Our torments also may in length of time
Become our elements, these piercing
Fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed
Into their temper; which must needs remove
The sensible of pain.
   —John Milton, Paradise Lost

MATT BANGED the door of the sheriff’s office open hard, knocking the sign sideways on the door, but Sheriff Merrill did not look up at him. Matt stood there for a moment, holding the newspaper in his hand. Finally he sat down in the chair across from Merrill. The sheriff’s color was ashen, and his hands trembled on his desk. He sat unmoving, as if a shockwave had already broken across him.

“Looks like Valerie Herrick finally turned on you, huh, Andy?”

Matt pointed at the newspaper in his hands, the headline reading “Sheriff Loses Public Confidence: In New Recall Effort, Merrill Faces Anger, Voter Dismay.” He tossed it onto the desk.

“So what if Russell is winning? Valerie can get Rawlings to print any damn thing she wants.” Merrill pushed the paper aside. “Why the hell are you here?”

“I saw Dustin leave just as I pulled up. Phyllis said you sent him out on a confidential arrest—but I know who he’s going to arrest.” Matt picked up the phone on the desk. “Call him back. You can’t arrest Russ. Will Herrick is just using you!”

“Jesus, Matty—I wouldn’t do something that stupid.” Merrill lay back in his chair, his arms hanging loosely beside his bulk, as if his body were too heavy for him to lift. He squinted at Matt from across the room. “You really think I’m dumb enough to try to arrest my opponent on the eve of the election? The DA and the election commissioner would have my ass, even if I did have evidence on him. I wish I did. But I don’t.”

“So you don’t have any evidence on Russ.”

“Right.” Merrill paused, grinned strangely at him. “Not on Russell.” “That’s because he didn’t do it.”

“I know that.”

Matt sat down wearily, sinking into the opposite chair. “But you’ve just sent Hoffman out there to arrest him. You must have a warrant. You must have evidence.”

Merrill gave a quick chuckle that was followed by a coughing fit, an awful sound that echoed in the small room. Finally, he looked up, his eyes rheumy from the coughing. “Look,” he said hoarsely. “Let’s cut the crap. Why are you here, in my office?”

“Because, I told you, I don’t think you should arrest Russ. I just got a confession from him and”—Merrill gave that same Cheshire grin and raised an eyebrow, but Matt continued—“I know it looks bad. He was involved in dismembering Arlen, trying to cover something up, and I don’t fully understand what yet, but he didn’t kill the guy, he didn’t—”

“Hold on. Just stop talking.” Merrill rubbed the palms of his hands over his face. The sweat shone on his skin. He put his face in his hands. “Are you going to tell me who did kill Arlen? Is that why you’re here in my office? Because it would save us all a lot of trouble and grief, that’s for sure.”

Matt leaned forward in his chair. “No, I can’t. I don’t know for sure yet. I think it was Curtis Siwood, the miner we found dead in the—”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t feed me that bullshit. Dead guy in lake, isn’t it convenient his fingerprints—which you guys took off his dead body, mind you—are the ones that connect to the resort bathroom, and even to Tubbs Hill. Isn’t it damn convenient.”

“Convenient? What do you mean?” Matt leaned forward, a sudden uncertainty turning in his gut like a worm. “If you have some other evidence, evidence I haven’t seen, I wish you’d share it with me.”

Merrill looked away. He muttered to himself, “I’ve got the damn guy right here, I don’t need help.” He glanced at Matt. “I don’t know why you even showed up today.”

“I’ve got a job to do.”

“A job.” Merrill looked back at him, he seemed nonplussed.

Patiently, Matt continued. “I am willing to arrest the right person, if all the evidence points there—but Russell just isn’t the guy.”

Merrill rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, where the sweat stood out like blisters. “Maybe you’re trying to ask for God’s grace or some such shit, but it’s a damn strange thing to do after all this time. Arlen is gone—who cares?—he’s dead already.”

“He’s dead already?” said Matt, rising from his chair. “This is Arlen Bowman we’re talking about here! I’m glad I was assigned to this case, and I aim to—”

Merrill held up a hand, motioning Matt to sit back down. He stared at Matt quizzically. “You know the reason William Herrick was begging me to assign you to the resort that night. You know it better than anyone.”

