I watched Dingus reading from a sheet of paper, Whistler bowed to his notebook, TV lights glaring in the gray noon, Tawny Jane waiting with her own mike.
Tatch came back on. “Gusser, ’fraid I have to go.”
“I saw Breck at the drain commission,” I said. “He told them he’s not going to let Tex play tomorrow.”
“No way.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“What the hell,” Tatch said. “The guy’s got some kind of hard-on for the whole town. It ain’t just the tax thing. Something’s got him honked off at everyone here.”
Whatever it was, I thought, had something to do with his grandfather.
“Speaking of hockey, where were you Sunday night anyway?” I said.
“Got stuck. Slipped off the road. Like a damn tourist.”
“And you didn’t have a cell phone to call.”
“Yeah.”
“But you told me you had family stuff.”
“I know. Sorry, man. I had me a couple of nips to steady my nerves before the game. Couldn’t be saying that around Mr. Breck. He don’t like us drinking.”
“Tell me, buddy,” I said. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“When?”
“When you let this Breck guy cut your balls off and take over?”
I didn’t mean to embarrass Tatch, but his pause told me I probably had.
“Shit, you know. We were living on fumes out there. Mr. Breck came with cash. I couldn’t look at another can of SpaghettiOs.”
“So, was it him at my mom’s?”
“He was at the camp Sunday night. Everybody said so.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Shit, I don’t know. I wish to heck Mr. Breck would’ve just picked up.”
“You want me to call Terence?”
Terence Flapp was a local lawyer who knew Tatch only too well.
“You sure about what you said about Tex? He ain’t going to let him play?”
“That’s what he said.”
“That’s bullshit, man. Yeah, call Terence.”
“How’s the digging going?”
“Oh, don’t get me start-Hey, wait-”
The call ended. I dialed Flapp and left a message.
As I walked up to the press conference, I heard Whistler asking whether the sheriff would confirm Channel Eight’s report about Father Nilus Moreau. His question surely annoyed the hell out of Tawny Jane, who was standing in the semicircle of reporters, photographers, and cameramen gathered around the lectern, kept at a distance by Catledge and Darlene.
Dingus peered over the half-moon glasses perched on his tulip bulb of a nose. “I have no comment on that report, sir,” he said in his Finnish lilt. “I can tell you, however, that the department has conducted administrative discipline on certain personnel.”
“Deputy Frank D’Alessio?” Whistler said.
“Next question.”
“So,” Whistler persisted, “you cannot confirm the Channel Eight report, and we should regard it as inaccurate? Is that what you’re saying?”
I glanced at Tawny Jane. She kept her eyes on Dingus, pointedly ignoring Whistler’s insult so as to assure the rest of us that her scoop was good.
Dingus ignored Whistler and pointed at Chester Pavich, a young reporter from Petoskey. With shirttails flying out from beneath his corduroy jacket, Pavich always looked like he was in a hurry, which could’ve meant that he had ambition and was going places, or that he was struggling to keep up and doomed forever to chase chicken-dinner news at dinky papers up north. Both were familiar to me.
He asked, “Is the man you’ve arrested considered a suspect in the murder of Paula Bontrager?”
Phyllis, I thought, and then, Doomed.
“As I said,” Dingus said, “we have in custody a person of interest.”
“Hold on.” It was Tawny Jane, her microphone thrust forward like a sword. “Sheriff Aho, would you tell Channel Eight’s viewers whether charges will be filed?”
“Ma’am,” Dingus said without looking at her, “as a deliberative police force, we need to investigate first, charge second, if we charge at all. Operating on rumors and speculation would be a poor use of taxpayers’ hard- earned dollars.”
Tawny Jane hated to be called ma’am, and Dingus knew it. “Well then,” she said, “what other than rumors and speculation are the basis of this arrest?”
“We had an anonymous tip and, upon further investigation, it turned out to be more than a rumor. That’s all I can say for now.”
I heard a car passing and looked behind me. A Jeep slowed almost to a stop before moving along. Breck. I pictured him gathering the adults and children at the camp, fixing them with his cross-eyed stare, telling them the townspeople were determined to stop them from living their lives, from practicing their faith, and now had captured one of their own to demonstrate their power and instill fear.
Tawny Jane furrowed her penciled-in brows and cocked her head just so. “Sheriff Aho, isn’t this just a reaction to your opponent’s charges that you haven’t responded aggressively to the recent break-ins? To the point that now a murder has occurred?”
“Excuse me, Sheriff,” Whistler interrupted. Tawny Jane looked at him as if she might shove her mike up his ass. “Your opponent has told the Pilot you may not have the right person in custody. Would you like to comment on that?”
Dingus’s face turned redder than a goal light. “I would not.”
“So do you or don’t you believe you’ve arrested the Bingo Night Burglar?”
Tawny Jane jumped in. “Will you tell our viewers that your investigation has nothing to do with a certain Father Nilus Moreau?”
I looked at Darlene. She must have had enough of the back-and-forth-I certainly had-but her face remained expressionless. I thought of her waking that morning and remembering, in an instant, that her mother was gone. Or maybe she hadn’t slept, maybe not since the night of the break-in, as the creases beneath her eyes suggested. She was tougher than me, tougher than anyone I knew, to stand there next to Dingus without losing it, without coming close, in front of all the professional voyeurs. Her mother would have been proud. I sure was.
“I cannot and will not comment on speculation,” Dingus said.
“Will you be giving us regular updates?” Pavich asked.
Dingus pursed his lips, pressed his hands together, and forced a smile. “The Pine County Sheriff’s Department is nothing if not transparent,” he said. “But we hope that all of the God-fearing people of Pine County will remain calm and rational as we sift through the evidence.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Thank you.”
Darlene and Catledge followed Dingus back inside.
“Where’d you find him?” Tawny Jane asked me as Whistler shuffled off to his Toronado. He’d whispered that he was going to put a story online and I should delay Channel Eight.
“He’s quite a character,” I said.
“You were awfully quiet today.”
Generally, I didn’t say much at press conferences. It gave lousy reporters an edge if decent ones were asking questions. But I said, “It was more fun to watch you and Luke go at it.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
“No,” I said, then realized she was referring to “go at it,” and said, “Sorry.”
She pulled her hair back with the hand holding her microphone, revealing silver wisps along her neck. Seeing
