“ … and it makes sense that johnny law thought some hard questions were in order.”

“They don’t really suspect that Cole would do anything to harm his teammates?” Bernice said. “Criminal record or not, surely they don’t think he’s a murderer.”

Kip shook his head. “Not anymore. Quite the opposite, in fact. Turns out the boy’s a hero … or at least he tried his damnest to become one.”

“You lost me,” Bernice said. She crushed her cigarette into Kip’s egg yoke.

“Well, this is all hearsay, but it seems that for whatever reason, Cole Logan was at that river last night and actually saw the bus go off the side of the bridge.”

“But that’s not all,” Don Paul said. “We heard Logan pulled a Geronimo right off the goddamn cliff, trying to save everyone!”

“You’re kidding!”

“That’s the word,” Kip said. “The boy swam right through the rapids and did all he could to save his teammates, only to have the bus nearly take him down with it.”

“I’ll be damned!” Bernice said. “Wait … you mean the cops believed his story? I thought Logan was their primary suspect?”

“Not for long. They were able to corroborate Logan’s story pretty quick.”

“How?”

“Think about it.”

“I don’t see how they could,” Bernice said, “unless there was another witness.”

“Bingo,” Kip said. “But not just any witness. A survivor. The only one who got off the bus alive.”

“Right,” Don Paul said. “The only one not wearing pads … or not too fat to fit through the window.”

Bernice thought about it. Her eyes widened. “You mean the coach?”

Kip nodded. “Jimmy Hickham his own self.”

“I don’t believe it!”

“Is this a crazy town, or what?” Don Paul said.

No one answered the question. The three of them were already caught up in their own thoughts.

Kip stirred circles in his coffee.

Bernice lit another Winston.

Don Paul went to take a leak.

On the jukebox Marty Robbins sang about a Mexican girl in El Paso.

No one spoke until Don Paul returned from the john and asked again for his patty sausage.

CHAPTER 16

THE Killington Sheriff’s Office had buzzed all night with deputies coming and going and fielding calls from emergency services, reporters, lawyers, and worried friends and relatives.

Almost eleven hours had passed since the bus crash. Curtis had been on the move from the moment he’d gotten the initial call. He’d spent most of the night on the radio—ordering, delegating, questioning, and cursing. He had drunk enough coffee to float a tugboat and had chewed fifteen matchsticks down to their sulfur tips.

After leaving the scene at the river around 3 a.m., he had gone to the hospital to check on Cole. He’d found the quarterback standing in the waiting room, cursing the staff and refusing to be admitted. Curtis had been astonished by the turnaround in Cole’s condition.