“It’s something I’ve kept an eye on.”
After what felt like a long time, he said, “How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
“How old was Milo?”
“Just turned eighteen.”
He nodded as though this confirmed something.“The fact that you were a minor when this happened is significant.That affects your potential sentencing.”
I said nothing.The wordsyour potential sentencingparalyzed me.
“That said, off the top of my head we’re looking at accessory after the fact, tampering with evidence, abuse of a corpse, conspiracy.That’s three felonies and one possible felony-possible misdemeanor.”
“I know,” I said.“Also, obstruction of justice, misprision of a felony, unauthorized use of a protected area, destruction of wetlands, illegal dumping, water pollution…And if I’m especially unlucky, disturbing a protected species.”
Finn’s brows shot up.“I hope a jury finds it equally amusing.”
I said hotly, “Hell no, it’s not amusing.I just told you my father was the sheriff.Do you think I didn’t understand we were breaking the law?Do you think I didn’t look all this up years ago to see…to find out how many years I might spend in prison?”
“Keiran…”
“I’ve had more than twenty years to think about what Ishouldhave done versus what I did do.That night shaped the rest of my life.Including—I mean, do you think it never dawned on me what a terrible,terribleidea it was to fall for a cop—ex-cop?I used to lie awake at night wondering if I’d be serving my sentences consecutively or concurrently.”
Finn’s expression softened slightly.“Most of these charges, except for the murder, likely expired long ago.”
I said, “There’s no statute of limitations on murder.That includes accessory.”
In California, that meant anything from three to fifteen years in state prison.Depending on the circumstances it could mean more.This wasn’t an area of expertise for me.I helped writers craft stories about catching killers—not following the killer’s journey through the legal system.In most mystery novels, the story ended with the killer’s arrest.
Finn said, “Unfortunately, that’s correct.”
In this particular case, he was sympathetic.That would not have been his usual response.
After a moment, he asked ruefully, reluctantly, “Did you fall for an ex-cop?”
“You were there.You know I did.”
He changed the subject, and I couldn’t blame him.“I understand why, as a kid, you felt you had no recourse.But why didn’t you tell me about this?Why didn’t you ask for my help years ago?You knew how I felt.”
I said bitterly, “Yep, that’s the way to treat someone who cares about you.Drag them into the quagmire, too.”
Finn gave me an odd look, started to say something, but then apparently changed his mind.“Regardless, I’m glad you told me the truth now.I’ll do whatever I can to help you.It’s a fucking mess, though.You’re right about that.This is not the kind of thing that fixes itself with time.”
“I know.”
“That kid’s family has had to wonder for twenty years—”
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.
There was a sharp silence.
Finn muttered, “Christ.At least, in your case, there are mitigating circumstances.I know people.I still have contacts.I can—”
I lowered my hands, said quickly, “No.You can’t get any more involved.I appreciate that you want to help, and any…any advice you can give me will be...But you have to keep a distance.”
“If you think I’m worried about my goddamned writing career—”