She smiled at that, tilting her head to look at me again, and I was glad to see it. “I get it. Music just felt right to me, too.”
Her phone buzzed then, and her face fell as she checked it, clouds descending over her eyes faster than a storm appears over the ocean. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go. Thanks for the drink. I’ll come by the station tomorrow morning.”
“Bye,” I said, startled by her sudden shift in tone. She jumped up from her stool and gathered her things. She gave me one last smile and then rushed for the door, leaving her half-finished cocktail behind.
I watched her go then downed the last swallow of my own drink. There was no reason for me to linger in the pub any longer, not unless I wanted to begin my descent into middle-aged alcoholism. I’d already paid my tab, but I waited another minute before I left so it wouldn’t seem like I was following Lena, although I was curious why she had to take off in such a hurry.
The night air hit my face like a door bouncing closed too quickly, and I flipped the collar of my duster up, tucking myself inside. As I walked to my car, pausing on the pavement to allow a delivery van to ease down the narrow street, I spotted Lena at the mouth of the alley to the left of Gellions Pub, having a low conversation with a man in a tweed cap. She had her arms wrapped protectively around her drum case, her shoulders hunched under her coat. I couldn’t understand what they were saying or see the man’s face through the darkness, but the hairs on the back of my neck prickled.
Before I could do anything, though, the man nodded, turned, and disappeared into the shadows of the alley, and when Lena stepped back into the light of the streetlamp, her gaze caught on me standing in the parking lot. Her eyes widened, and then she turned and fled into the night.
Seven
Part of me didn’t expect to see Lena Taggert the next day, not after I caught her speaking to that strange man in the shadows the night before, but she showed up at ten a.m. sharp, asking for me by name at the front desk. The officer there pointed her in my direction, and I shoved Fletcher’s boots off my desk as she approached.
“Is now a good time?” Lena asked with a small, nervous smile.
“Of course,” I said as I stood. “If you would follow us.”
Fletcher and I took Lena to one of the interrogation rooms. Before we entered, I motioned for one of the nearby constables to bring us some coffee. We seated ourselves around the table, the red light on the camera in the corner blinking red as it began to record. Fletcher took out her notepad as I set the case file down in front of us, and then we dug in.
“How long has Finn been in your class?”
Lena set her purse down in front of her, though she kept hold of the strap, her fingers running up and down the same inch of leather. “A year, maybe.”
“Has he missed class before?”
“A couple of times, I guess. I don’t know how many times exactly without checking my records. But Ms Wair usually emails me if he’s going to be absent.”
“And she didn’t this time?” Fletcher asked.
Lena shook her head. “No, but I assumed she forgot, or something came up last minute.”
“Had Finn been acting strange at all in the previous weeks?”
“No, everything was normal.”
I watched Lena closely as she spoke. Every line in her body was tense, and her eyes flicked continuously back and forth between Fletcher and me, but that was a normal response for a person suddenly pulled into police questioning. I’d be more worried if she actually seemed relaxed. The officer arrived with three styrofoam cups of coffee, setting them down in front of us. I thanked him, and he scooted out of the room once again.
“What about strangers poking around the church?” I continued.
“People come in and out of the church all the time,” Lena pointed out.
“I know. I mean people interested in your class or in Finn.”
She continued to worry at the strap of her purse as she thought about the question. “There was one man,” she said slowly. “I saw him in the parking lot after class a couple of times, though I wasn’t totally sure if he was watching the kids or looking at the church. But, I think it was sometime last month, he came up and tried to talk to Finn.”
“Did you hear what he said?”
“No, I was standing by the doors, and they were halfway down the parking lot,” she explained, eyes flicking away from mine. “It didn’t seem like Finn wanted to talk to the man, though. He kind of shook his head and hurried away. Then the man got in his car and drove off in the opposite direction.”
“What did the car look like?” Fletcher cut in. “Did you see a licence plate?”
“It was small and black. I’m sorry. I don’t know much about cars. I was too far away to see the licence plate, and I doubt I’d remember it if I did.” Lena looked distraught that she couldn’t provide more information, and I was sure she was going to wear right through her purse strap with the way she kept rubbing it.
“What about the man? Could you see what he looked like?” I asked.
“I think he wore a black rain slicker and a hat. He…” She bit her lip in thought. “He was clean-shaven.”
It wasn’t much of a description to go on, but it was a start. I was willing to bet it was the boy’s father, Richard Smith, who was starting to seem like a more and more likely suspect. We were still waiting for the tech guys to get
