She was sipping her wine on the outside terrace when she saw Chuck step out with Trixie. The woman on his arm was not his wife, however; it was Detective Amelia Horn. Immediately Max knew something was wrong.
She watched them approach her table. The cop wasn’t looking at her, but Chuck was. His long face hung even longer.
Max leaned back and scratched Trixie while motioning for Chuck and Horn to sit down. The attentive waitress approached. Horn asked for water only. Chuck, a beer.
Max sipped her wine and waited for one of them to tell her what in their case was messed up.
It was Chuck who spoke. “Amelia asked me to come with her to explain the situation.”
Max waited. Inside she was heating up; she knew what was coming before either of them said anything. But still, she waited, a vision of the calm she didn’t feel.
“It was supposed to be a joke, like Tom Keller told you last week,” Chuck said. “They didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.”
“Drunk drivers don’t mean to kill anyone, but they still get prosecuted when they hit someone while driving drunk.”
“It’s not the same thing,” Horn said.
“They left him on the mountain in below-freezing temperatures with a small tent and sleeping bag that were insufficient for the weather.”
“Had Scott stayed at the campground, he would have survived,” Horn said.
“So it’s Scott’s fault that he’s dead? You’ll tell that to his mother?”
“I already spoke to Mrs. Sheldon. She understands. I explained that while the D.A. wasn’t filing criminal charges, she was welcome to file a wrongful death case in a civil court. But she doesn’t want to press charges.”
Max felt sucker-punched. “You sugar-coated it. Arthur Cowan is a bully who’s an expert skier and would have known that conditions could turn at any time.”
“They all admitted to what they did, that they went back up Saturday morning, looked for him, couldn’t find him, panicked when the storm got worse.”
“And waiting until Sunday to tell campus police? And campus police waiting until Monday to tell the rangers’ office so a search party could be sent out?”
“It’s a tragedy for everyone. The D.A. has already cut a deal. They pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor charge of reckless endangerment and one year probation.”
“That’s unacceptable,” Max said.
“I don’t believe you’re a lawyer, or a cop, or have any say in what the D.A. does or does not do.”
“This is bullshit,” Max said. “Scott Sheldon is dead because of those three, who were sleeping in a warm hotel room while Scott died alone in the woods. Where’s the justice?”
“If this went to trial, their lives would be ruined, and the D.A. wasn’t confident he’d get a conviction. Their story was emotionally compelling, and Cowan already has a lawyer.”
“Of course he does.” Max had seen all this coming, but she thought something good would have come from the truth.
Adele Sheldon has a body to bury. She knows what happened to her son. That’s why you did this, Maxine. You came here for the truth, and that’s what you found.
But right now, the truth wasn’t enough.
“I didn’t have to come here and tell you any of this,” Horn said, and stood. “Our hands are tied.”
“They lied to you. They lied to everyone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And Carlos’s truck being used to run me off the road?”
“Look, I understand why you’re upset, and I would be, too. I pushed. But there’s no proof that Arthur Cowan was driving. None. No security camera, no witnesses. You didn’t see the driver. The witness who helped you didn’t see the driver. It could have been Tom Keller, or anyone else. We pushed both of them; neither budged.”
The waitress came with the water and the beer. Max stared at Trixie, who lay both alert and peaceful next to Chuck.
“Then there’s nothing more to say,” Max said. Not now, at any rate. But she’d been working on the article all weekend. She would expose to the public everything that had happened to Scott Sheldon, and who was responsible.
“I’m sorry,” Horn repeated, then left.
“I tried,” Chuck said quietly. “But without physical evidence, and all three sticking to the same story, it wasn’t possible to get the D.A. to change his mind. He didn’t even want to put up a plea deal, but Amelia convinced him that a misdemeanor and probation were better than nothing.”
“It’s not fair.”
God, she hated the feeling and couldn’t believe she’d said it out loud. She damn well knew life wasn’t fair. Her life had been a roller coaster for twenty-nine years. Was it fair that her mother had walked out on her, dumping her with her older grandparents? Was it fair that her college roommate was murdered and no one could prove who’d killed her? Was it fair that Scott Sheldon died the subject of a cruel joke?
Fairness had nothing to do with living. Max believed in the truth, believed that all truth was knowledge, and with that knowledge, justice would prevail.
Nowhere in that was there fairness.
She and Chuck sat drinking in silence.
Truth. The truth could be told. Because truth was a different brand of justice.
*