I don’t recognize the number on my phone. “Hello?”
“Carver Briggs?” The voice on the other end is brusque. Not the sort to deliver the news that you’ve been randomly selected to swim with baby dolphins while someone yells compliments at you through a bullhorn. It sounds like a black leather gun holster looks.
“Speaking,” I say over the blaring klaxons in my head.
“This is Lieutenant Dan Farmer of the Metro Nashville PD. We wanted to speak with you about the car accident on August first involving Thurgood Edwards, Eli Bauer, and Blake Lloyd. We understand you were friends with them. When could you and your parents come down to the station and speak with us?”
I will my voice to stop shaking but fail miserably. “I—Actually, I’d better talk to my lawyer first.”
“You’re not under arrest for anything. We just want to have a conversation.” He sounds palpably annoyed.
“My lawyer said I shouldn’t talk to any police without him there. My lawyer’s Jim Krantz.”
Lieutenant Farmer’s annoyance becomes full-blown exasperation—he’s as terrible at hiding it as I am at hiding my nerves. “All right. You got my number on your phone?”
“Yes.”
“Call your lawyer and let me know.”
“Okay.”
Lieutenant Farmer hangs up without saying goodbye.
I tell my parents. Then we call Mr. Krantz.
This is happening.
There’s a dim, remote corner of me that actually welcomes it.
The next day, after the longest day of school in my life, we’re all seated around Mr. Krantz’s conference table. My parents are on my left. There’s an empty chair on my right for Mr. Krantz. A video camera sits on a tripod in a corner. Nobody says anything.
I hear voices; niceties being exchanged out front. The receptionist leads in two men wearing khaki slacks and sport coats. They have guns and badges on their belts. A young woman in a well-tailored suit and with an equally well-tailored professional air follows.
The older of the two men introduces himself. “Carver? Lieutenant Dan Farmer. Thanks for coming.”
Oh, you’re welcome! Couldn’t be more excited to be here!
The younger man introduces himself. “Sergeant Troy Metcalf.”
The woman steps forward. “Carver, I’m Alyssa Curtis. I’m an assistant district attorney for Davidson County.”
“The whole team showed up,” my dad says. He tries to play it casually, like we’re people who have nothing to worry about, despite the contemptful edge in his voice (my dad’s accent is a good fit for contempt). There’s awkward laughter. Not from our side of the table. My stomach is full of wasps.
They take seats across from me. I stare at my sweating hands. Nobody talks. Finally, Mr. Krantz bustles in, his glasses on the end of his nose, holding a legal pad. Neither of the officers nor Ms. Curtis looks especially happy to see Mr. Krantz. But they all shake hands.
“All right,” Mr. Krantz says, sitting with a grunt and looking at his watch. “I’m busy; my client’s busy; y’all are busy—or at least you ought to be. So let’s get this show on the road.”
“Fair enough,” Lieutenant Farmer says, clicking his pen. “Carver, we’re here investigating the accident that took the lives of Thurgood Edwards, Elias Bauer, and Blake Lloyd on August first of this year. Why don’t you tell us everything you know about the circumstances surrounding this accident?”
I swallow hard. As I’m about to speak, Mr. Krantz intervenes. He whips off his glasses and plops them on top of his legal pad. “No, no, no. You have a specific question? You ask. I’m not having my client telling you free-form campfire stories.”
Lieutenant Farmer winces and squirms in his chair. “Carver, were you aware at the time of the accident that the three deceased were traveling in a vehicle?”
I start to answer, but Mr. Krantz cuts me off. “My client exercises his rights under the Fifth Amendment to the United States Constitution and Article One, Section Nine, of the Tennessee Constitution and declines to answer.”
Lieutenant Farmer takes a here-we-go breath through his nose. “Did you text Thurgood Edwards immediately preceding the accident?”
“I—”
“My client exercises his rights under the Fifth Amendment and Article One, Section Nine, and declines to answer.”
“Were you aware that Thurgood was driving at the time you texted him?”
I wait a couple of seconds before even trying to answer. With good reason.
