like a bellows in the cool morning air. Carver had no wind at all. Sam knew it was petty, but he couldn’t help taking satisfaction from seeing this guy fifteen years his junior struggling to keep up.
“You a smoker?” Sam asked.
Carver shook his head.
“Oughta get more exercise.”
Carver said nothing.
“Course, it’s probably too hot down in Memphis to do much of anything.”
“That and I’m too lazy to get in shape.”
“So you drove straight through from the gas station without stopping again.”
“No,” Carver said, an edge to his voice. They’d gone over all of it already, and he’d asked Carver everything there was to ask. Now, he was going through it a second time and the guy knew it, knew Sam was probing for inconsistencies.
“Like I said,” Carver went on, “I stopped for gas again—the Civic’s tank doesn’t hold much—but it was a pay-at-the-pump and I didn’t get a receipt.”
Sam asked, “Why’s there blood on your bumper?”
He could tell he’d rattled the kid. Then Carver laughed but not as though he thought anything was funny.
“I hit a possum last night. A family of them actually.”
“You saw them before you ran them over?”
“Of course not. I didn’t even know what I’d hit until I drove back to make sure it wasn’t a hitchhiker.”
“Were you drinking?”
Carver watched him, sweat bleeding steadily out of his face. “I didn’t drink a drop last night.”
Sam stopped and regarded the guy, wondering at his reaction. “Those tiny red blood vessels in your nose.” He pointed. “That’s rosacea. Often it’s from drinking too much.”
Carver touched his nose self-consciously.
“I’m guessing you like to toss back a few after work, take the edge off,” Sam said.
Carver looked away. “That’s none of your business.”
“It is if you were drinking last night. Maybe you ran Ted Brand down by accident. Maybe he was walking to his car and you didn’t see him. Eyes were too blurry.” Sam allowed himself a small grin, needling the kid.
“I think I need to talk to a lawyer.”
Damn , Barlow thought.
“Come on,” he said in a lighter tone. “It’s only the guilty ones need lawyers.”
Carver watched him, eyes narrowed. “That’s not true and you know it. A person doesn’t have to commit a crime to be blamed for it. Just look at me.”
“How do you know a crime’s been committed, Mr. Carver?”
“Why else would you spend two hours interrogating me? I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”
They got moving again.
“When’s the last time you saw Myles Carver?” Sam asked.
“I never saw him.”
“You never met your uncle.”
“No.”
“Yet he left you his entire fortune.”
“I know it’s crazy. I can’t believe it myself.”
“Why you, then? You his only living relative?”
“No, there were others.” Carver’s breathing grew strained. “Like I said, I never even met him. My grandpa once told me I looked like Myles.”
“Do you?”
“I told you I’ve never seen the man.”
“Not even in pictures?”
“No.”
The sheriff watched him a moment longer. In front of them the trail opened up and Sam saw the three cars sitting on the lane.
Sam said, “Whatever’s going on, it started after Brand did what he came here to do. How is it you didn’t see his car on the way in?”
“I don’t know,” Carver said. “I don’t think the car was here when I got in last night.”
“You said that awhile ago, and it didn’t make any sense then either,” Sam said, dismissing it. “Who saw you after you left Memphis.”
Carver sighed wearily. “I didn’t see anyone.” He snapped his fingers, remembering. “There was a man. At a gas station along the way. He was reading a porn mag with two women going at it.”
Barlow wrote that down, asking, “You go in for that sort of stuff?”
“Porn mags or two women?”
“Either. What was the name of the gas station and the exit where you stopped?”
“You a smoker?” Sam asked.
Carver shook his head.
“Oughta get more exercise.”
Carver said nothing.
“Course, it’s probably too hot down in Memphis to do much of anything.”
“That and I’m too lazy to get in shape.”
“So you drove straight through from the gas station without stopping again.”
“No,” Carver said, an edge to his voice. They’d gone over all of it already, and he’d asked Carver everything there was to ask. Now, he was going through it a second time and the guy knew it, knew Sam was probing for inconsistencies.
“Like I said,” Carver went on, “I stopped for gas again—the Civic’s tank doesn’t hold much—but it was a pay-at-the-pump and I didn’t get a receipt.”
Sam asked, “Why’s there blood on your bumper?”
He could tell he’d rattled the kid. Then Carver laughed but not as though he thought anything was funny.
“I hit a possum last night. A family of them actually.”
“You saw them before you ran them over?”
“Of course not. I didn’t even know what I’d hit until I drove back to make sure it wasn’t a hitchhiker.”
“Were you drinking?”
Carver watched him, sweat bleeding steadily out of his face. “I didn’t drink a drop last night.”
Sam stopped and regarded the guy, wondering at his reaction. “Those tiny red blood vessels in your nose.” He pointed. “That’s rosacea. Often it’s from drinking too much.”
Carver touched his nose self-consciously.
“I’m guessing you like to toss back a few after work, take the edge off,” Sam said.
Carver looked away. “That’s none of your business.”
“It is if you were drinking last night. Maybe you ran Ted Brand down by accident. Maybe he was walking to his car and you didn’t see him. Eyes were too blurry.” Sam allowed himself a small grin, needling the kid.
“I think I need to talk to a lawyer.”
Damn , Barlow thought.
“Come on,” he said in a lighter tone. “It’s only the guilty ones need lawyers.”
Carver watched him, eyes narrowed. “That’s not true and you know it. A person doesn’t have to commit a crime to be blamed for it. Just look at me.”
“How do you know a crime’s been committed, Mr. Carver?”
“Why else would you spend two hours interrogating me? I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”
They got moving again.
“When’s the last time you saw Myles Carver?” Sam asked.
“I never saw him.”
“You never met your uncle.”
“No.”
“Yet he left you his entire fortune.”
“I know it’s crazy. I can’t believe it myself.”
“Why you, then? You his only living relative?”
“No, there were others.” Carver’s breathing grew strained. “Like I said, I never even met him. My grandpa once told me I looked like Myles.”
“Do you?”
“I told you I’ve never seen the man.”
“Not even in pictures?”
“No.”
The sheriff watched him a moment longer. In front of them the trail opened up and Sam saw the three cars sitting on the lane.
Sam said, “Whatever’s going on, it started after Brand did what he came here to do. How is it you didn’t see his car on the way in?”
“I don’t know,” Carver said. “I don’t think the car was here when I got in last night.”
“You said that awhile ago, and it didn’t make any sense then either,” Sam said, dismissing it. “Who saw you after you left Memphis.”
Carver sighed wearily. “I didn’t see anyone.” He snapped his fingers, remembering. “There was a man. At a gas station along the way. He was reading a porn mag with two women going at it.”
Barlow wrote that down, asking, “You go in for that sort of stuff?”
“Porn mags or two women?”
“Either. What was the name of the gas station and the exit where you stopped?”
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