Matt paused, his mouth open. He closed it and looked down at Merrill. “What?”

Merrill mopped his hand over the perspiration on his face and sighed, a heavy sound. “I don’t know what game you’ve been playing, Matty, but it’s a damn good one. Pointing in every direction except the obvious one. I should have figured it out months ago, but I’ve been distracted. The election, I guess.” Merrill sighed once more. “That’s no excuse though. I should have seen through your lies.”

It was as if the gravity had been pulled out from under Matt. He sat down slowly, sinking into unreality. “Lies? What lies? I haven’t been covering for Russ, I didn’t—”

“Now the only problem with your game is that the truth is leaking out all over the place. I talked to people who knew this dead guy in the lake—Curtis or Larry or whatever name he was using—and there’s this rumor about Worthson. I keep hearing your damn name.”

“Jesus, Merrill, what are you insinuating? What are you trying to say?”

Merrill looked at his desk. He stirred his finger through the jar of paper clips. “Since when did I have to spell something like this out?” Merrill wiped the perspiration off his neck. “Put two and two together.”

Matt closed his eyes, trying to see clear. He spoke slowly. “What are you talking about, Andy?”

There was no reply. Matt opened his eyes to see Merrill hunting around in the desk drawer, looking for something. “Cigar,” he said finally. “You want one?”

Numbly, Matt shook his head.

Merrill lit a busted stogie, the broken bits at the end burning off with a sudden bitter stench. He placed a dirty ashtray on top of the papers on his desk. “Jesus, Matty, so I see you’re not going to pop off right here. I can understand that, respect that even.”

Merrill put the cigar down for a moment, placing a hand over his heart. “Honor among thieves, and all that. There is honor, I understand.”

“Honor for what? You said you put it together, right? So let’s have it.”

Merrill sighed, letting out a stream of gray smoke. “You want to see what I got.”

Matt looked down at the smoking mass in the ashtray. “Honestly, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, Andy.”

Merrill chuckled. “Look at that. Pitch-perfect. And you even have a decoy running for you. Jesus, I had no idea you were so damn smart, Matty. I only wish—”

“Wish what? Are you saying Russ was just a decoy? What about Russell?”

Merrill looked down at the cigar and slowly stubbed it out. Then he put his hand over his heart again, mocking sympathy. “It’s heartening to me that you seem so concerned about Russell. So much concern for your fellow man. You were so anxious to make sure Russell wasn’t arrested—wherever the hell he’s hiding his ass—that you were willing to put yourself in harm’s way. Come over here, where you haven’t been back to your office in weeks practically. I don’t know what you’ve been doing, but you haven’t been here, and you’re all worried about—”

“I have a job to do.” Matt pounded a fist on the desk, ashes bouncing out over the scattered papers and the jar of paper clips. “I’ve been working—I’m still working the case.”

“Sure you are,” said Merrill. It was the same phrasing William Herrick had used, the same dripping sarcasm, as if somehow they knew Matt better than he knew himself.

Merrill continued talking, as a wisp of smoke trickled up from the ashtray. “But for old times’ sake, for all the good work we’ve done together—the sheriff’s work, and a few of the other things we’ve done together over the years . . .”

Merrill winked laboriously, his eye closing slowly. Something in the wink struck Matt as obscene. “I’m willing to give you a little more rope. I just need your personal guarantee that you aren’t going anywhere, not out of the county. See, I don’t think it would look good to make an arrest like this just as the election is coming. And I’m sure as hell not going to arrest the other guy—my opponent. Even though it’s clear to me that you and Russell were tied into this somehow—”

Matt interrupted. “This isn’t about who killed Arlen Bowman anymore, is it? You’re playing politics with this case, that’s what you’re doing.”

“What I’m doing?” Merrill shook his head, bemused. “Jesus Christ, I cannot believe you both would have the balls to get this case, that you would come here—”

“Russell didn’t do this, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Yes, it looks bad that he was assigned to the case, that he had involvement. It’s really shitty. But he’s innocent of Arlen’s death. You have to believe me on this.”

Merrill glanced up, a sudden hatred in his gaze. “No, I don’t have to believe you. I don’t believe a word you say, anymore. And frankly, I wish you’d stop saying them. I think you should have a lawyer here, if you’re gonna talk. The only thing is, I can’t take you off the force until after the election. It’ll look like I don’t have control—it’ll look like I fucked up. Which I did, in a big way. So I won’t do anything to you until after.”

