Page 35 of An Evil Heart
“Let me grab some coffee,” I tell him. “I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”
Ten minutes later, Glock and I walk into the interview room. It’s a small, windowless space that was once used to store office supplies. Vernon Fisher slouches in a chair at the table, looking like an unhappy kid who’s been sent to detention. He’s trying to look calm, as if he’s taking all of this in stride. But he can’t hide the anger radiating off him.
I set my file on the table and pull up a chair so that I’m sitting across from him. Glock closes the door behind us and takes his place against the wall, folding his arms in front of him.
“I appreciate your agreeing to come in and talk to us,” I begin.
Fisher makes a sound of irritation. “Like I had a choice. I’ve been sittinghere for an hour, Chief Burkholder.” His eyes flick to Glock. “Your goon over there picked me up and here I am. No one bothered to come in and talk to me.”
“I’m here now.” To keep all of this on the up-and-up, I recite the Miranda rights to him from memory. “Do you understand those rights?”
He chokes out a sound of disbelief. “I don’t need to know my rights because I didn’t do anything wrong!”
Ignoring his outburst, I open the folder. “Why didn’t you tell me you and Aden Karn were friends?”
“What?” He blinks as if Aden Karn is the last topic I’d raise. “You didn’t ask.”
“Let me refresh your memory.” I look down at my notes from the last time I spoke to him. “When I asked you about the truck, this was your answer. And I quote: ‘You come here to my place of business and accuse me of killing some freakin’ dude I barely know?’”
“I don’t remember saying that.”
“You did. Verbatim. Which means you lied to me.” I make eye contact with him. “You know lying to the police is against the law, right?”
He sits up straighter. “Look, Karn wasn’t exactly my best bud. I didn’t know him that well. I didn’t—”
I slap my palms down on the table hard enough to make him jump. “You lie to me one more time and there will be consequences. Do you understand?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Were you friends with Karn?”
“We hung out sometimes. Drank beer. That’s it.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Just… since we were little kids.”
“And yet you weren’t friends? Didn’t know him well?”
“We were frickin’ Amish. When you’re Amish, everyone knows everyone.”
“When’s the last time you talked to him?”
“Shit.” He lowers his head, sets his fingertips against his temple as if trying to remember. “Three or four days before he was killed. I told you that.”
“Can anyone substantiate that?”
“I think Wayne was there. I mean, I went to Aden’s house to tell him I wanted my money back.”
“Did you argue?”
“Well… yeah. I mean, I wasn’t happy with him and I let him know it. For God’s sake, I gave him six hundred bucks and the truck turns out to be a piece of crap. Then he goes and repossesses the truck. So, yeah, I was a little hot. But, for God’s sake, I didn’t fuckin’ kill him!”
“Check the language,” Glock snaps from his place by the door.
Fisher glares at him.
I stare at Fisher, let the silence work. He can’t hold my gaze, and looks down at the table in front of him.
