“Yes indeed,” said Karson, in a tone that conveyed sympathy with Harry’s goose bumps. “I have a feeling that if you didn’t work for a newspaper in the big city and weren’t Bud’s pal, Emery might have you down in the basement right now. He’s an expert with resisting arrest.”
“I’m not under arrest,” Harry said quickly.
Karson put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “That’s true and you won’t be.” Karson lowered his voice. “Nobody wants to dig into this. Look, Chris Deucette was a member of my congregation. All the danger signs were there. I tried, with both him and his mother, but Emery blocked me.”
Harry stared at the hand on his shoulder. Karson withdrew it and puffed on his cigarette. “They’re not charging you. Legally you didn’t do anything wrong…unless you want to
98 / CHUCK LOGAN
talk about breaking the Tenth Commandment…and, from what Bud told me, it isn’t the first time you did that.”
The Tenth Commandment was about not coveting your neighbor’s wife. Harry assumed he was talking about number six. Thou shalt not kill. Karson had his commandments mixed up. Or did he?
“Subtle guy like you wouldn’t be a local, would he?” asked Harry.
“Nope,” said Karson.
A third man joined Hakala and Emery behind the glass. Chubby fellow who rocked from foot to foot.
“Tony Camp. Our medical examiner. He’s the town undertaker, not a licensed pathologist,” said Karson as he stood up and ground out his smoke in the ashtray. He shook Harry’s hand. Then he produced a card. Reverend Donald Karson with a K. Trinity Lutheran Church. Phone numbers. “If I get down to Saint Paul maybe we could talk again.” His voice became a little too casual. “I assume you know some good reporters.”
“Karson. You here on your own?”
“Not exactly. The county retains me to counsel people in crisis.”
“Who do you talk to?” asked Harry.
“Well, people who—”
“No, I mean when you’re in crisis,” said Harry.
Karson looked Harry directly in the eye. “You maybe…”
Hakala waited in the hall and watched Karson leave. Then he gave Harry a firm, concerned public-servant smile. “Don get you all straightened out?” he asked.
“Seems like a good enough guy,” said Harry, putting on his own broad phony smile, a mask that he had learned from the Vietnamese.
The more nervous they got the bigger the grin.
“For a bleeding heart treehugger…” Hakala plopped down on the couch and put his beefy arm around Harry’s shoulders. He came on solid, part corner grocer, part big-league linebacker. His pale eyes managed to be deep, shrewd, and warm at the same time. “Let me tell you what’s happening.
HUNTER’S MOON / 99
First of all, Bud’s fine, they’ll keep him for a couple of days to make sure there isn’t an infection. But he’s going to be all right.”
The deputy behind the desk yelled, “Mike,” and held up a phone.
Hakala excused himself. He spoke for a minute and then called Harry over. “Your lawyer,” said Hakala.
Harry picked up the phone. “Harry,” said a calm voice. “Gene Houston.”
“Hello, Mr. Houston.”
“Sounds like you’ve had a hell of a morning, son. But Hakala says that your version of things matches the facts so you can calm down.
I made a call to make sure this doesn’t pick up the wrong spin.”
“Anybody I know?”
The calm voice shrugged. “Bill Tully, he talked to someone up the street and they had a prayer meeting with Hakala.”
Harry took a deep breath and let it out. Tully was the chairman of the Democratic Central Committee.
Gene Houston went on in his calm voice. “You’re not under arrest and you’re not going to be charged. Hakala does have one question: they found a cleaning rod threaded together out where it happened.
If there’s a plausible explanation, tell Hakala. If there’s some reason you don’t want to discuss it, well, I’m prepared to hop a plane and fly up there.”
“He’s, like, standing right here,” said Harry.
“Your call, Harry,” said the attorney. “Hakala’s the DFL county chair. He’s not gaming you.”
“Okay…” said Harry. “It was a reflex, I guess. Bud was freaked out. He didn’t want to be left alone. I wanted to give him something to hang on to till I got back with help. I didn’t know what else to do. His rifle was plugged with snow. So I cleared it, rammed it out real quick, and reloaded it.”
“Uh-huh,” said the attorney. “Let me talk to Hakala.” Harry handed over the phone.
Hakala spoke to Houston and nodded his head. “Yup. That’s pretty much what Bud said. BCA’ll run paraffin tests on Bud’s rifle but the chamber’s finger-clean. Looks like it 100 / CHUCK LOGAN
hadn’t been fired. Sure, Gene, no, I don’t foresee anything other than him having to take some time off work if there’s a grand jury.
Yeah. Justifiable. All the conditions are there.”
Hakala handed the phone back to Harry.
“Go ahead and give them your statement,” said Houston. “But if anything comes up that makes you uncomfortable, stop the interview and call me immediately. Dorothy and Tim are flying up to bring you home. So sit tight.” He gave Harry a phone number. Harry used a pen from the desk to jot it down on a piece of blotter paper.
“Thank you, Mr. Houston,” said Harry.
“On the contrary, Harry. I thank you, for Dorothy.”
Harry smiled and hung up. Hakala blew on his fingers and shook them. “Gene Houston. That’s some heavy legal artillery.”
They went back to the lunch room. Jerry ran the tape recorder.
Emery sat with his large arms folded, chewing a toothpick. His eyes were very quiet and still and meeting them, Harry experienced a pang from childhood. Fear of the dark.
Harry gave a succinct statement about the morning’s events. He did not seek out Emery’s eyes, but he didn’t avoid them either.
Hakala asked the questions. Did Chris exhibit any odd behavior prior to the shooting? Specifically, did the boy look like he was using drugs?
Harry mentioned Bud’s notion that Harry might talk to