Matt rose to his feet again. Something was going sideways. “To me? What are you talking about? Let’s allow the evidence to speak, let’s convene a grand jury—”

“Ah, quit acting like fuckin’ Perry Mason. Sit down, wouldja?” Merrill glanced up at him again, his gaze more weary than hateful now. “Look, let’s not do this, okay? Let’s stop with the game. Can you promise me not to leave the county at least?”

Matt sank down in his chair, his face still flushed. “I just need to know what you’re talking about. I just need to know if you’re actually accusing me of something.”

Merrill stared at him, his eyes bloodshot and weary. “Jesus, Matty, do I need to?”

Matt felt it come over him then, the realization, a vast tide seeping in around his feet, rushing up toward his heart, his lungs, covering him in a sudden frigid chill.

The breath caught in his throat.

“Me. You really think I killed Arlen?”

Merrill’s sleepy eyes did not move off Matt’s face. “It’s not a question of what I think or feel, Matty. I know you did something.”

Matt opened his mouth. Then he closed it slowly, a fish gasping in the open air. “Jesus, Andy, you don’t . . . you don’t even have a motive. Why in the hell would I—”

“Don’t snow me like this, Matty.” Merrill closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, as if in sadness. “I think Arlen found out somehow, or you told him about it.”

Matt leaned forward, the outrage rising in him. “What? Told him what?”

Merrill’s eyes opened slowly, narrowed to suspicious slits. “Look, Matty, no one’s ever found the real records for that accident you had with that Irene Closner girl. As you well know, Russell was the guy assigned to the accident, and he played fast and loose with the records. Probably as a favor to you—you guys have always covered each other’s asses. I have nothing on that thing in my files.”

Merrill waved his hands. “Hell, I don’t know! For all I know, you raped her and strangled her, and then Russ crashed the car with her body, to cover up . . . the fact that she was in the hospital for weeks. And that you never even went to see her there tells me something too.”

“But—”

Merrill held up a hand and spoke forcefully over him. “Oh yeah, Matty, I think you have a motive. Arlen found out something, or was told something, and you killed him to cover up your part in that old accident, that’s what I think. But I wish I knew for sure. Maybe you could tell me . . . what the hell really happened in that accident, Matty?”

Matt leaned back in his chair. He could feel his heart pounding, as if it would burst apart. “I wish I knew, Andy,” he mumbled. “I wish I could remember. I don’t . . .”

Merrill put his hand down. He didn’t speak for a moment. Then he began to swirl his fingers in the paper clips, sifting out the ash. “So there you have it, dontcha? In a nutshell, you don’t remember a darn thing. Isn’t that damn convenient for you.”

“Convenient? Jesus, Andy, I didn’t—”

“The idea that you’ve been trying to pin this thing on some drunk miner— an old guy who knew Karl Avery back in the day—that hasn’t been a very convincing effort, even though you did manage to substitute in the fingerprints somehow.”

Matt caught his breath, his chest filling with indignation. “Andy—those are the real fingerprints. This is the same guy. I don’t know what the Karl Avery connection is. I don’t know whether he—”

“Matty, you don’t know whether to shit or get off the pot. That’s the truth of it. And you just haven’t done a good job of covering your own tracks here. It’s pretty clear to me that you did this.” Merrill tapped a thick finger on some papers on his desk. “I have the list here of interviews. It’s pretty clear to me where you were, and where Arlen was, in Wallace. Hell, that bartender in Wallace who knows you, he even says you were with him that night! You gotta build a better story than that!”

The breath came hissing out of Matt, a chill coming over him.

Andy Merrill stared at him. “But I’m willing to let you float for a while,” Merrill said. “You get me? Maybe you can turn someone, get testimony against that other decoy you’ve been trying to set up—what’s-his-name, that kid who’s camping in your garage.”

“Kev? You want me to set him up now for . . . this homicide?”

“You already did, Matt. You already did that for me. Just not very well.” Merrill took a paper clip out of the glass on the desk and bent it into another shape. “You’re the one who must have given him that cross from Arlen. You were probably just waiting until some officer saw it, and then, hell, you could just—”

“What cross? Where?” Matt felt dizzy, the chill sweeping across him again.

