The Fifth Version

What if the most convincing version of a crime was also the most carefully constructed lie?

“A body was moved toward deeper water.” “By whom?” “Two people in one version. One in another. Three in a third.” “Male or female?” “The body”

“There were four people,” he said. “At least, four people whose presence can be placed in the same area during the same period of time.” “That sounds carefully worded.” “It needs to be.” “Why?” “Because saying four people entered the marsh would already be choosing one version.” Johnny glanced at him. “So some of them may have been there before.” “Yes.” “Or arrived later.” “Possibly.” “Or never entered it at all.” The man inclined his head. “You see the difficulty.”

“How many people died?” The man lifted his beer but did not drink. “One body was taken toward the swamp.” “That wasn’t my question.” “No.” “How many?” “Each account gives a different answer.” Johnny leaned back. “Then start with the body.” “The body was moved after the struggle.” “By whom?” “That depends.” “Identified how?” “Clothing. A watch. A voice heard earlier. Assumptions made in darkness.” “Was the face visible?” “Not reliably.” “Cause of death?” “Also disputed.” “Recovered?” “No.” Johnny looked directly at him. “No body?” “No official recovery.” “Then perhaps no one died.” “Perhaps.” “But you called it a death.” “I asked whether two people could remember the same death differently.” “You didn’t say this was the death.” The man’s expression remained calm.

“Alive when moved?” “Possibly.” Johnny stared at him. “Possibly?” “One account describes breathing. Another says the body was already cold. A third avoids the question entirely.” “And the fourth?” “Says death occurred during transport.”

Every story needs someone left alive to tell it.