Doug Allyn - The Best American Mystery Stories 2015

The Métis stayed on too, doing whatever work came to hand. Lumbermen, merchants, mechanics, and carpenters. A few outlaws.

And one cop.

Todd Girard is Old Money, but doesn’t flaunt it. His lambskin sport coat was comfortably distressed and his jeans were faded. A blue chambray shirt, open at the throat. No tie. Business casual for the north.

In school he was a party animal, but his National Guard unit served a hitch in Afghanistan. He came back changed. We all did. He takes Vale County crime personally now, which keeps his conviction rate in the high nineties.

His number two, Assistant DA Harvey Bemis, was beside him. Suited up in his usual three-piece pinstripe and a U of M tie, Harvey is an eager beaver who looks a bit like one, protruding front teeth, anxious eyes. He’s an attack dog in court, a guy you want on your side. But I’ve never had a beer with him afterward. I think he wears his tie to bed.

The third man at the table was plump and sleek, casually dressed in a tweed jacket over a golf shirt. Jason Avery is the most expensive mouthpiece north of Detroit. His silvery mane was a bit disheveled and he hadn’t shaved. I guessed his Saturdays rarely started this early.

“Detective Dylan LaCrosse,” Avery said. “Thanks for coming.”

“Counselors.” I nodded, dropping into the chair facing them. “I’m here as a courtesy to the prosecutor, but I’m in the middle of a homicide case so I’m short on time. What’s this about?”

“The Champlin case,” Todd said. “I’ve known Mark Champlin for years. To avoid any appearance of impropriety, I’m stepping away from this one. Harvey Bemis will take it to trial if it comes to that.”

“Which I hope to avoid,” Avery interjected smoothly. “We need to resolve this mess before it becomes a disaster for the whole North Shore.”

“What kind of a disaster?” I asked.

“Before I get to that, I’ll need a guarantee,” Avery said. “I’m willing to reveal information damaging to my clients, but this conversation will remain confidential.”

“We’re all gentlemen here, with the possible exception of Dylan,” Todd said drily. “Okay, we’re officially off the record, Jason. What’s your big secret?”

“The Novak girl, for openers. I can close that case.”

I stiffened; so did Todd. He had our full attention now.

“I’m listening,” I said.

“It’s my understanding that the girl drank nonalcoholic punch, passed out on the lawn, and... succumbed to the cold. In fact, a tox screen will reveal the presence of a drug. GHB. You have Julie’s date, young Derek Patel, in custody, I believe. As a suspect?”

“He’s one possibility,” I admitted.

“The wrong one,” Avery said flatly. “The punch was spiked. GHB, commonly referred to as a date-rape drug, was added to it.”

“By whom?” Todd asked.

“I’m coming to that,” Avery said. “For the record, the drug was legally prescribed and properly secured under lock and key—”

“It was locked in the playroom, wasn’t it?” I said, getting it.

Avery nodded. “Quite so. GHB is a legal sleeping pill, but on occasion the drug is used by my clients to enhance... well. Recreational sex. All those involved are consenting adults. I can supply their names, if necessary.”

“Skip that for now,” I said. “What happened to the girl?”

“Her date, Derek Patel, brought her to the house party. The elder Champlins were away for the weekend, and such parties aren’t uncommon. Their daughter, Sara, was present, as well as a number of exchange students, all of whom are of age—”

“What exchange students?” Harvey Bemis asked.

“Jocks, Harvey,” I explained. “They attend Vale Junior College on sports scholarships.”

“They keep the school competitive and give Mark a new audience for his highlight reel every year,” Todd added. “Cut to the chase, Jason. Who doped the punch?”

“Joey Champlin,” Avery said simply.

The room went dead still. No one spoke for a moment.

“The... handicapped kid?” I said at last.

“I’m afraid so. Last evening Joey was watching TV with the exchange students when his older sister ordered him to bed. The boy took offense. He has a history of difficulty with impulse control. He broke into the playroom, grabbed a fistful of pills, and dropped them in the punch as a prank.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Todd said, looking away.

“The boy had no idea what the pills were, or what the consequences might be,” Avery continued. “Joey confessed to his sister this morning. He’s very sorry, but...” He opened his hands expansively. “I doubt the boy’s capable of comprehending the damage he’s done.”

“How old is this boy?” Harvey asked.

“Sixteen,” Avery said. “His IQ is in the mid-sixties, which places him in legal limbo between juvenile court and adult incapacity. I doubt he can be tried.”

“He can’t just walk either,” Todd said grimly. “What are you offering, Jason?”

“There’s a bit more to it,” Avery said. “Vale Junior College is being vetted at the state level to become a fully accredited four-year institution. I don’t have to tell you what a blessing this would be for the North Shore. Kids who lack the resources to pursue a higher education downstate could live at home, attend school here.” He glanced pointedly at me.

“That’s good news,” I conceded. “How is it relevant?”

“Mark Champlin is heavily involved in those negotiations. A scandal at this time could derail the process, perhaps permanently.”

“The snow angel isn’t a scandal,” I said. “She’s a homicide victim.”

“Snow angel?” Bemis echoed, frowning.

“Julie Novak,” I said. “When we found her in the snow, that’s how she appeared.”

“By whatever name, her death was inadvertent,” Avery said. “A regrettable accident.”

“Or negligent homicide,” Bemis countered. “A mentally challenged kid made an awful mistake. Fine. He can plead to it, the judge will place him in a state institution for evaluation—”

“And any hope for his future will disappear,” Avery shot back.

“Joey Champlin’s record will clear at twenty-one,” I pointed out. “Julie Novak isn’t going to see twenty-one.”

“The point is moot,” Avery said. “The Champlins are unwilling to ruin the boy’s life for what was, in every sense, a juvenile mistake.”

“We might be open to a compromise,” Bemis said, glancing at Todd. “If one of the parents pleads to negligence—”

“To be held up to public ridicule and shame?” Avery asked.

“ Somebody damn well should be ashamed!” I snapped.

“Dylan’s right, counselor,” Todd said. “My office can’t just write this off. Especially since Mark and I are friends. You have to give me something, Jason.”

“I’ve been authorized to offer a hundred thousand dollars,” Avery said.

No one spoke for a moment.

“A hundred for what?” I asked.

“Joey’s a mentally challenged minor, with emotional problems,” Avery said quickly. “No good purpose will be served by trying him. The Champlins offer fair compensation instead. Joey will be placed in a secure facility, for appropriate treatment. The Champlins will issue a public statement of regret for the incident and, privately , will proffer a financial settlement to the girl’s family. One hundred thousand.”

Bemis glanced nervously at Todd. The prosecutor’s face showed nothing.

“If, on the other hand, formal charges are brought,” Avery continued, “my admission of Joey’s involvement and the offer of compensation will vanish. The Champlins will resist any attempt to incarcerate the boy, and they have formidable resources. We’re dealing with a tragedy, not a crime.”