Something Going On
1969
T
he morning after reading the second lab report, the eighth day since finding Chase Andrews’s body in the swamp, Deputy Purdue pushed open the door to the sheriff’s office with his foot and stepped inside. He carried two paper cups of coffee and a bag of hot donuts—just pulled from the fryer.
“Oh man, the smell of Parker’s,” Ed said as Joe placed the goods on the desk. Each man dug an enormous donut from the brown paper bag splotched with grease stains. Smacked loudly, licked glazed fingers.
Speaking over each other, both men announced, “Well, I got something.”
“Go ahead,” Ed said.
“I got it from several sources that Chase had something goin’ on in the marsh.”
“Going on? What do you mean?”
“Not sure, but some guys at the Dog-Gone say ’bout four years ago h
