soon. Sheriff Broghin sauntered down the hill trying desperately to keep his stomach from getting too far out in front of him, the gun belt riding way too low. He hadn't been able to resist using the siren, and now Crummler slowly roused himself from the mud.
For a moment, Zebediah Crummler looked like any man I'd ever known awakening from a two-night drunk, opening his eyes wide to whatever hell had driven him to it. I could see Lowell there after his fiancé left him at the altar on the eve of his twenty-first birthday. I saw myself when my parents died in their car and Anna remained comatose with her legs crushed; I watched my father on the couch at dawn in his dirty T-shirt back before AA saved what few years he had left. The pain seeped into the air, and it seemed familiar to me. Then the light of coherence faded, and Crummler grinned happily, shuddering and snapping, on fire again, unaware or not caring about the reek of blood on him. He sat up and shouted, "Jon!"
Broghin had a few ways to play it, and once more he surprised me with his gentleness. He reached down and took Crummler by the hand, led him up to the sheriff's car, and
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