Page 94 of An Evil Heart
Fisher eyes the three of us, his gaze reflecting a combination of resentment and despair.
“Do you know why you’re here?” I ask.
He shifts his stare to mine. “The only thing I know is that you got the wrong guy and you’re going to try to hang me for something I didn’t do.”
“This is your chance to set us straight.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the card containing the Miranda rights and I read them to him. “Do you understand your rights?”
“I understand all that just fine. All’s I got to say to you is this: I’ve never seen those bolts before in my life.”
Taking my time, hoping he doesn’t ask for an attorney because that would instantly shut down all questioning, I glance down at my notes. “Vernon, I need you to tell me how those two bolts got taped to the toolbox.”
“I have absolutely no idea.”
“Do the bolts belong to you?”
“No. I don’t use broadheads. Never have. Never will.”
“Do you own a crossbow?”
He hesitates, looks around as if seeking a window or door through which to escape. “Look, I got an old combination bow.”
“When I asked you before if you owned a crossbow,” I say, “you said you didn’t.”
“I know it looks bad, but I figured you didn’tneedto know because it wasn’t an issue. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I wasn’t anywhere near where Karn got killed.” Grimacing, he looks down at the tabletop. “I know you don’t believe me, but I swear to God those bolts are not mine.”
It’s not the first time I’ve heard an impassioned denial; to be honest, it’s not the tenth or even the hundredth time. Every criminal who’s been arrested for a crime lies about it. I know that’s cynical, but it’s true.
“Tell me about the crossbow,” I say.
“I haven’t used it for years. Not since I went deer hunting with my cousin. Didn’t even get a deer that year.”
“Where’s the crossbow now?” I ask.
“I think it’s at my parents’ house. Covered with dust. Mymammdidn’t want it in the house so she gave it to Datt and he put it in the barn.”
Tomasetti sighs. “Did you murder Aden Karn?” He asks, the bad cop, asking the big question.
Fisher straightens, moving his legs and arms as if gripped by a sudden restlessness. The cuff jangles against the table ring. “No.”
“Where were you the morning he was killed?” I ask.
“I told you. I was in bed. Asleep.”
“With Leandra,” Tomasetti mutters.
Fisher burns him with a glare. “I was there, damn it.”
I take him through a dozen questions that have already been asked,sticking to friendly territory, loosening him up. He fires off the same answers. No hesitation. His demeanor indignant and resolute.
“You and Karn were arguing about the truck you bought from him.”
“I was in the right,” he says. “After Karn was killed, Wayne made good on it and gave me back my six hundred bucks. Ask him.”
“Did you ever threaten to kill Karn?” I ask.
He startles, rattling the cuff again. “That’s a bullshit question.”
“Set me straight,” I say.
