I open my car window to let some cool air in, trying to ignore the crucible staring me down. I take a big gulp of it, then ask another question. “Any idea who would’ve been motivated to go after you?”
“No, the list would be long, right? If you took every doctor involved and went through all their patients, I mean, who knows who could be angry about one of their loved ones getting addicted? About how that affected their lives.”
“Do you recall hearing about anyone in particular? Any overdoses?”
“I heard of a few.”
“Do you know their names?”
“I’m sorry to say I don’t. But I can tell you the regions.”
“Please do.” These are specifics I can focus on, details I might be able to use. Just holding my pen poised above my notepad calms my breathing a little.
“There were a few in Idaho. Two in Coeur d’Alene, one in Wallace, and some in Montana, too. Two in Missoula, one in Stevensville, somein Arlee—on the reservation. And one that I know of in Ronan, also on the reservation.”
“And no one contacted you about these? No one wrote you an angry email or anything or complained to your company?”
“No one emailed me directly, and the company, well, they’ve gotten thousands and thousands of complaints. I think the FBI is scouring through those to find ones that came from these regions.”
Mooney tells me he needs to get going, wishes me luck. But before he gets off, he says, “I haven’t seen you confess anything yet. Have I missed something?”
“No, you haven’t.” Again, a throbbing dizziness grabs hold of my head.
“You probably should, with the little time you have left. I’d hate to read in the news, well ...”
An article about my murder.
“I’m considering it.” Saying it out loud does something to me. At first, I’m not sure what, but then I realize that behind the fear, behind the unimaginable shame of exposure, it’s the same release I felt with Jess, a slight slackening of the knot in my gut.
“Well, if and when you do, make sure you confess the whole thing, not just the tip of the iceberg.” He reaffirms what the agents told me, that he put a half-assed confession out early in the week. But when he felt he was still in danger, he delivered a more extensive version.
The thing Jeremy also knew but shouldn’t have.
“I spilled all the slimy details about bribing the doctors and getting them to up dosages on their patients,” he says. “And giving my personal motive for acting like such a shit—you know, family pressures, debt. Needing more money and going along with the company ethos. It was the confession you most likely read—a whole two pages long. I poured my heart out. And that’s when I also went to the cops, convinced it was me.”
“Have you spoken to any reporters about how you got a fright, how you felt you were being stalked?” I already know the answer—if he had,it would be in the news. But there’s a slight chance Jeremy’s contacted him but hasn’t reported on it.
“No, only the authorities. They told me to keep that part quiet. Said it was always good to keep some stuff under wraps when so much national hype was involved. I’m only sharing this with you because, well, you know why ...”
“Yeah. Because I’m in the same boat you were in not long ago.”
I pull back onto the highway and speed up to get home. I need to start investigating Jeremy Fisher more. Much more.
When I get home, it’s late. The reporters have all left. The turnoff for my driveway is quiet. Too quiet. Too empty.
No Deputy Zane. Or his car.
I stop, climb out. The quarter moon hangs like ice in the dark sky, tingeing the fields silver.
I turn off my car, listen some more. A wash of dread pours through me. Where’s Zane? And if he’s not here, what waits for me at my house? An entirely new knot—one made of cold, dark terror—coils around my sternum. I pull my gun from its holster.
I don’t have many choices, so I turn my car back on and drive slowly up to my house. My headlights spray across Deputy Zane’s unmarked car in my drive, the front door ajar as if he’ll be right back.
Crouched in the field, the house is dark.
I get out of my car. “Zane? You here?”
My car’s engine ticks. The fields are silent with no scurrying rodents or chirping crickets. Even with the slight moonlight, patches of darkness in my yard seem to fold this way and that. I get out my phone, turn on the weak flashlight.
