twenty-five

Creed had heard about Judge Kline before. The old man had a reputation for being tough but fair. He also had a reputation for not always following the rules. Creed suspected this meeting wasn’t how judges usually handled murder cases. He wondered if he should say anything—should explain how he’d failed to press Loyal about what he’d seen the day of the murder . . .

“I do not understand why Mr. Michael would say he shot that man.” Otto was the first to break the silence. He lifted his chin higher and stopped rubbing his wrists. “It was I who pressed the trigger.” He glared at Michael. “There is no need for a trial. You may punish me as the law demands.”

“Well, that last statement is true,” Judge Kline said. “I’m not so sanguine about the rest of it. Tell me again why you did it?”

“This man was trespassing. I thought to frighten him away. It was an accident, but I know I must be punished for this terrible thing.”

“And what did you do with the gun after you shot the man?”

“I threw it away so no one would know.”

The judge dragged a box across his desk and lifted a fancy pistol from it. “Is this the one?”

Otto paled and licked his lips. “I believe that might be the one, yes.”

“And you threw it . . . where?”

Otto’s eyes darted around the room from person to person as though one of them might give him the answer. “Where you found it!” he finally said with a note of triumph.

Judge Kline chuckled. “Remind me where that was?”

Otto shook his head slowly. “I was very distraught. I do not remember for certain.”

“Can you narrow it down for me? Did you throw it in the water? Or maybe into the bushes? Or maybe you hid it somewhere?”

Otto closed his eyes. “There is no need to press me. I do not mind to take the blame.” He opened his eyes and looked at the judge with something like desperation. “You must allow me to take the blame.”

Judge Kline dropped the pistol back into the box. “Not unless you did it, son.” He turned his attention to Michael. “How about you? Is your story any better than Otto’s?”

Michael gripped his legs with his hands as if holding himself in place. He cleared his throat and began telling his story about planning to show his sister how to shoot, running into Eddie Minks who gave Rebecca a hard time, and how he fired the gun in anger without thinking. His voice gained strength as he spoke, and Creed had to admire the boy for how calm and steady he remained. Hadden’s hands curled into fists and he bowed his head. Creed felt for the man. He looked at Loyal and tried not to imagine how he’d feel if his son were doing the confessing.

When the telling was finished, Judge Kline sat down behind his desk. “Now that story has the ring of truth to it.” Michael looked almost proud. “Except for one thing . . .” Now Michael frowned and furrowed his brow. “Are you telling me you shot him twice without thinking?” He lifted the gun again. “We did some of that fancy new ballistics testing on this, and I’m told it’s got a stiff trigger.” He pointed it at the ceiling and pulled the trigger against an empty chamber. The click sounded like a cannon shot in the silence of the room. “You’d have to mean it if you did that twice.”

Hadden stood, his chair screeching across the floor. “Are you suggesting my son shot that man in cold blood?”

Creed looked at Michael swaying in his seat. He laid a steadying hand on the boy’s arm. Judge Kline narrowed his gaze at Michael. “Did you?”

“I . . . I . . .” Sweat popped out on the boy’s forehead, and he lowered his gaze. “I guess I must have.”

The judge laid the gun across his desk blotter and picked up a folder. “Now I’m going to share some actual truth with you all.” He flipped the cover open, settled a pair of reading glasses on his nose, and peered at the paper. “These are the results of those ballistics tests. Seems we recovered two bullets. One retrieved from the victim—that would be the fatal shot—and one dug from a tree by the sheriff there.” He looked over his glasses at Virgil. “Now here’s the interesting thing.” He let a pause swell and fill the room until Creed’s ears hurt from trying to listen. “Those slugs were the same caliber, but they came from different guns.”

It was as if a whoosh of air had been released by the room itself. Creed’s mind scrambled to make sense of what the judge had said. Without planning to speak, he heard his own voice. “The one in the tree must have been a hunter’s. Maybe from deer season. Or spring gobbler.”

Judge Kline nodded. “A fine supposition. Except for one thing. The bullet in the tree came from this gun.” He tapped the fancy pistol on the desk in front of him. “Which means the bullet that killed Eddie Minks did not.”

