knew at once what Moran thought he was asking: Ten years ago, Ed—if you pulled Danny Young over that night in that park, why didn’t you report it?
And why didn’t you ever say so, once he became a person of interest?
And if the boy had brought it up himself, that day we watched the sheriff interviewing him—what would you have said then?
But that wasn’t what Halsey was asking; this wasn’t the time for those questions.
“Report what?” Moran said finally, and Halsey said, “Why didn’t you report a girl falling through the ice, Ed? Or a girl drowning, for all you knew?” And then he watched as this question landed too, the few seconds Moran took to process it, before looking away and shaking his head again.
“I don’t know, Wayne. I don’t remember a whole lot after that cast on the side of my head. Except waking up on the ice half-froze to death—I remember that.”
Halsey watched him. Then he said, “You want to come down to the station with me, Ed?”
Moran took a breath and let it out. “No, Wayne, I do not. What I want is for you to move your vehicle so I can be on my way already.”
Halsey said nothing. He nodded, then he said, “In that case, Ed, I’m going to have to ask you to step out of this vehicle now, with your hands in the air.”
Moran didn’t move. “Don’t be an idiot, Wayne. You got no probable cause.”
“I believe I do.” He drew his gun and held it one-handed at his side. Then with his free hand he lifted the latch and swung the door open. “Now show me your hands and get up out of the car for me, Ed.”
Moran sat watching him. He looked again toward the Tahoe, the girl. He looked at the deputies. Then he put his hands in the air and stepped out of his cruiser.
“This won’t stick, Wayne,” he said, turning, lacing his hands behind his head.
“Spread your feet for me, Ed,” Halsey said. Moran did so, and Halsey took the laced fingers in his grip and holstered his gun and relieved Moran of his. He reached back with the .45 and one of his deputies stepped forward to take it from him. He drew Moran’s right wrist down and snapped on the cuff, then brought the left down and did the same, and when Moran was cuffed he turned him around and unbuckled his utility belt and handed that off to a deputy too.
“You won’t be able to hold me,” Moran said.
“We’ll see,” Halsey said. He asked Deputy Moser to get the rifle from the back seat and mind his fingerprints and the deputy did so, carrying the rifle by the barrel to his own cruiser and laying it with care on the back seat.
Moran looked once more at the Tahoe, and Halsey looked too. The girl sat there as before. She had not put her head down but instead had watched it all. Halsey held Moran just above the elbow and he made him stand there so he could see the girl. So the girl could see him. But the girl’s eyes were not on Moran, they were on him.
“Do you know what you’re doing here, Wayne?”
“I’m busting you, Ed.”
“You are killing me, Wayne. Some little girl tells you a story and you arrest me like this, in public, for the whole world to see? Small town like this. You’re killing me, Wayne. Just killing me.”
He led Moran by the elbow toward Deputy Lowell’s cruiser. “Edward Moran,” Halsey said, “you might think about shutting that mouth of yours and waiting for your lawyer.”
Throughout it all Moran had not looked once at the two young men standing in the bay of the garage, the mechanics, but he looked at them now—he looked at the two of them, and then he looked at Marky Young alone, and Marky Young did not look away. He kept his eyes on Moran’s, and even after the lady deputy took Moran from Sheriff Halsey and made him get into the back of her cruiser, placing her hand on the top of his head, on his hair, and even after the cruiser door was shut Moran continued to stare at Marky through the glass, and Marky did not look away. And after they were all gone—Moran and Sheriff Halsey and his deputies and the girl Audrey Sutter—Marky and Jeff went out into the cold and helped Mr. Wabash hook up Moran’s cruiser to