In the Clearing (Tracy Crosswhite #3)(74)
“Stop me anytime I’m wrong, Hastey.”
Devoe didn’t speak.
“The thing about a lie, Hastey, is it’s never just one, is it? You think if everyone agrees to say nothing, then nothing can happen to anyone. But soon you have to tell another lie, then another, and pretty soon, you’ve told so many lies you don’t know what the truth is anymore.” Tracy tapped her sternum. “But deep inside, the truth lingers, and that soft, nagging conscience just keeps pecking away, fighting to get out. It just keeps pecking and pecking and pecking, until you just can’t stand it. You can’t sleep. You can’t function. You’re drinking too much, eating too much. You’re self-destructing. You’re wondering if you’re going to have a heart attack, or maybe lose it entirely, the way Darren Gallentine lost it.”
Devoe looked white as a sheet.
“And then that secret that seemed so simple has suddenly become a huge anchor around your neck, and it starts to pull you under because you no longer have the strength to keep your head above water. You start to drown. You’re going under, Hastey, and you know it. You’re drowning. Don’t you want to shake free of that anchor? Don’t you want to free your conscience? You didn’t kill Kimi Kanasket. You weren’t driving. You were just there. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It happens to every kid in high school. Tell me what happened. Tell me what happened, and I’ll do my best to help you.”
Devoe looked to be struggling to catch his breath, as if about to hyperventilate. Tracy could picture him doing something similar in a football huddle. Tired and exhausted, not believing he could play another down, but unwilling to let his teammates down. Unlike Eric Reynolds, who was the good-looking all-American, or Darren Gallentine, who was physically fit and smart, or even Archibald Coe, who had a plan to become an Army officer, football was all Hastey had. It was how he fit in—because being the class clown necessarily meant that while people were laughing with you, they were also laughing at you, and that could be painful. So Hastey would suck it up and go back to the line and slam his body into his opponents over and over again, beyond exhaustion, because that was how he fit in, how he was accepted. And being accepted was what he wanted, which is why Tracy knew, even before he opened his mouth, that Hastey Devoe would never say anything to implicate anyone, especially not the hand that had fed him all those years. He wouldn’t implicate Eric Reynolds.
“I want to talk to my brother,” he said.
Lionel Devoe arrived at the sheriff’s office within minutes of Hastey’s phone call. Of course, he didn’t have far to travel. He stalked into the conference room looking and sounding upset. He became more upset when Hastey wasn’t in the room.
“He’s being booked, Lionel,” Jenny said. “And he’s going to spend the night in jail and be arraigned in the morning. You can post bail then and take him home.”
“I’m going to call Dale,” Lionel said, referring to the county prosecutor, “and let him know what this is really about.”
“If I were you, I’d start calling around for a good lawyer,” Jenny countered. “I’ve already spoken to Dale. He intends to bring felony charges against Hastey as a repeat offender, and he’s not going to be offering him any type of prevention program without a suspension of his driver’s license and jail time.”
Hastey looked like he could spit nails. “What exactly are you doing, Sheriff?”
“My job, Lionel. You want to get angry at someone, get angry at your brother. Then get him some help before he kills himself or someone else.”
“Don’t preach to me, and don’t tell me your deputies just happened to stumble upon Hastey, today of all days, with her in town.” Lionel jabbed a finger in Tracy’s direction. “That’s just too Goddamn convenient. You had him watched, and you pulled him over so she could talk to him about Kimi Kanasket.”
“Whose side are you on, Lionel?” Jenny said, looking and sounding completely innocent. “I know he’s your brother, but he was clearly intoxicated, and he needs help.”
“My concern is you facilitating a witch hunt based on some unsupported allegations from forty years ago and dragging my brother into it. This is supposed to be a celebratory weekend. This is supposed to be a celebration of a past achievement and a dedication to the future.”
“Just like forty years ago,” Tracy said.
“What?” Hastey said.
“Forty years ago nobody wanted a dead Indian girl to spoil their championship weekend. So Kimi Kanasket got tossed in the river and forgotten.”
Lionel Devoe raised a finger and stepped closer. “Let me tell you something, Detective—”
“No,” Tracy said raising her own finger. “Let me tell you something. Forty years ago those four boys conspired to keep hidden what they did to Kimi Kanasket, and I don’t believe they acted alone. That windshield and front fender didn’t get fixed on their own. Would you happen to know anything about that?”
Lionel shook his head, scoffing.
“You were running your father’s business at that time. You know anything about two cash receipts for bodywork and replacement of a windshield?”
Lionel smiled, but it looked pained. “You’re fishing, Detective. Problem is you’ve got a line in the water, but you got no bait on your hook.” He straightened. “You think you can prove anything, then do it. Otherwise, leave my brother and me out of this witch hunt of yours.”