They fell in a heap, crushing boxes under them, as Quinn flipped Pookie onto his face and searched his pockets for the knife he knew he’d find. He pulled out a retractable blade inside a pair of brass knuckles etched with a profile of a dragon breathing fire. A nasty little setup anyone could buy at their local gas station for five bucks.

“Damn it, Pookie.”

Pookie turned his head and spit. His lip was busted and his face scratched as he looked up at Quinn. “Damn,” he said. “I sure am sorry, Sheriff.”

“Buddy Smallwood almost shot you in the back.”

“I didn’t steal nothing,” he said. “I dropped everything but these damn balloons all over my ass.”

“You robbed Miss Peaches at the Dixie Gas station,” he said. “You pulled this knife on that nice old woman.”

“Did I?” Pookie said. His eyes were glazed, as Quinn helped him to his feet, and he looked authentically confused.

“You sure did.”

“Shit, Sheriff,” he said. “Last week’s sure as hell been a blur. I can’t really say what I done or not done.”

“We got you on video.”

“Oh.”

“And your momma’s worried sick about you,” Quinn said, opening up the back door of his truck. Pookie’s hands were cuffed behind him and Quinn had to help him up onto the rails. “I would’ve hated to tell her you got shot over some Slim Jims and Cheetos.”

“I’ll get straight,” Pookie said. “I promise you, Sheriff. I’ll get straight.”

*   *   *

They walked toward Dillard’s.

“I’m sorry,” Hubie Phillips said. “That wasn’t exactly a time in my life I want to remember. It was pure and absolute humiliation.”

“How soon after Brandon’s death did you leave Jericho?” Tashi asked, glad to have some of the mall sounds on the recording. A little side action always made things sound better. You could hear the fountain, the slight murmur of people talking and walking.

“I left around graduation in ’98,” he said. “I didn’t want to go. I loved teaching. I’d been at Tibbehah High for more than twenty years, but no one made it comfortable. The principal, the school board—everyone was against me except for a handful of students. I was guilty in the eyes of everyone in town.”

“Was it because you were gay?”

“Is it that obvious?” Phillips said, smiling for the first time. “Is it my sensible shoes?”

“I’ve talked to several people,” Tashi said. “They say that’s why you were the first suspect.”

“That,” Phillips said, “and also because Brandon and I were genuine friends. He could talk to me like he couldn’t speak to his father. Have you met his dad, Tim?”

“He died a few years ago.”