Dust to Dust

He was thirty-one now. He looked older. His once gold-blond hair was now brown, dull, and stringy. His nose looked even more crooked. He had a front tooth missing and prison tats on his arms and fingers.
    Diane picked up the phone, introduced herself, and told him she was sorry about his sister.
    “Thanks,” he mumbled.
    “Your father believes Stacy was murdered because she was getting close to discovering who framed you,” said Diane.
    Ryan nodded his head and looked away for a moment. “She is a neat kid—was a neat kid” he said.
    Diane saw his eyes sparkle with moisture.
    “I told her not to do anything dangerous. Dad doesn’t have anybody now.”
    “I’m working with someone your dad hired to find out what happened to her. The police ruled her death an accident,” said Diane.
    Ryan’s face transformed into a cruel mask. “I know what they said and they’re full of shit. Stupid bastards. They were stupid then. They’re even stupider now.” He spat out the words as if they were bitter seeds. “She don’t deserve none of this. None of us do.”
    More visitors came in and filled the cubicles, and the noise level rose. Most everyone spoke in low voices, but Diane could pick out sniffling, sobbing, whispered anger, and laughing among the low cacophony of sounds. She wanted to finish this, get the hell out, and go home.
    “Would you mind telling me what you think put you here?” said Diane. “From your point of view.”
    He was quiet for a moment and his face went back to the emotionless mask it had been before she’d mentioned the death of his sister.
    “Don’t you think I’ve been laying awake at night for nine years trying to figure that out? I don’t know. I didn’t know that Carruthers girl. Never knew her. I was twenty-two years old, for Christ’s sake; she was in fucking high school. I never went driving by her house like they said I did. I never went into that neighborhood.”
    “Start from the beginning and tell me what you do know,” said Diane.
    “The beginning was me sitting watching the Atlanta Braves on TV and the police coming in with a search warrant. That’s the first I ever heard of that girl.”
    “A witness reported seeing your car in the neighborhood, and took down your tag number,” said Diane. She tried keeping her voice even and calm.
    “Don’t I know it. She was at my trial. I never saw that bitch before and I wasn’t in that neighborhood. A lot of rich folk live there. What would I be doing there?”
    “She said she recognized you in your Atlanta Braves cap, your gold Chevrolet, and your license plates,” said Diane.
    “Maybe my car was there, maybe my hat was there, but I wasn’t there. Somebody put the frame on me.”
    “You have any idea who would do that?” asked Diane.
    “No damn idea whatsoever. I’ve never hurt nobody bad enough to do this to me,” he said.
    “Sometimes people overreact to something hurtful. Is there anyone you can think of who might have a small grudge, something that got blown out of proportion in their mind?”
    “I’ve broke up with girlfriends, but none of them would do this. Like, they’d have to be crazy to kill somebody and blame it on me. What kind of maniac would do that? I never went with no girls that crazy . . . or that mean.”
    Diane wasn’t getting anything useful out of Ryan. It was a wasted trip. He genuinely seemed clueless, or he was a really good actor. On the other hand, many criminals were really good actors.
    “Did you have your car stolen or used by anyone else around that time?” asked Diane.
    “No, not that I know,” he said.
    “How would you not know?” she said.
    “Well, I wasn’t in my car all the time. Somebody could’ve borrowed it and brought it back while I was working or watching TV or . . . sometimes I’d go out drinking and, well, somebody could’ve borrowed it then,” he said. “I might not know about it.”
    “Did you always take your car keys with you?” said Diane.
    “I left the keys shut up in the sun visor, you know, like in Terminator 2 ,” he said.
    “I understand you were a truck driver at the time,” said Diane.
    “Dad got me the job. He was a loading dock foreman at Walker Ace. They transport all over. But I only drove local,” said Ryan.
    “Where was your car when you were working?” asked Diane.
    “Sometimes at my apartment, when I rode to work with Dad. Sometimes in the lot at work. They keep the lot locked so nobody can steal stuff out of your