This was better than reading The Count of Monte Cristo. Loyal held his breath. It was hard to keep up, but if he was following the story, it sounded like Michael couldn’t have killed that man. At least not with the gun he took from his father. And Otto was getting all his answers wrong. Even Loyal could tell that. So, who was the killer?

Judge Kline turned his gaze on Loyal. “Alright, young man. Can you tell me exactly what you saw that day?”

Loyal chewed his lip. He picked up the weighty pen and tilted the notepad just so. He thought carefully before he started writing.

I saw Michael and Rebecca running along the path beside the river. Michael stopped and put something in a rotted stump. Then he told Rebecca to hurry. She saw me and I knew something bad had happened.

The judge came closer and picked up the notepad, reading the words aloud. “How do you know Michael said to hurry?” Loyal pointed at his mouth and silently shaped the word several times. The gray-haired man nodded and turned to Rebecca. “Had something bad happened?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you describe what happened for me?”

Rebecca looked at Loyal, her big brown eyes wet and sad. She nodded. “That man was making fun of the way I talk, and Michael shot him.” She twined her fingers together one way and then the other. “It was really loud, and the man stumbled. He fell down, and I looked away because he was bleeding and I didn’t want to see it.”

The judge waited, then said, “Alright. What happened next?”

“Michael started running. At first I didn’t know if I should run or try to help the man.” A tear escaped the corner of her eye. “But I looked at him again and got so scared I ran, too.”

“Did you see your brother hide something in a stump?”

She nodded. “I didn’t know what it was until later, when he didn’t have the gun anymore.”

“And did you see Loyal?”

“Yes, sir. I knew him from church, but he goes to a school somewhere else.” A tiny smile curved her lips. “He’s been showing me how to talk with my hands.”

The judge nodded with kind eyes, and Loyal realized he looked more like a grandpa than a judge. “That’s good. And you’ve done a fine job of telling me what happened that day.” Rebecca thanked him as a second tear streaked her cheek. The judge fished out a handkerchief and offered it to her. “Now, I want you to close your eyes for just a moment.” Loyal watched her eyelids flutter down, then focused on the judge’s mouth. “Think back to when you heard that loud gunshot and see if you can tell me whether you heard more than one.”

Rebecca squeezed her eyes tight, drew a deep breath, and let it out. A moment later, her eyes flew open again. “I did . . . but the second shot wasn’t as loud.”

“Like maybe it was farther away?”

“Yes, sir.”

The judge clapped his hands and went back to his chair behind the big desk. “Right.” He turned to Virgil. “Sheriff, I’m going to need you to find me that other gun, not to mention the person who fired it.” He looked at Otto. “Son, unless you can produce a second weapon, I’m going to remain skeptical about your part in all of this.”

Otto glanced from person to person around the table, finally resting his gaze on Hadden. Loyal thought the older man looked uneasy. “May I speak to Mr. Hadden alone?” Otto asked.

“No. You may not. While I’m not sure about holding you on a murder charge, you have surely made a mockery of my court. And until I’m clear on what’s going on, I plan to keep you right here in Elkins.” The judge blew out a puff of air. “I’m halfway inclined to give Hadden a room as well, but Virgil and I are going to have a private conversation before I decide about that.” He indicated a door to the side of the room and raised his eyebrows at the sheriff. Virgil stood, rubbed his bald head, and followed the judge into the other room.

The remaining group sat almost motionless around the table. It seemed like no one wanted to look at anyone else. Michael stared at the table, a look of confusion on his face. Rebecca’s eyes darted from person to person, and Mr. Westfall sat as though it was all he could do to keep from standing and stomping from the room. Then Father reached out to grasp Loyal’s arm. A feeling of belonging washed through him. He and Father were in this together. And all would be well.

But Otto sat alone. Loyal could see the fear and uncertainty in the young man’s face and posture. He was teetering on a rocky ledge not knowing whether he would fall or be pulled to safety. Loyal patted Father’s hand and stood to go and sit next to the German boy. He laid his own hand on Otto’s arm and hoped he could share even a little bit of the peace Father had just shared with him.