“Yeah,” Paul said.
“About where did you come in?”
“When I delivered the paper, I heard the shotgun go off.”
“And you went inside to check on the judge. But you found Father Tom and your Aunt Wanda instead.”
The boy nodded.
The priest broke in, “I brought him out here so I could explain to him carefully what he saw. Then I went to Darla’s to get her so she wouldn’t be worried. When you came and told us the sheriff wanted to speak to Paul about the judge, I thought it would be best to keep him out here awhile. We let out that Joe John was around, hoping to create a little smoke.”
“What about Harlan Lytton, Tom? Whose doing was that?”
The silence of the room reminded Cork of how it was to be underwater, making your way to the surface in a thick, unbreathable stillness. Everyone looked at everyone else and all of them looked unhappy he’d asked.
It was Paul, drawing himself up to his full height, who said, “I killed him. And I’d do it again.”
If he’d sounded like a boy before, the youthful sound was gone from his voice now. Cork looked at him and saw the hard face of a man.
“No, he wouldn’t,” Darla said, putting her arms around her son.
Paul shrugged away from her. “He killed my father and I killed him and I’d do it again without thinking twice.”
“Cork,” the priest interjected. “It wasn’t entirely his fault. I left him Lazarus in case he needed transportation. And Wanda-well, Wanda-”
“I left him my rifle,” she said evenly. “I didn’t think he’d use it that way. But I don’t blame him at all.”
Cork studied the young man, who didn’t flinch under his gaze. “And it was you on Lazarus at Lytton’s place yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“What were you doing there?”
“I was there to kill another man,” the boy said almost proudly.
“Paul!” His mother looked horrified.
“You don’t mean that,” St. Kawasaki told him.
“It’s the truth,” the boy said. “I thought we were supposed to be telling the truth.”
“No, Paul,” Darla pleaded.
“Let him tell it, Darla,” St. Kawasaki said. “He’s right. The truth is what we’re here for. We’ve come this far.”
“What man were you going to kill?” Cork asked young LeBeau.
“The last man who had a part in murdering my father,” Paul said.
“Who was that?”
“Mr. Parrant.”
“Mr. Parrant? You mean Sandy?”
“Yeah, him.”
Darla put her hands to her mouth. “No,” she whispered.
“Why do you think he had something to do with your father’s death, Paul?” Cork asked.
“Well.” Paul stopped a moment and seemed for the first time a little uncertain. He glanced at the priest and Wanda Manydeeds and his mother. “They said it.”
“What did you say?” Cork asked them generally.
It was Darla who finally spoke. “Sandy Parrant said Joe John showed up drunk for work at Great North the night he disappeared. He said they had words and he fired him. I believed it then. Because of the way Joe John had been. God help me, I believed it. But Joe John was murdered. He didn’t desert us. Sandy Parrant must have been lying.”
“And why would he lie except to cover up?” the priest finished.
Cork looked back at the boy. “How did you know he was at Harlan Lytton’s?”
“I went to his house yesterday,” Paul said. “I was on Lazarus. I had Aunt Wanda’s rifle. I was going to kill him.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Darla insisted. “My son’s not a killer.”
“We all are under the right circumstances, Darla,” Cork said. “Go on, Paul.”
“I came across the lake, through his woods. But he was just leaving. I saw his car heading down the drive.”
“What kind of car was it?”
“White.” Paul shrugged.
“Just white?”
“I saw it through the trees.”
“The man has a white vehicle of some kind,” St. Kawasaki said.
“A lot of people have white vehicles,” Cork pointed out. “Go on, Paul.”
“I tried to follow him, running Lazarus down in the ditch beside the road. When I saw him turn off onto County 16, I figured he must be headed for the Lytton place. It’s just about the only thing down that road. I caught the Glacier Trail. You know it cuts back of the Lytton property. So I got there ahead of him and hid in the trees. Only I didn’t see him. It was you I saw. I watched and waited and when you came out of that shed, I saw him hit you with a club or something. I thought he was going to kill you. I shot at him. But,” he added with a note of shame, “I missed.”
“He got away, and it was you I almost took a shot at,” Cork concluded. “I’m sorry, Paul.”
The young man shrugged and managed a slight grin. “S’okay.”
“You’re sure it was Parrant?”
“It had to be.”
“Did you see his face?”
“He was wearing a ski mask.”
“The white vehicle. Did you see it at Lytton’s?”
Paul shook his head, but said definitely, “It had to be him.”
“Had to be?” Cork let his voice go very hard. “Would you swear to that in court? Would you swear absolutely beyond a shadow of a doubt it was Sandy Parrant who hit me?”
“Well-” Paul seemed confused by the sudden harshness in Cork’s voice. He looked at the floor a moment.
“Swear to it beyond a shadow of a doubt.” Cork pressed him.
“I guess I couldn’t,” Paul admitted.
“Cork, you’re saying you don’t think it was him?” Wanda asked, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard.
“We have no real proof of anything. Nothing that involves Parrant directly,” Cork replied. “It’s all pretty circumstantial at this point.”
“What about Vernon Blackwater’s confession?” Wanda demanded.
“Did he mention Parrant at all?”
“No, but the man had to know.”
“Isn’t it possible,” Cork offered, “that Joe John was drunk? Who knows why? And that Sandy did fire him and it had nothing to do with Joe John’s murder?”
“Cork-”
“Do you have any proof of anything that involves Sandy Parrant?” He waited. “I take it your silence means no. So, you’d condemn a man to death on the basis of speculation, is that it?”
“We didn’t condemn-” Wanda began.
“Your speculation put that rifle in Paul’s hands yesterday. For all we know, he might have ended up killing an innocent man.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Wanda said. “Do you?”
“What I know is that we can fool ourselves into believing almost anything.” Cork turned to Paul. “You killed Harlan Lytton. How did that feel?”
