But there was a line. This was a wealthy town, and a lot of the kids had bright futures ahead of them: scholarships, fancy colleges, and family businesses to run. A real record could derail all that, and no one wanted that, right? It was no secret that Chief Whitman was well connected. His family had been in Hart County since the beginning, and you saw their name everywhere: Whitman Quarry, Whitman Road, the Whitman Christmas Tree Farm. The chief played golf every Thursday with a mix of the old and new money in town, in the name of keeping up community relations, and the rank and file took their cues from him. Keep the peace, give lots of warnings, and bring the parents in early. It wasn’t exactly a case of the customer is always right, but it was close. People paid plenty of taxes around here, and they expected good service.

But a house had nearly been destroyed. This wasn’t an out-of-hand pool party, and it wasn’t going to look good for the New Falls Police Department that they’d missed it. That he’d missed it. Now this was his problem, and he intended to deal with it.

When Murray parked in the lot at the O’Connor Family Orchard he spotted Trip right away, changing the oil on a tractor in front of the barn. This was not their first meeting. Murray had pulled him over two years earlier for erratic driving, and it hadn’t been a surprise when the car stunk like a skunk. In the back he found an ounce of marijuana and the kicker, a small electronic kitchen scale. The amount of marijuana wasn’t enough to rate, but the scale immediately made it intent to distribute. The O’Connors didn’t hold any special place with the chief—they were what he called local yokels—so the charges stuck. The sentence had been suspended, however, since Trip didn’t have any priors.

“Mr. O’Connor,” Murray called, walking over to Trip.

Trip looked up from his work and frowned when he saw the detective. He wiped his hands on a greasy towel and stuck it in his back pocket. “Sorry, Officer. The farm stand is closed.” He paused before adding, with a hint of a grin: “But my mom probably has some of her famous cider doughnuts in the kitchen.”

Murray let it pass. He pulled his notebook out of his pocket and looked it over. “One DUI. One charge for possession. And that’s just for Hart County. Anything else I should know about?”

Trip shook his head. “Did you come over just to reminisce about old times?”

“Is your brother here?” Murray looked back down at his notes. “William?”

Trip’s face was guarded. “He’s at school.”

“When will he be home?”

“Later,” Trip replied. “He’s got track practice.”