The Other Shoe (14 page)

Always inclined to want the promptest answer, Hoot Meyers could not understand how anyone might let this, of all doubts, linger. Could the man be asking about the rate of his son's decay? He must know the boy was refrigerated. “That'll be fine. There's no practical reason to hurry.”

“Couldn't you just tell us . . . something?”

“There are a lot of things I need to look at. They just delivered me some tapes—I'll show you what we've got when you get here.”

“Tapes? Wasn't this an accident? Did someone? Tapes?”

“There were some interviews done. Some interviews with some of the people involved. With any luck, they'll be on tape, and maybe those'll tell me something.”

“Involved? Involved how?”

“We don't know. That's why I want to watch these tapes now.”

“Someone was involved, though?”

“Yes, but we don't know how much or in what way.”

“We're thinking,” said Mr. Teague, “that it's probably not even, that this has to be a—what? A mistake, really. We'll be leaving our daughter Luana right here by the home phone while we're gone. I wouldn't be surprised if she gets a call from you-know-who. So we're leaving her there, just in case.”

Meyers was not given to wishful thinking and was always surprised at the force it could exert in others' lives.

“Could you at least tell us something?” Teague lapsed in and out of hopefulness. “What you
think
happened at least?”

“I've got bits and pieces, and they don't make much sense. Yet. When you get here I'll show you everything we've got. You'll draw your own conclusions.” Meyers was not accustomed to dissemble or parse. The bluntest kind of honesty was the one luxury he'd bought himself with his small influence, but now with his integrity on leave he'd gone to the funhouse, bought a ticket, and was groping for the way out. “You want me to call you back when I've watched these things?”

“No,” said Mr. Teague. “Please don't. We'll know everything soon enough.”

Detective Flaherty's interview with Henry was flawlessly produced in accordance with the manual on police interrogations, with Henry sitting very near the camera and frontally lit so that his face filled much of the screen and was amplified until the slightest movement of his eyes might be tracked; his eyes moved only rarely and then only
to roll a little upward. He blinked at long intervals. The detective's voice was the disembodied voice of the camera, and it sounded as if a microphone had been implanted in his very mouth, and he said that they were in the squad room of the Conrad County Law and Order Complex and that the time was zero zero thirty hours. The subject, he said, was Henry Brusett. “Now, Mr. Brusett, I'm giving you more rights than you actually got coming to you, because you are not under arrest. You understand that, don't you? We're just working our investigation here.” Flaherty described for Henry the several civil liberties as if they came of his personal benevolence.

Henry's mouth worked as he waited this out—he was chewing the insides of his cheeks. Henry, though he was a little younger than Hoot Meyers, had gone gray even in the flesh and had got a blasted pair of eyes. He had turned still more scarce in the years since the trees had taken their revenge on him and butchered him in his boots, and there had been years on end when Meyers hadn't so much as glimpsed him, though they were living in the same county, trading in the same little towns all the while. Meyers knew, of course, always knew that Henry was probably somewhere nearby. They'd gotten old, apparently. Gotten old, never speaking to each other.

“Do you understand these rights I have read to you?”

Henry's face remained set, closed.

“Mr. Brusett, I have to ask you, 'cause it's important that I make sure—do you understand these rights I have read to you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Say your name for the audio, please.”

“You just said it. It's Henry Brusett.”

“We like to know we're saying it right. Middle name?”

“Don't have one.”

“And how old are you, Mr. Brusett?”

“You know how old. I gave you my driver's license.”

“That's right. Okay, so . . . do you think you'd need the services of a lawyer tonight? ”

“No.” Henry was seeing something not presently before his eyes.

“Oh, great. You know, you can certainly call one in any time you want, but right now that would have to be at your own expense. Because, until you're arrested—unless you're arrested—anyway, I'm glad you feel like you can talk to me.”

“No.” There were deep vertical seams in Henry's lips, places he'd shaved badly the last time he'd shaved.

“It's all right,” said Flaherty. “I think I know how you must feel.”

“No.” His tongue swept his lips.

“Would you like some water?”

“No. Thanks.”

“'Cause, it's not a problem. Pop. Coffee. We'd like to try and make you comfortable if we can. There's no reason for anyone to be uncomfortable here, Mr. Brusett, 'cause, personally, I don't really think anyone has done anything wrong. Of course, I don't know for sure. But I just have this idea that the man I'm talking to here is not the kind of man who does things wrong. Am I right?”

“No,” said Henry.

“If there's something you need to tell me—feel free.”

Henry pinched his nostrils as if to stifle a sneeze, but then, distracted, he held them so for several minutes.

“Whatever you need to tell me,” Flaherty offered again.

Henry released his nose. “I better go.”

“Sure, if you like. Any time. But can you wait just a second? I need to step into the other room. Just give me a couple minutes, all right? I'll be right back.”

Flaherty could be heard leaving the room. Henry remained for a long while before the camera, and he waited almost completely still. He disappeared from the screen for a time, then returned to the frame
in a black T-shirt. There were mumblings made too far from the microphone to be heard distinctly on tape; Henry's half of these exchanges was to nod. He did or said nothing else. Eventually a new, well-amplified voice was heard off camera, a new presence in the tape, and this announced itself as Sheriff Utterback, and it gave the time and date again, and wondered, “How we doing, Mr. Brusett?”

Henry didn't seem to know.

“Me and Detective Flaherty have just been chatting with your wife.”