“C’mon, Matty,” Merrill sighed. “I figured it out already—you did it when you had the body in custody. Hell, you probably had Arlen’s cross off him well before then.” Merrill traced a cruciform shape in the air at his throat. “All you had to do was pawn that thing off on that Kev kid, and he becomes what you made him—a viable suspect.”

“I’ve been looking for Arlen’s cross for weeks. You’re implying—”

“It was a little overdone, the way you described the damn kid to a T in your case report.” Merrill flipped open a folder. “But even against my better judgment, Matty, I used your description in the warrant to arrest the damn kid. ‘Transient, skinhead’ . . . et cetera.”

“Jesus, Andy, you gave that description to me from Butler. You just . . .”

Merrill looked up at him. “C’mon Matty, don’t play dumb. You kept the description in that file, you even added to it, a few question marks here and there. And hell, you never reported he was on your property. For all I know, this kid did have something to do with it—you know as well as I do that sometimes murderers can’t live with themselves, they give it away, even though they don’t want to. An admission, against their better judgment. Maybe that’s what you were admitting to—”

“But I don’t have anything to admit to, Andy!”

Merrill shook his head ruefully. “If you’re playing it like this, maybe that kid was your accomplice—and he’s your giveaway. Hell, somehow you got his prints onto the knife.”

Matt blinked. Something shifted in his head. “His fingerprints are on the knife?”

“Yeah, prints are all over that blackened piece of shit made by Karl Avery.” Merrill guffawed, a hollow sound. “Hell, maybe if I keep the kid long enough, he’ll tell us what happened, what he and you did with that knife. Hell, maybe he’ll dig himself deeper, but dig you out of it. Could go either way, don’t you think?”

Matt felt his mouth to be as dry as a rock. He swallowed hard. “So that’s who you’re arresting. Kevin Paulsen—the one who calls himself Macht. That’s who Dustin was sent to arrest today.” Matt looked out the window, the impulse to run taking him by surprise. “Jesus, Andy, you can’t—”

“Hell, I’ll even let you talk to him—give you access to the prisoner—see if he recalls any other connections to Arlen, find out that hey, maybe there’s another way he got that damn cross.” Merrill leaned down over the desk, fumbling nervously at the papers. “Maybe he did do it, or at least we can prove he did it. At the end of the day, you walk away clean, I walk away clean, hell, even Russell walks away clean. Everyone picks up a get-out-of-jail-free card. We could play it that way, but . . .” His voice trailed off.

“This isn’t a game, Andy. It’s life and death.”

Merrill blinked up at him, his eyes suddenly wet with tears. “You used to be a good man, Worthson. But they must have put your balls in a vise. That’s the only way I can describe it. Balls in a vise. I should know—one of the Herricks keeps handing you hundred-dollar bills, until you scream stop.”

Merrill twisted the clip back and forth with his fingers. He spoke quietly, as if he were sharing a secret. “But I’ve never been able to say it, Matt. I just can’t say stop, and I guess you couldn’t either. So here we are, aren’t we? It’s a damn sad way to play.”

“That might be you, Andy, but it’s never been me. This is my life on the line.”

At that, Merrill’s face seemed to tighten into stone. He looked at something on the other side of the room, something beyond Matt. “Yeah, don’t I know it. And for all you’ve done for me over the years, I’m willing to give you a little time. I’m going out on a limb for you, Matty. But truth be told, just between you and me and the doorpost, I think the jaws of this damn thing are closing all around you.”

Merrill turned his gaze to Matt and pointed, a thick finger shaking fretfully in the air. “So I’d get a lawyer. I’d find a damn good fuckin’ lawyer, because my patience will run out pretty fuckin’ soon. I’d say just before the election. Then I’ll cash in your chips.”

Matt blurted out his response. “But what if you’re all wrong, Andy—what if that kid had nothing to do with Arlen, what if he’s innocent? Hell, what if I’m innocent?”

Merrill stared up at him, his eyes sad and empty. “You should know the score by now, Matty. All you can do is play out that last hand you’re holding.” He spread his fingers apart, dropping the broken paper clip in the blackened ashtray.

“No one’s fuckin’ innocent around here.”