At approximately 5:45 p.m. on April 17, 1982, I, Jack Martin Stilton, witnessed Emily Vaughn talking to Bernard “Nardo” Fontaine. They were standing outside the gym. This was prom night. Emily was wearing a green or blue dress and had a small purse. Nardo was in a black tux. They both seemed very angry, which concerned me, so I approached. I was at the bottom of the stairs when I heard Emily ask where Clayton Morrow was. Nardo said “F-k if I know.” Emily walked inside the gym. Nardo told me “That bitch better shut her f-ing mouth before someone shuts it for her.” I told him to shut up but I don’t think he heard me. I went around the back of the gym to smoke a cigarette. I didn’t see either of them again. I only stayed for half an hour, then I returned home and watched TV with my mom. One of the Boys with Dana Carvey, then Elton John was on Saturday Night Live. I did not see Clayton Morrow at the prom. I did not see Eric “Blake” Blakely or his twin sister Erica “Ricky” Blakely, though I assume they were all there because that is how they operate. I do not know who the father of Emily’s baby is. She does not deserve all the bad stuff that has happened to her. I wore a black suit once to my uncle Joe’s funeral but my mom rented it so it wasn’t technically mine. I swear the contents of my statement are true under penalty of law.
Andrea heard a door slam open behind her.
“Chief Stilton. Thanks for meeting with us so late in the day.” Bible was giving the real-life Jack Stilton a firm handshake when Andrea turned around. “I promise we won’t take up much of your time.”
Andrea tried to keep her composure as Bible made the introductions. Stilton’s left eyebrow was bisected by a scar, a white line sending a lightning bolt between the fine hairs, probably from a long-ago scuffle. His pinky finger had clearly been broken at some point and healed badly. Despite this, he didn’t look like the kind of guy who was spoiling for a fight. The extra weight he carried gave him a baby-face, though Andrea knew he was the same age as Clayton Morrow, the man who, three years after leaving Longbill Beach, would introduce himself to Laura as Nicholas Harp.
She found herself almost split in two as she shook hands with Jack Stilton.
Had he been friends with her father? Did he know more than he’d let on in his statement forty years ago? He didn’t look like the kind of guy who stayed in and watched movies with his mother.
“You’re both Marshals?” Stilton seemed dubious, probably because Bible looked like a semi-retired skateboarder and Andrea looked like she had found her pants in a boys’ clothing bin at Costco. Which was accurate.
Bible said, “We are indeed deputies with the United States Marshal Service, Chief Stilton. Hey, I bet you grew up hearing a lot of cheese jokes, am I right?”
Stilton’s nostrils flared. “No.”
“I’ll try to think of some.” Bible slapped Stilton hard on the back. “You two go ahead and get started. I gotta shake hands with my wife’s best friend. Oliver, you good?”
Andrea could only nod as Bible disappeared into the bathroom.
Stilton exchanged an annoyed look with the sergeant. He reluctantly told Andrea, “I guess let’s go on back.”
Andrea had a feeling Bible was throwing her into the deep end to see if she could swim. She asked Stilton, “Have you been the chief of police for long?”
“Yes.”
She waited for more, but there was nothing, just him turning his back to her as he walked through the door.
So much for swimming.
Stilton’s leather equipment belt squeaked as he showed her through to the squad room. The space was utilitarian, a large, open rectangle with two smaller offices at the back, one marked with a sign that said INTERVIEWS, the other marked CHIEF STILTON. A conference table and kitchenette took up one side of the open space. On the other side, four desks were cubicled behind dividers. The overhead lights were on, but no one else was in the building. Andrea guessed the rest of the force was either on patrol or at home with their families.
“Coffee’s fresh.” Stilton waved his hand toward the kitchenette. “Help yourself, sweetheart.”
“Uh—” She was caught off guard. The only man who ever called her sweetheart was Gordon. “No, thank you.”
Stilton fell heavily into a large leather chair at the end of the conference table. “All right, honey. Are you gonna tell me what’s going on or do we have to wait for your boss?”
Andrea had let the first time slide, but now, she gave him a sharp look.
“Don’t get all woke on me,” Stilton said. “They don’t honey-pie you genteel ladies down south?”
His fake southern accent sounded like Scarlett O’Hara had twisted his balls in her corset strings. No wonder people hated cops so much.
Stilton said, “Come on, honey. Where’s your sense of humor?”
Andrea dumped her duffel and backpack on the floor as she sat down at the table. She did the same thing she had done with the Uber driver. She pulled out her phone and ignored him. Her eyes blurred on the screen. She forced herself not to look up. At first, she could feel Stilton staring at her, but then he got the message. He stood up with a loud groan and went to the kitchenette. She heard the scrape of a mug as he lifted it from the shelf. The click of the coffee pot being pulled out from the burner.
Her eyes finally focused on the banner that had popped up on her lock screen. Predictably, she had two texts, one from each parent. Laura had sent a link to the Portland Art Museum’s permanent Native American Art collection. Gordon had sent a text asking her to call him over the weekend, but only if she had time. Andrea pulled up her contacts and found Mike’s number. She hadn’t forgotten what Bible had said outside the library.
She texted—WTF DID YOU TELL THESE PEOPLE????????
The three little dots floated. And floated.
Finally, Mike texted back—YOU’RE WELCOME!
“Sorry about that.” Bible let the door slam behind him. He clocked Andrea on her phone, but asked Stilton, “Coffee fresh?”