Okay
Usually the liaison just sent a report.
'Something unusual?'
'Yes.'
'What?'
'The fibers are old.'
'I'm not sure I follow.'
'This test is usually a given. Car manufacturers all use the same carpet sources. So you might find GM and maybe a five-year window of when it might have been. Sometimes you get luckier. The color was only used in one kind of model and only for one year. That sorta thing. So the report, well, you know this, the report will read Ford-manufactured car, gray interior, 1999 through 2004. Something like that.'
'Right.'
'This carpet fiber is old.'
'Maybe it isn't from a car. Maybe someone wrapped him up in an old carpet.'
'That's what we thought at first. But we did a little more checking. It is from a car. But the car has to be more than thirty years old.'
'Wow.'
'This particular carpeting was used between 1968 and 1974.'
'Anything else?'
'The manufacturer,' Reynolds said, 'was German.'
'Mercedes-Benz?' 'Not that upscale,' he said. 'My guess? The manufacturer was probably Volkswagen.'
Lucy decided to give it one more try with her father.
Ira was painting when she arrived. Nurse Rebecca was with him. The nurse gave Lucy a look when she entered the room. Her father had his back to her.
'Ira?'
When he turned, she almost took a step back. He looked horrible. The color was gone from his face. His shaving was spotty so that there were spiky tufts on his cheeks and neck. His hair had always maintained an unruly air that somehow worked for him. Not today. Today his hair looked like too many years of living among the homeless.
'How are you feeling?' Lucy asked.
Nurse Rebecca gave her an I-warned-you glare.
'Not so good,' he said.
'What are you working on?'
Lucy walked over to the canvas. She pulled up when she saw what it was. Woods. It took her back. It was their woods, of course. The old campsite.
She knew exactly where this was. He had gotten every detail right. Amazing. She knew that he no longer had any pictures, and really, you'd never take a picture from this angle. Ira had remembered. It had stayed locked in his brain.
The painting was a night view. The moon lit up the treetops.
Lucy looked at her father. Her father looked at her.
'We'd like to be alone,' Lucy said to the nurse.
'I don't think that's a good idea.'
Nurse Rebecca thought that talking would make him worse. The truth was just the opposite. Something was locked up there, in Ira’s head. They had to confront it now, finally, after all these years.
Ira said, 'Rebecca?'
'Yes, Ira?'
'Get out.'
Just like that. The voice wasn't cold, but it hadn't been inviting either. Rebecca took her time smoothing her skirt and sighing and standing.
'If you need me,' she said, 'just call. Okay, Ira?'
Ira said nothing. Rebecca left. She did not close the door.
There was no music playing today. That surprised her.
'You want me to put some music on? Maybe a little Hendrix?'
Ira shook his head. 'Not now, no.'
He closed his eyes. Lucy sat next to him and took his hands in hers.
'I love you,' she said.
'I love you too. More than anything. Always. Forever.'
Lucy waited. He just kept his eyes closed.
'You're thinking back to that summer,' she said.
His eyes stayed closed.
'When Manolo Santiago came to see you-'
He squeezed his eyes tighter.
Ira?
'How did you know?'
'Know what?'
'That he visited me.'
'It was in the logbook.'
'But…' He finally opened his eyes. 'There's more to it, isn't there?'
'What do you mean?'
'Did he visit you too?'
No. He seemed puzzled by this. Lucy decided to try another avenue.
'Do you remember Paul Copeland?' she asked.
He closed his eyes again, as though that hurt. 'Of course.'
'I saw him,' she said.
The eyes popped open. 'What?'
'He visited me.'
His jaw dropped.
'Something is happening, Ira. Something is bringing this all back after all these years. I need to find out what.' 'No, you don't.' 'I do. Help me, okay?' 'Why…?' His voice faltered. 'Why did Paul Copeland visit you?' 'Because he wants to know what really happened that night.' She tilted her head. 'What did you tell Manolo Santiago?'
'Nothing!' he shouted. 'Absolutely nothing!'
'It's okay, Ira. But listen, I need to know-'
'No, you don't.'
'Don't what? What did you say to him, Ira?'
'Paul Copeland.'
'What?'
'Paul Copeland.'
'I heard you, Ira. What about him?'
His eyes almost looked clear. 'I want to see him.'
'Okay.'
'Now. I want to see him now.'
He was growing more agitated by the second. She made her voice soft.
'I'll call him, okay? I can bring him-'
'No!'
He turned and stared at his painting. Tears came to his eyes. He reached his hand toward the woods, as if he could disappear into them.
'Ira, what's wrong?'
'Alone,' he said. 'I want to see Paul Copeland alone.'
'You don't want me to come too?'
He shook his head, still staring at the woods.
'I cant tell you these things, Luce. I want to. But I cant. Paul Cope-land. Tell him to come here. Alone. I'll tell him what he needs to hear. And then, maybe, the ghosts will go back to sleep.'
When I got back to my office, I got yet another shock.
'Glenda Perez is here,' Jocelyn Durels said.
'Who?'
'She's an attorney. But she says you'll know her better as Gil Perez's sister.' The name had slipped my mind. I beelined into my waiting area and spotted her right away. Glenda Perez looked the same as she had in those pictures on the fireplace mantel.
'Ms. Perez?'
