they are getting pretty upset about it. They want to have a funeral, get him in the ground.”

“When are you going to release him?” Virgil asked.

“Ike Patras says he doesn’t think he can get anything more off the body, so I’m going to okay the release tomorrow morning. I’ll tell George as soon as we’re in the house. Maybe that’ll loosen them up a little.”

“You said you guys were friends.”

“Friendly. Not friends,” Coakley said. “We didn’t see each other socially or anything, but we’d stop to talk on the sidewalk. They’ve been pretty unhappy with me since Bobby’s arrest, and then his death—like I betrayed them.”

GEORGE TRIPP WAITED until they were halfway up the walk before he left the window and opened the front door. He said, “Sheriff,” with a nod, and a cold chill in his voice; he backed away from the door, his hands back in his pockets. Not going to shake with the law. Irma Tripp came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. The house was neatly kept, with family photos in frames, and wildlife art on the walls; it smelled of chili and wood cleaner. Virgil thought the Tripps were probably in their middle forties, Irma a bit younger than her husband.

Coakley said, “We have some news for you, George, Irma. We’ll release Bobby tomorrow morning, so you can get on with a service.”

“’ Bout time,” George Tripp said. He was looking at Virgil. “Who would this be?”

“Virgil Flowers, he’s an agent with the state Bureau of Criminal Apprehension,” Coakley said. “He works the southern part of the state.”

Irma said, “I thought we were all done with investigation.”

Virgil shook his head. “No, no. We do have some more news for you. Could we sit down? We really do need to talk.”

They sat in a conversation group, a couch on one side of a wood-and-glass coffee table, two overstuffed chairs on the other side. Virgil leaned forward and said, “I really want to express my sympathy over the death of your son. It’s an awful thing.”

“How would you know?” Irma asked.

“Because I see a lot of awful things, and I’m pretty much like you folks. I grew up in Marshall, and my father is a minister. When a kid died, half the time the service would be in our church, and I’d know him. Know the family. I’ve been through it a lot.”

Irma nodded: “He was the best thing we had. He was our only child.”

Virgil glanced at Coakley, who nodded at him, and Virgil turned back to the Tripps. “We need to tell you that we no longer think that your son committed suicide. We’ve developed evidence that he may have been murdered by Jim Crocker, the sheriff’s deputy who was on duty that night.”

George Tripp lurched off the couch, to his feet, and said, “I knew it. I knew it,” and Irma began to weep. George Tripp said, “Where is he? Crocker?”

Coakley said, “He’s dead, George. We went to his house with a search warrant, and found him dead. He also looks like a suicide, but agent Flowers and I both believe that he was also murdered.”

“What the hell is going on?” George Tripp demanded. His wife was twisting the dish towel into a rope; but Virgil’s statement had stopped the weeping.

“We don’t know yet, George, but . . . uh . . .”

“Things are getting very strange, and very complicated,” Virgil said. “We need to ask you something: do you know whether or not Bobby was acquainted with, or dating, a young woman, a girl from the west end of the county, named Kelly Baker?”

Irma: “Baker? Wasn’t that the girl who was murdered?”

“Yes. Last year, down by Estherville,” Coakley said.

“You can’t think that Bobby had anything to do with that,” George Tripp said, anger threading back into his voice.

“No, no, we don’t,” Virgil said. “But we’re wondering if Jacob Flood might have.”

The Tripps stared at him for a moment, then Irma Tripp rocked back on the couch and said, “Ohhh. Oh, no. You think Bobby found out about . . . Ohhh.”

“Did they know each other?”

The two looked at each other, and then George Tripp said, “Our son, you know, never really had much to do with girls, yet. He was shy. But there was something going on a year ago. We don’t know with who, because he wouldn’t talk about it.”

“He didn’t take anybody to the junior prom,” Irma Tripp said. “We kept trying to get him to