Page 41 of We Are All Guilty Here

“I think you’re the one who misunderstands,” Dale countered. “I’ve told you repeatedly that I donated my old laptop to the drama department. I haven’t seen it in over a year.”

“The head of the drama department doesn’t remember you giving it to her.”

“I’m not surprised. She’s a flighty woman.”

“Dr. Clifton says the laptop is still registered to you.”

“I wouldn’t trust her record-keeping if I were you. She’s very sloppy.”

“We checked the laptop for prints, Dale. We only found two sets. Dr. Clifton’s are on the keyboard, which makes sense, because she unlocked the computer. We found your prints on the inside, the outside, and the thumb drive you were using to download the porn.”

“Ah, I see the misunderstanding. The machine was coveredin dust. I wiped it off before I used it.” Dale picked up the cup of water, but he didn’t drink. “I told you I haven’t seen the thing in a year. Not since I got the new one.”

“Right,” Lionel said. “The PTA bought you a brand new MacBook Pro after the Choral Club won first place at regionals. We found it in the briefcase inside your vehicle.”

Dale placed the cup back on the table. “I’ll give you the password. You have my permission to check it. All you’ll find is lesson plans, choral arrangements, and sheet music.”

Lionel leaned forward again. “Let me tell you what the FBI does when we get a case like this. Can I tell you?”

Dale gave a heavy, put-upon sigh. He hadn’t put it together that Lionel asking for his permission to relay information, and repeatedly using the phraselet me, were meant to give him the impression that he always had a choice.

He waved his hand, saying, “I’m listening.”

“We search your house. We search your vehicles. We search your place of work, your storage unit where you keep your garden tools, your gym locker at the rec center where you keep your jar of Gooch Guard. We talk to your wife. We talk to your family. We talk to your neighbors, your co-workers, your preacher, the men on your softball team, the dude at the feed store who loaded six bags of mulch into your truck last week, the woman who trimmed your hair on Friday.”

Emmy hissed out a stream of air between her teeth. Faulkner was finally laying out the details that would let Dale know his life was under a microscope.

The agent said, “Dale, let me be brutally honest with you.”

“Does that mean you haven’t been brutally honest prior to this moment?”

“You’re going to prison.”

Dale shook his head. “I’m not going to prison.”

Lionel guffawed in the face of his certainty. “My dude, you were literally caught in the act by a sheriff’s deputy.”

“Emmy Clifton is a child. She only got the job because of her father.” Dale seemed to think he’d scored a point. “Mydude.”

“Seriously, man, you sound high on your own supply. Should I drug test you?”

Dale snorted in disgust. “I don’t even drink alcohol.”

“Listen to me, Dale. I don’t know what unicorn fantasy world you’re living in right now, but let me tell you how the real world operates. Let’s take what you did to Cheyenne and Madison out of the picture for a minute, okay?”

Dale started muttering, “That’s ridiculous.”

“The state of Georgia is about to hit you like a Mack Truck. You don’t know it yet, but you are gonna be laid out flat to the ground. They’ve got some of the most brutal penalties for possession of child pornography in the country. Each download is considered an offense. Each download. You following me?”

Dale didn’t respond, but he was suddenly paying close attention.

“We’re talking felonies, not misdemeanors. We’re talking fines up to 100,000 dollarseach. Sentencing guidelines of five to twenty yearseach.” Lionel had yo-yo’d into Dale’s personal space again. “I know you’re not a math teacher, so let me scratch out the numbers for you. Let’s say you get the minimum, right? That’s not what you’re gonna get, but let’s cut you a break. Five years times 968 pornographic images of girls from the ages of nine to eleven equalsyour ass is gonna die in prison.”

Emmy saw Dale’s tongue dart out under his mustache as he licked his lips. The information had clearly hit him hard, but his cool demeanor would not break.

Again, Dale insisted, “I’m not going to prison.”

“You keep holding onto that. But from where I’m sitting, the only question is, which prison are you gonna die in, and how long is it gonna take?”

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