“Just a quick look.”
“Why?”
“Well now, Gene. We have reason to believe that it might have been involved in a traffic accident.”
“Yeah? Who did I hit?”
Mallinger gestured toward where I was standing, my hands thrust deep into my coat pockets.
“No way,” Hugoson said.
“We’ll take a quick look. If we’re wrong, if there’s no damage, we’ll apologize for disturbing your peace and be on our way.”
“Yeah, I’d like to see that—a cop apologizing to me.”
“Could be it’s your lucky day.”
Hugoson responded with an obscenity you don’t hear on network television and slammed the door.
“Let’s get a search warrant,” I suggested. “Tomorrow we’ll take this guy apart.”
“Just wait,” Mallinger said.
A moment later, Hugoson flew through the door wearing a bulky winter coat and thick boots. Mallinger arched her eyebrows at me. Her message was clear: I told you so.
“I knew you were coming,” Hugoson said. “Sooner or later I figured. Chief, there’s damage to my truck. You can see that for yourself, but you gotta know—Listen, Chief”—he jabbed a thumb in my direction—“I never touched this guy. I never went near this guy.”
We followed Hugoson into his pole barn. He flicked a switch and a series of fluorescent lights blinked to life.
“I admit there’s damage.” He gestured at the pickup and stopped talking.
The truck shimmered beneath the lights. The plow blade was still attached. We eased to the right side of it with Hugoson trailing behind. Mallinger squatted next to the plow blade and front bumper. With a flashlight for help, she examined the blade, front grill, bumper, and side panel. After a few moments she flicked the light along the length of the vehicle. There were plenty of dings, dents, and rumpled metal.
“Look,” she said.
I leaned over her shoulder. There were also plenty of dots and dashes of silver paint on the blade and truck body.
“I’ll bet you a thousand dollars PDQ identifies it as Audi light silver metallic,” I said.
“I know this looks bad,” Hugoson claimed. “But we gotta be able to work this out. I’ll pay to have your car fixed,” he told me.
Mallinger pulled a plastic bag and a pair of tweezers that she had borrowed from Officer Andy out of her coat pocket. She dug chips of silver paint out of the plow blade and side panel and dropped them in the bag.
“This isn’t right,” Hugoson wailed. “I didn’t go after this guy, Chief. You gotta believe me.”
“You were correct before, Gene. This does look bad.”
Hugoson glared at me like I was the source of all his problems in life. “What are you trying to do to me?” he wanted to know.
“Guess,” I told him.
“You’re trying to fuck me over cuz of what happened to Beth.”
“If you want to tell that story in court, you go right ahead,” I said.
“Goddammit, I can’t go back to prison. I just can’t.”
Mallinger finished collecting samples and straightened up.
“I’m going back to the Law Enforcement Center,” she said. “Do everyone a favor and turn yourself in early tomorrow morning. Otherwise, I’m coming back here with sheriff deputies and that kid from the Herald.”
“You can’t do this to me.”
“The county attorney will begin with a charge of leaving the scene of an accident,” I said. “I think he can make a pretty good case for felony assault, maybe even attempted murder.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“It was your truck.”
“I know, I know . . . Oh, shit. All right, all right, I know how things work. You gotta give me a deal.”
“A deal? Why?”
“I’ll tell you everything if you promise not to fuck up my parole. You can’t send me back to prison.”
“What are you talking about?” Mallinger said.
“Do we have a deal? I ain’t talkin’ unless we have a deal.”
“I can’t make a deal,” Mallinger said.
“I can,” I told him.
Mallinger scowled at me.
“I can only speak for the car,” I told Hugoson. “Tell us something good and I won’t file a complaint. I’ll forget about the car.”
“That’s not enough.”
“How much more do you need?” Mallinger asked.
Hugoson started walking in small, tight circles at the front of the garage, his hands squeezing each side of his head.
“I knew this would happen, I just fucking knew this would happen,” he chanted.
Finally, he stopped. He moved to Mallinger’s and raised his hand like he wanted to set it on her shoulder, but didn’t dare. Instead, he stared deeply into her eyes.
“You’re a good cop,” he said. “You got my respect. You do your job, but you cut people slack when there’s slack to cut. You don’t go around tryin’ to break people’s balls. If you promise to vouch for me with the county attorney, I’ll tell ya.”
“Tell me what?”
“Everything.”
“For everything I’ll cut you all the slack there is,” Mallinger said.
“It was Coach.”
“Coach Testen?”