“My client never told you that he texted Mr. Edwards. You said that. Also, he exercises his rights under the Fifth Amendment and Article One, Section Nine, and declines to answer.”
Sergeant Metcalf sighs.
Lieutenant Farmer speaks softly. “Look, Carver, we’re just trying to get to the bottom of this. We’re not trying to trip you up.”
Mr. Krantz chuckles. “Dan, you can’t start playing good cop after you’ve already started out as the bad cop. Also, baloney. You’re trying to pin something on my client—a kid—so His Honor will stand down. Let’s acknowledge what this is.”
“We’re not enjoying this, Jimmy.”
“Didn’t say you were. Next question. I have a tee time.”
“Carver, who have you talked with about this accident?”
Pause. Hold for—
“My client exercises his rights under the Fifth Amendment and Article One, Section Nine, and declines to answer. Next question.”
“Jim,” Ms. Curtis says, “Carver’s cooperation would go a long way toward defusing this situation or giving you bargaining leverage down the line. Especially if our investigation eventually turns up something. Then it’ll be too late.”
“It would also go a long way to giving y’all the only hook you have to hang your hats on. This is your only chance to talk to Carver, so I suggest you keep things moving.”
Lieutenant Farmer’s eyes bore into me. As though daring me to stand up to Mr. Krantz and blurt something out. “Carver, is there anything you wish you’d done differently on August first?”
Oh, the ways that I could answer that question. Oh, the ways that question has come to define my entire existence. And my shocking, stunning answer is…
“My client exercises his rights under the Fifth Amendment and Article One, Section Nine, and declines to answer.”
There we go.
Ms. Curtis touches Lieutenant Farmer’s arm and stands. “Okay. This isn’t a productive use of anyone’s time.” She glares at me. “I can’t make any promises about how the DA will react to your lack of cooperation if we decide to go forward with the case.”
Her tone chills me.
Mr. Krantz chuckles an asshole-ish chuckle. “What case?” He stands. “Folks, always a pleasure.” He doesn’t offer his hand. Neither do the two officers or Ms. Curtis.
“We’ll be in touch,” Ms. Curtis says as they start to leave.
“I expect so. And, folks?”
The two officers and Ms. Curtis turn.
“I better not hear of any back-alley attempts to trick Carver into saying something he shouldn’t. No pretty young undercover officers in low-cut blouses. No forty-five-year-olds pretending to be sixteen-year-olds in chatrooms. No shenanigans; no bullshit. From here on out, my client is unequivocally and unambiguously exercising his right to remain silent. He ain’t interested in helping Fred Edwards steamroll him. We understand each other?”
None of the three respond. They walk out.
Mr. Krantz looks at his watch as he gathers his things. “Sorry to be in a rush, y’all. I wasn’t blowing hot air about that tee time.” He claps me on the shoulder and squeezes. “You hang in there, son.”
Hang in there. That’s always helpful advice, especially because it always comes when you feel like you’re standing at the gallows.
When I get home, I tell Jesmyn I plan to approach Eli’s parents about doing a goodbye day. What I don’t tell her is that I’ve decided to do this because I’m worried about two things: (1) I go to prison before I have a chance; (2) I don’t go to prison and instead chew myself up from the inside before I have a chance. Either way. It’s something I need to do sooner rather than later.
I’m nervous about calling them until I remind myself that I recently informed a mother over the phone that her son died. If I can do that, I guess I can do anything. Phonewise. That still leaves Adair to be apprehensive about, but I’ll leave that up to them.
I thought I would have to explain more, but I don’t. I talk with Eli’s mom. She tells me Nana Betsy called them shortly after Blake’s goodbye day and recommended the experience as therapeutic. So they’ve been considering it but were worried about how to approach me. And it’s perfect timing, because they have a plan to scatter Eli’s ashes at Fall Creek Falls this autumn. They think he would have liked that. She tells me to invite Jesmyn. I tell her I will.
I don’t tell her how I hope this will allow Eli to finally rest in my mind, because death becomes real only when people rest finally.