would have to go back and refresh his memory. Years ago, while still in the Army, he seemed to remember predictions that computers would eventually do away with paper. So much for predictions.
By 10:30, he was reaching for the last file when his desk phone rang and the duty officer at the front desk said, “Major Bryant? There’s a Charlie Barefoot here to see you.”
“Send him on back,” Dwight said. He signed a final paper, put the file in his out-box, and walked over to the open door.
Watching his onetime teammate’s son walk down the hall was almost like seeing Jeff Barefoot in the halls of their old high school. Same shambling, loose-knit walk, same shock of straw-colored hair, same narrow-set hazel eyes in a long face. Except for some minor updating, he could have been wearing the same uniform: jeans, sneakers, a dark blue Duke hoodie that was unzipped and the hood pushed back on this mild December day. There seemed to be nothing of Sarah in that face. The young man was all Jeff until he gave a sheepish smile and held out his hand, and then it was his mother’s smile.
“Major Bryant? Charlie Barefoot. Sorry I hung up on you like that yesterday. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“No problem.” Dwight gestured to the chair beside his desk. “You’re here now.” He sat down in his own chair and pulled a notepad toward him.
Barefoot sat with his elbows on the arms of the chair and tented his long fingers in front of him. “Mom says you and my real dad played ball together in high school.”
Dwight nodded.
“So you knew all three of them back then?”
For a moment Dwight wondered who was interviewing whom here, then decided to go with the flow for a while. See where it led.
“I was a year ahead of them, but yes, I played with Jeff and Malcolm both. And your mother was a cheerleader. You play?”
“No. I’m as tall as my dad was, but I’m a klutz. What was he like?”
“I didn’t really know him outside the gym. Back in those days, town and country didn’t mix all that much. I was country. Rode the school bus. He and Malcolm were town. And he wasn’t a starter till their senior year, after I graduated.”
“He wasn’t as good?”
Dwight shrugged.
“My granddad says he was better than Dad—Malcolm—my stepfather.”
“He could have been,” Dwight agreed. “He just didn’t want it as badly.”
“And Malcolm always gets what he really wants.” His voice was bitter.
“What he’s willing to work for, Mr. Barefoot.”
“Call me Charlie.”
“Charlie, then. Look, son, I don’t know what your problems are with your dad, but—”
“He’s not my dad.” He glared at Dwight across the desk. “He’s only my stepdad.”
Dwight shook his head. “He may not be your biological father, but he did become your legal parent when he adopted you, and changing your name doesn’t change that.”
“Maybe not legally, but as far as I’m concerned, we’re done. I moved in with my grandparents a few weeks ago. I’m living in my real dad’s old room now and I’ve learned more about him these last few weeks than I knew in my whole life.”
No surprise there, Dwight thought. Remembering the rivalry between Jeff and Malcolm, he doubted if Sarah would have spoken much about her first husband to this boy, and certainly not in front of Malcolm, whereas there would be no brakes on Mrs. Barefoot’s tongue now that she and her husband had him to themselves.
“I’m glad that’s working out for you,” Dwight said. “But I want to ask you about Tuesday night.”
“What about it?”
“Your sister went to a party at Kevin Crowder’s house. Were you there, too?”
The boy shook his head.
“According to your sister’s phone records, she was talking to you when she crashed.”
“No!” He almost strangled on the word and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his thin throat. He tried to meet Dwight’s eyes but his own eyes were filling with tears and he dropped his head. “She called but I didn’t pick up.”
“Why?
“I don’t know. I was driving back to my grandparents’ house.”
“Back from where?”
“Somewhere between Cotton Grove and Garner. I went to see a movie.”
“Go with anyone?”
“No, I wanted to be alone.”
“See anybody you knew?”
“No, I told you. I wanted to be alone.”
