Page 33 of An Evil Heart
He stops brushing and turns to me. “Well, I’m not sure I’d classify them as friends exactly.”
“How exactlywouldyou classify their relationship?”
“They’re more like… acquaintances.”
“Who just happen to have the occasional beer together.”
He stares at me, saying nothing.
I let the silence work a moment, then start back in. “How long have they known each other?”
“Since they were kids, but—”
“Since they were kids? And yet they’re nothing more than acquaintances?”
“Look, Chief Burkholder, maybe ‘acquaintance’ isn’t quite the right word. Sure, they hung out sometimes, but they didn’t exactly get along.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?”
He shrugs. “I guess I didn’t realize it was important.”
“Wayne.” I add some steel to my voice. “I have a twenty-one-year-old dead man who had an ongoing dispute with another man days before he was murdered, and you somehow didn’t think it was important to tell me those two men were friends?”
“I figured you knew. I mean, come on. Painters Mill is a small town. They were Amish.”
“Which is it?” I ask. “That you didn’t think it was important? Or that I should have already known?”
“Both.”
“Is there anything else you didn’t mention?”
He looks at me as though he can’t believe I’m asking. “Look, I’m not trying to hide anything. I have nothing to hide.”
“Tell me about their relationship.”
He frowns, shakes his head. “Look, they were close when they were younger. Played together when they were kids. You know how it is when you’re Amish. Everyone knows everyone. You go to singings and stuff. As they got older, Vernon started getting on his nerves.”
“Why is that?”
He looks down at the ground and sighs. “Look, I gotta be honest withyou, Chief Burkholder. All these questions…” He lets his voice trail; then he raises his eyes to mine. “I’d rather not get anyone in trouble.”
“If you want to keep yourself out of trouble, I suggest you start talking.”
He looks away, tightens his mouth.
“Who don’t you want to get into trouble?” I ask.
“Look, Vernon Fisher might be an asshole, but he’s not a killer.” Shaking his head, he looks down at the floor, then back at me. “If I tell you what I think, you’re going to be all over his shit, and he’s going to know where you got it. And I’m going to get called a damn stool pigeon.”
I stare at him. In the periphery of my thoughts, I see Karn on the gurney at the coroner’s office. The wound in his abdomen. The knowledge that he’d also been shot in the mouth, likely when he’d been alive and unable to protect himself. That the killer had the wherewithal to push the bolts through his body to remove them. The cold-bloodedness of it outrages me.
Taking my time, I go to Wayne, invade his space, close enough that he backs up a step. “Answer my question, Wayne, or you’re going to find yourself in a place you don’t want to be.”
He stares back at me. “Vernon had a thing for Emily Byler. Always has. He was jealous of Aden. Jealous that the two of them were so tight.”
“How did Emily feel about that?”
“I doubt she even realized it.”
