“OKAY,” DURUM SAYS. “WE NEED to talk about Amy Wirkner.”
“She cooperated with us.” Wharton stays behind his desk. “She wrote him hundreds of these love notes over the years. He kept them in a little shoe box.”
“She hates fracking,” Durum says. “Hates it. Mr. Cooper told me that. He read it in an essay she wrote for college.”
“Why would she? Her family practically lives off the lease.”
Hastings crosses his legs, focuses on a clump of dust in the corner.
“We found long hair in that truck. On the seat. Auburn hair.”
“Makes sense,” Hastings says. “He picked her up at her house.”
“I don’t believe her,” Durum says. “You telling me this kid shot a twelve-gauge shotgun with one hand while driving? Then he takes a high dive out at Shannon’s Cave because the guilt ate him up? Who commits suicide like that? Why not shoot himself? That’s how men go out. They shoot themselves.”
“We don’t know his truck was moving when he shot,” Wharton says. “And there’s no right way to do suicide. None of us can speak to that. His mother told me he had been crying the last few days, very upset.”
“And where was Amy during all this?” Durum says.
“Dr. Kahr examined the body,” Hastings says. “Fractured legs, shattered vertebrae, snapped ribs, ruptured organs, massive head trauma. All consistent with a fall, a jump. And we found no signs of struggle out there.”
“Thank you, Hastings.”
“He told his mom he was just going fishing before school,” Durum says. “That’s all he said. Not a goodbye or anything. No suicide note, no nothing.”
“Cory.” Wharton raises his hand. “I know where you’re going, bud. We’ve got nothing on Amy Wirkner. And you really should read those letters. She loved that boy.”
“She was there! At his house! What the hell’s going on? We can get her on aiding and abetting.”
“Aiding and abetting?” Hastings shakes his head.
“She lied to us! Me and Brett. Out at the high school. She lied to two officers!”
Wharton frowns. “That was a bad move. We’re lucky Mrs. Schafer isn’t suing this department. Paul’s parents, too, for that matter. Hell, they still might.”
“This is wrong, Sheriff. This isn’t right.”
“Amy lied to cover for him,” Wharton says. “But she came to us the very next day. She gave him to us, remember that. There’s no evidence she was in those woods, and no evidence she participated that night, other than stitching up that graze in his shoulder, as she said.”
“There’s no way she let him go alone,” Durum says. “No fucking way.”
Wharton looks at a legal pad. “Was she Paul’s girlfriend? Were they dating?”
“No,” Hastings says. “Not sure if this next part is relevant.”
“It’s not relevant,” Durum says. “In fact, it’s not relevant at all.”
“Tell me,” Wharton says. “What did you find?”
Hastings adjusts his collar. “In Paul’s room, that little safe under his bed, we finally got it open. Was filled with pornography.”
“Every man has porn,” Durum says.
“Not like this.”
“What?” Wharton says. “Like kiddie porn?”
“No, sir. Homosexual pornography.”
“I filed that in evidence.” Kyle laughs, nudges Sam. “Is that where that came from? Jesus. Sheriff, it was a bunch of greased-up dudes pounding ass. DVDs, magazines. Wasn’t a set of tits anywhere in that box.”
Wharton winces.
“It’s not funny,” Durum says. “His old man cried. Started punching at the wall.”
“His mother said he was on antidepressants and antianxiety medication.” Hastings taps a pen in his palm. “Said the family has a history of mental illness and suicide.”
“That verified, Hastings?”
“It’s verified.”
“Insurgents,” Durum says. “Steve said insurgents. Plural.”
“Steve was clearly not in his right mind at that point,” Hastings says.
“This. Is. Bullshit. I don’t know why I’m the only one who can see.”
“Well,” Wharton says. “We don’t all watch those enlightening documentaries you watch.”
“She’s lying! She’s always been lying.”
“Listen to me,” Wharton says. “All of you. This is what experience tells me. We want to find malicious cause. It’s what we search for as police officers. But a lot of times, it just isn’t there. Paul McCormick was an angry, troubled kid who did a stupid thing because his father is dying. He went out to attack what he thought was responsible, what he thought was malicious cause, and he ended up killing a man, something he didn’t intend. Now imagine how awful that would make you feel.” He scratches his cheek. “And now we got a girl who just lost her best friend, and Durum here wants to string her up.”
Hastings watches all his fellow officers look at their boots. He alone meets Wharton’s eyes and can’t help but be impressed.
“You didn’t think it was an accident before,” Durum says. “That’s not what you told us.”
“That was before all the facts were clear,” Wharton says. “Hastings was right.”
“I don’t know about you guys,” Sam says, “but I don’t feel a bit sorry for the fucker.”
“Me either,” Kyle says.
“None of us do,” Wharton says. “But like Steve, he was part of this town. His life mattered. It’s tragic it ended this way.”
“Amy going to get that reward?” Durum says.
“Do you have a problem with young girls, Durum? Is that what this is about?”
“I’m just trying to get these facts straight, Boss.”
Wharton sits back. “Nobody gave information that actually led to arrest and conviction. Paul settled that matter for everyone. So, neither Sadie Schafer nor Amy Wirkner will receive any money. Nor will any of us in this room. Why, Cory? Did you expect that reward? Because that’s not what police work is about.”
Durum searches the room for help. There isn’t any. “Me and Brett didn’t find a diary. But that doesn’t mean Paul didn’t keep one. I’d like to talk to his mom again. Maybe he had a diary. It could tell us more.”
“Boys don’t usually keep diaries,” Wharton says.
“I don’t know.” Sam laughs. “Faggots might.”