Henry sighed in disappointment and continued looking out upon the long view.

“She's told us everything we need to know. So, I guess we won't need your help after all. Course, after what she said, you might kinda want to give us your own version of what happened up there. You don't come out too good, Mr. Brusett, the way your wife tells it. She says you clobbered that guy, says she doesn't even know why. Kind of an odd story, if you ask me, but that's the one she's been telling us.”

“She has?”

“She's young, probably scared out of her wits. But her version of this is the only one we've got to work with so far. We'd sure be happy to hear what you had to say about it, hear your side of it.”

“If that's what she said, then why don't you arrest me?”

“There's always time for that. And it's just her word so far, and the way we found you, which, you'll have to admit, was kind of odd, and I mean
real
unusual. Right now, it's just mostly a matter of trying to make everything go together with what she's telling us. Put a case together, you know. But, Mr. Brusett, we always like to try and go with the truth if we can get it. I bet everybody involved would be a lot happier if the truth came out.”

“What'd she tell you I did?”

“Well—she told us you killed the guy.”

Henry made a grin as from spare parts. Never at any age had he been prone to this expression. “You think I don't know her any better than that?”

The sheriff seemed to understand that he'd been outflanked. “So, that's all you got to say to us? A thing as bad as this is, and that's all you can tell us about it? Does that seem right to you?”

“If I said anything at all, I said too much, and that's how I feel about it all the time, not just when I'm in trouble.”

Meyers had been raised in and had lived by the same principle, but somehow less righteously than his old neighbor. The interview had been concluded without Flaherty, or the sheriff, or Henry himself having done Henry any harm.

Young Mrs. Brusett, however, had been at Law and Order all of that same night. It was Meyer's impression that there was very little guile in this Karen's intelligence, and though she'd assured him she'd given them nothing, he worried about remarks she might have thought incidental, the possibility of artless lies. She'd been hours among the cops and was just the kind of innocent who will wreak havoc with her own interests. Meyers saw to his relief that the transcript of her evening with the officers ran to just three pages. He read:

Q
:
This is Detective Philip Flaherty of the Conrad County Sheriff's Office. The time is 0110 hours, and I'm with Mrs. Karen Brusett, and Mrs. Brusett has signed the advice of rights form. Do you want a lawyer, young lady?

A
:
No.

Q
:
There is no reason to be nervous. I don't think you have done anything wrong, not yet.

Q
:
Do you want to get started?

Q
:
Why don't you just go ahead and tell me when you get ready. We can start any time you are ready.

Q
:
Do you know what obstructing justice is?

A
:
I have an idea.

Q
:
It's a crime.

A
:
I suppose it would be.

Q
:
It's a crime to try and cover up somebody else's crime.

A
:
That is fair. I see why they have that law.

Q
:
Want me to come back later? I will give you some time to think about that and then I will come back later.

A
:
Sure, if you want.

Q
:
This is Detective Phillip Flaherty and I am with Karen Brusett again, and the time is 0145 hours.

Q
:
How are you feeling, Mrs. Brusett?

A
:
Feeling?

Q
:
I think you have got a chance here to help us all out quite a bit.

A
:
I don't think so, sorry.

Q
:
Help yourself is what I'm thinking, Karen.

A
:
I am too dumb to do that, sir, but I do appreciate your concern. That is nice.

Q
:
At least I am having better luck with Henry.

A
:
That is fine because you know he is the one to talk to. If anybody can tell you, it would be him.

Q
:
Tell me what?

A
:
Whatever he has got to tell you.

Q
:
What does he have to tell me?

A
:
I thought you said he already told you? You were having luck with him, you said.

Q
:
Well, Karen, you don't have to help us if you don't want to. That is your decision, and you know what they say? They say you should let your conscience be your guide.

A
:
Okay.

0150 hours–0230 hours—subject statements made at different times to unknown person or persons:

Q
:
[Inaudible]

A
:
No, he is my cousin. He lives in St. Regis.

Q
:
[Inaudible]

A
:
Brookies? You gut those [inaudible] in aluminum foil [inaudible] a lot, a lot, lot of butter [inaudible] your fresh parsley [inaudible] had that sourdough working I don't know how long before it went bad. You do have to pay some attention to it.

A
:
Could you take these lights off me, please? They are really hot. You mean that thing has been on the whole time running? Oh no. I hope I didn't pick my nose or anything. That is so mean to do that to somebody.

A
:
[Inaudible] had to turn that thing on again because I am still not going to say anything and [inaudible] who wants to see that?

A
:
[Inaudible]

A
:
Yeah, I know, and like I say, I am sorry—real sorry—but I've got to take another little rest now if you don't mind.

A
:
Was I snoring? Sorry.

Hoot Meyers watched the interview tape to see if the girl's manner might be more incriminating than her words had been. She'd not been placed so near her camera as Henry, but she too had been ruthlessly lit, and in the beginning her head was in constant motion, her attention bouncing from one fascination to another, like a tourist's. Someone kept turning the camera off and back on, and because a judge might see this as suspicious editing, the tape could eventually be barred from use as evidence, but Meyers soon decided that there'd be nothing of legal consequence to see in it. The girl settled gradually into a trance,
a plastic pen spinning almost constantly between her forefinger and thumb. Even in the ugly room, the ugly circumstance, the stark light, she remained a creature of awful grace, and this girl, her every intention to the contrary, would be the most dangerous thing in the woods.