The Lesson of Her Death

shot. Who’s going to come forward with evidence if they think they’re going to get gutted by a werewolf or something?”
    Ebbans said, “The stories’ve run already, Bill. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
    “Yeah there is.”
    Corde picked up the phone. He called the
Register
and then WRAL, the local TV station in Higgins. He asked them about deadlines and if they’d be interested in a statement about the Auden co-ed case by the chief investigator. He took down some information then hung up. After Corde hung up Ebbans glanced toward Ribbon’s office and raised an eyebrow. He sang, “He ain’t gonna like it.”
    Corde shrugged and proceeded to spend an agonizing half hour composing a release. After a dozen rewrites he slipped it over to Ebbans.
    New Lebanon Sheriff’s Department investigators are following several leads in the rape and murder of an Auden University co-ed. Although it has been suggested that the murder was cult or sacrifitial, investigators have said that this is only one possibility and, they are also exploring the possibility that a friend or acquaintance of the victim’s from Auden University may have been somehow involved. Anyone with any information is urged to immediately contact the New Lebanon Sheriff’s Department in complete confidentiality.
    “You spelled sacrificial wrong and also it doesn’t sound like a newspaper story. They write things different. Smoother or something.”
    “Well, I don’t care about that. They’ll doll it up. What do you think about
what
it says?”
    Ebbans read it again. He shrugged. “I think you hedged pretty good—at least so’s Ribbon won’t get too bent out of shape. But you know one thing, Bill. If we keep playing it up that we’re after a cult killer the real perp might be, you know, lulled into thinking he’s safe. He won’t be as likely to carry out those threats against you. You run this, well, he may come looking for you.”
    Corde had not considered this. He smoothed the copy of his release in front of him. “It’s a risk, true. Butit’s
my
risk and I think I have to take it. We’ve got to get ourselves some witnesses.”
    Returning to work from lunch Corde parked in the Town Hall lot and saw Steve Ribbon climbing out of his cruiser.
    The sheriff grinned a vacuous smile and motioned to him. Corde walked over to the car. They leaned butt-first against the fender.
    “Howdy, Steve.”
    The sheriff nodded.
    The sunlight hit Ribbon’s face and revealed a speckle of red on his cheeks. It reminded Corde that Ribbon volunteered every Christmas to play a Jaycee’s Santa and slogged around in the snow and mud on New Lebanon’s east side, visiting trailers and maimed bungalows occupied mostly by single parents and their kids.
    Whenever he formed opinions about Steve Ribbon, like the one he’d shared with T.T. Ebbans that morning, Corde tried to temper them with the memory of how the man spent December 24.
    “Say, Bill, there’s a situation I’ve got to let you know about.” The
Register
was tucked under Ribbon’s solid arm.
    “Shoot.”
    “I was just over at County. Hammerback’s office. Last night he got a call from Dean Larraby over at Auden. You know her, right?”
    Corde grunted affirmatively.
    “Well, here’s the scoop.” Ribbon cleared his throat. “I seen that report on the burnt-up letters. The Gebben girl’s letters?”
    “Yup.”
    Ribbon exhaled long through closed teeth, stopping the breath with his tongue every second or so.
Thup thup thup
… When his lungs emptied he took anotherbreath and said, “Somebody saw you coming out of her room the day they were stolen.”
    Corde looked down at the pebbly asphalt.
    “Wednesday afternoon,” Ribbon said. “The day after she was killed.”
    “Wednesday. I was there, yeah. I wanted to talk to Jennie’s roommate.”
    “Well, you didn’t
say
anything about it. When Lance told us the letters were missing and—”
    “Steve, I was there without a warrant. The door was unlocked and people knew the girl was dead. I was afraid evidence would start to disappear. I took a fast look around the room and that was it.”
    “Did you see—”
    “The letters weren’t there, no.”
    “Well, Jesus, Bill.” Ribbon chose not to mention the most serious offense, the one that would be filling an uneasy ninety percent of his thoughts—that Corde had destroyed the letters himself. Instead he said, “Anything you’d picked up wouldn’t’ve been admissible. That