Herrick didn’t hesitate. He pushed the form back. “I wanna deal.”

“For the record, you are refusing your right to remain silent? If so, sign here.”

The police chief scribbled illegibly at the bottom, repeating, “Do I get a deal?”

“You get us to listen,” Joe replied.

Herrick was petulant. “I incriminate myself, on the record, for nothing?”

“Or you say nothing,” Joe countered, “and the United States government incriminates you on what we know, which is not in your favor. Right now, Clyde, you are a coconspirator to terrible things. I leave you to imagine how that’s going to go down if you don’t speak on your own behalf.”

In fact, they knew little of Herrick’s involvement with Lemuel Shaw. They had suspicions, coincidences, reasonable leaps of logic, and a recent trove of relevant findings from Shaw’s house. But few things helped more than a confession.

This was the moment when—unconsciously or not—Herrick could believe he controlled his own fate. In fact, whatever he said wouldn’t necessarily help him out. Where he ended up at the end of this judicial journey, nobody could say at this stage. If he threw in with Joe or clammed up like Shaw, there were no guarantees. But the artifice of self-destiny was what Joe was counting on.

An impression that finally held sway.

“Okay,” Herrick said as if in charge of events. “I’ll play. But you’d better treat me right.”

Joe sensed it was all Willy could do not to burst out laughing. Treating Herrick “right” had nothing to do with this.

By contrast, Joe’s response was bland, bordering on bored. “Fine. Let’s step away from all the recent drama, then, and begin at the beginning. When did you and Shaw first meet?”

“Maybe twenty years ago or more. When he came up to build that thing he calls a home.”

“What were the circumstances?”

“What?”

Willy crossed his legs impatiently. Joe rephrased, “How did you meet?”

“Oh. He bought my truck.”

After a moment, Joe prompted him. “Tell us about that.”

“He needed a truck. He bought mine.”

This time, Joe stayed silent, forcing Herrick to fill the gap.

“I thought it was weird at the time,” he expanded. “He’s this superrich guy from away, and my truck was hammered. Fact, about a year later, he got rid of it. And he paid big for it, double what it was worth.”

“You weren’t suspicious about that?” Joe asked, pretending to be taking notes and not looking up.

“Why should I be? Man’s entitled to be stupid if he wants. Plus, that was his style. He bought other stuff from me. Always paid top dollar. I got used to it after a while. You seen his house, right? The man spends money. It’s what he does.”

“He did this all over town?” Joe asked, surprised.

Herrick’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. Nobody knows anything about him. That was his biggest hang-up. He made that clear as day: I was to keep who he was under wraps.”