Herrick spreads his arms as if to take in the whole school. ”People, this institution would not be what it is today had Kate and Chris not walked its halls. Their lives had purpose. And their deaths have purpose, too. Because in the dark hours of the last three days, all of us have been forced to face one inescapable truth: In the midst of life, we are in death. You hear that a lot, but what does it really mean? I’ll tell you. ‘Live each day as though it’s your last, for one day you’re sure to be right.’ For a Christian, that means living out the meaning of our creed. It means following the example of Jesus’ life.“

Just when I think Herrick is going to repeat Mills’s error by proselytizing, he veers into still more surprising territory. ”What is the purpose of this memorial service?“ he asks. ”What’s the purpose of the funerals you will attend in a few minutes? The answer will probably surprise you. For though the words of these rituals are gentle, our intent is fierce. In a Christian funeral, we raise our fists at death and shake them! We remember Jesus Christ, who suffered death, battled death, and ultimately triumphed over it.“

Reverend Herrick takes out a handkerchief and wipes his forehead. He seems overwhelmed by his own passion. ”The Bible tells us it was through sin that death entered into the world. And some people draw unwarranted conclusions from that language. There’s been a lot of talk about Kate’s private life, a secret life that none of us was privy to. There’s been a lot of talk about Chris Vogel, too.“

The parents against the wall are shifting uncomfortably again.

”Yes, Kate had secrets,“ Herrick says. ”Chris had secrets, too. Kate needed love and affirmation, and she found it in her own way. Chris needed help to face the stress of this world, and he found it where he could. But I don’t condemn these children for that. How can I? Because I need love and affirmation, too. I need help facing the stress of this world, just like every one of you out there. And what tortures me today is not anything Kate or Chris did in life, but what they didnot do. They did not come to me with their fear and confusion. And the fault for that lies with me. With us. Somehow, we did not make Kate feel safe enough or loved enough to come to us with her pain and loneliness. And I know this: Kate and Chris weren’t the only ones among us with secrets. We all carry private burdens. We all carry guilt. Weall sin. That’s why death comes to all men and women. But premature death is not a punishment sent from God. To those of you who may be suffering in silence, I say, please do not suffer alone. And to those people who speak ill of Kate, I repeat the words of Jesus of Nazareth: ‘Let him who is without sin among you cast the first stone.’ “

Reverend Herrick’s words echo through the gym with unexpected power. The children appear dumbstruck by his honesty. I sense that some in the room want to stand and applaud. As Herrick walks to his seat, the only sound is his heels clicking on the floor. Jan Chancellor rises again, probably to introduce the school chaplain, but Reverend Herrick’s words are the last I need to hear on the subject of Kate’s death. I’m seated at the far end of the bleachers, close enough to the door to make a discreet exit, and I do.

Walking down the familiar halls, I decide to drive straight to the Eola Hotel for a conversation with Quentin Avery. As wise as the famous lawyer is, his primary motive is to torpedo Shad Johnson, not to get Drew acquitted. But I have to finish with Quentin in time to ride out to the cemetery for Kate’s interment. My interest in the burial isn’t personal, but professional. Murderers often attend the funerals of their victims, particularly in cases of sexual homicide. I brought my digital camera in my car to shoot pictures of those who will gather at the grave, just in case the local cops neglect to do it. In a town that averages only one or two murders a year, such an error wouldn’t surprise me.

As I reach the main atrium of the high school, I pass the back door of Coach Anders’s office. On impulse I walk in, meaning to have a word with the athletic director when the service is done. But like me, Anders has left the gym early. He’s sitting at his desk, staring blankly at a poster of Peyton Manning on his wall. Wade Anders is thirty, with close-cropped black hair and the body of an aging athlete past his prime. There’s a growing spare tire around his middle, but his legs and forearms still ripple with muscle. Anders is fast with a grin and smooth when dealing with the school board, but during basketball games out of town I’ve seen him lose control of his temper and be ejected from the gymnasium. The students seem to like him, but then he is all they have ever known. Anders makes me long for the coach I had at St. Stephen’s, a gentleman athlete with a paternal manner and a steely eye, a natural leader who took Kipling’s advice and treated both victory and defeat as impostors, yet still managed to bring home state titles. One raised eyebrow from him was the equivalent of a violent outburst from Wade Anders. But though my coach’s name is painted over the gym door, it’s Anders sitting in his chair now-one more sign of the way the world has changed.

”Wade?“ I say softly.

Anders starts from his trance, then comes quickly to his feet. ”Hey, Penn. What can I do for you?“

”I wanted to ask you about Marko.“

Anders shakes his head. ”That boy…what can I tell you?“

”Have you seen him at all in the past two days?“

”Not hide nor hair. He’s gone. And I’d just about sewed up a scholarship for him at Delta State. They need a new kicker, and one thing that boy can do is kick. Tell the truth, it’s about the only thing he can do on a football field.“

I give Wade the laugh he expects.

”I heard Marko was with you on the afternoon Kate died. Is that right?“

”Yessir, it is. He rode home from school with me. I worked on his kicking with him, then worked the phones for a while, talking to college coaches on his behalf. I was trying to do what I could for the damn fool. I knew he was into drugs, and I thought a college football program might get that out of his system. Even a junior college program.“

”And now?“

”Hell, Penn, if Marko doesn’t come back to school soon, he’s not even going to graduate. I already talked to his teachers. He’s practically a washout now.“

”Sit down, Wade. This isn’t a formal meeting. This is just two guys shooting the shit, okay?“

”Sure, yeah.“ Anders sits, but he doesn’t look comfortable. The fact that I’m a member of the school board as well as a lawyer is probably enough to make him nervous. But still, something seems wrong beyond simple anxiety.

”Did you give Marko a ride to the Wilsons’ house after you were done with your phone calls?“

”No, some other kids picked him up.“

”Did you know them?“

Wade shakes his head. ”They were black kids. Homeboys. Looked like druggies to me.“

”What time was that?“

”A little after six. Marko said they were going to Baton Rouge to watch a movie.“

”Did he tell you what movie?“

”Adam Sandler, I think. Don’t remember the title.“

I watch Wade in silence for a while, trying to figure out what I might be able to learn from him. He has the athlete’s discomfort with stillness. ”Has Marko ever talked to you about what he experienced back in Europe?“ I ask.

”He told me he saw his family killed. Happened in a place called Srebece-something like that, anyway. The place where he’s from. He’s got a hell of a scar on his belly, and when I asked about that, he told me about his folks. The scar came from a bayonet. He didn’t tell me any details, though.“

”Did you ask?“

”Once, yeah. Late one night on the team bus, on the way back from an away game. He didn’t want to talk about it, though.“