Page 24 of An Evil Heart
I pull out my notebook. “What time was that?”
“Six thirty or so. We were both rushing around, getting dressed.” He closes his eyes a moment, chokes out a one-syllable laugh. “Hungover.”
“Where did Aden work?”
“Buckeye Construction,” he says. “Been with them about a year now. He’s good with his hands. Likes to build stuff.”
“Did he drive at all?”
“He rides his bike just about everywhere. Some dude he works with picks him up every morning.” His face goes taut as if he’s struggling with another round of emotion. He gestures toward the workshop. “Aden just bought his first car. A couple of weeks ago. It’s a junker, but it’s got a big engine. He was excited, you know? We’ve been working on it.” He motions toward the workshop. “Gonna be badass when we’re finished.”
He closes his eyes as if trying to stanch tears. “Shit.”
“Do you know the name of the guy who picks him up?” I ask.
“Jeez, Aden mentioned him a couple times. Works at Buckeye, too. Kevin… something.” His brows knit. “Waddell. Kevin Waddell. That’s it.”
I write it down. “Where do they meet?”
“Jesus.” Turning away, he walks over to the Nova, sets his hands on the hood, and shakes his head as if he’s trying to wake from a bad dream. “A few miles north of here. They meet in the parking lot of that old Lutheran church off Township Road 34.”
I know the church and the area. It’s not terribly far from the property owned by Vernon Fisher.…
I look at Graber. He seems genuinely upset. I’ve got pretty good instincts when it comes to people. If someone is lying or being disingenuous, I can usually spot it. Shock is particularly difficult to fake. Grief even more so. That said, I’ve seen killers genuinely mourn the person they murdered.
“What happened to him?” Graber asks the question without looking at me. “Someone hit him or what?”
“The coroner hasn’t made an official ruling yet, but from all indications it looks as if he was shot.”
“Shot?With a gun?” Straightening, he turns to face me. “You mean like an accident?”
“We believe he may have been shot with a bolt from a crossbow or combination bow. We’re still trying to figure things out, but it was likely deliberate.”
“Oh my God. That’s… crazy. Why would—” Mouth pulled into a grimace, he slaps a hand down on the hood, angry and overcome. When he raises his eyes to mine, tears shimmer. “Who the hell did it?”
I hold his gaze, but he doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away. “We don’t know yet.”
I’m aware of Skid getting out of his cruiser, hanging back a few feet, watching the exchange.
“Mr. Graber, did Aden have any enemies that you know of?” I ask. “Was he involved in any disputes or have problems with anyone?”
“No, ma’am. He was a laid-back dude. Funny. Everyone liked him. They really did. They—” He stops talking and swings his gaze to mine. “Wait a minute. Vernon Fisher and his clan of losers. Aden and me… we sold him a truck. Fisher ran the shit out of it and blew the engine. Then he accused us of selling him a lemon and refused to pay. So Aden and I went over there one night and we repossessed it.” He relays a story similar to the one I heard from Vernon Fisher except from a contrasting perspective.
“If the truck wasn’t running, how did you get it home?” I ask.
“Tug strap and a big V-8.”
“Did Fisher threaten Aden?”
“Threatened to beat his ass. I mean, Fisher was pretty hot about the truck. You know, after we repoed it. Dude wanted his down payment back.”
I wait, but he doesn’t continue, so I press. “What else?”
He looks away and shakes his head. “Look, I’m not going to say anything bad about Aden. He was a good guy. Period. But to tell you the truth, Chief Burkholder, I think he should have considered giving Fisher his money back. I mean, we had the truck. We rebuilt the engine. Got it running. And we had it resold to someone else in a week.”
“How upset was Fisher?”
“He was pretty pissed off.”
