expecting him to make a joke instead, something to brush away the awkwardness, but he just stands there with his hand on my arm.
'I'm sorry about Ben,' he says.
'Me too.'
'I used to see him up there in that window of his. Thought about caling on him, but never did.'
'I'm not sure he would have come to the door.'
'Even so. I feel lousy about it.'
Barry guides me down to an interview room next to the one I can hear Randy giving his statement in ('. . . delivery guy. Just a boyfriend giving his girl a kiss. Didn't see much more to it than that . . .'). Next door, we take our places on opposite sides of a metal table, Barry slapping a notepad onto its scratched surface.
'Okay, then,' he sighs. 'Tel me about your night at Jake's.'
It takes only a minute. Me and Randy having drinks after Ben's funeral. Todd Flanagan and Vince Sproule there watching the game. And Tracey bringing us pitchers and whiskeys. Other than the pizza-delivery guy, who dropped by to say helo to the girl, nothing to report. And judging by the way Barry Tate flips the notepad closed when I'm finished, he didn't expect there would be.
'That's great, Trevor. We appreciate you stopping by.'
He rises, extends a hand to be shaken, but I don't move.
'So unless you have any questions of your own . . .' Barry says, now puling his hand away and using it to open the door.
'It's not realy a question so much as a suggestion.'
'Oh?'
'Maybe you guys should check out the Thurman house.'
He looks like he might laugh, as if he's not sure if I'm being serious. 'Why would we want to do that?'
'It's just a thought.'
'Have you seen or heard something that makes you have such a thought?'
'Not realy. I just thought I spotted some movement in one of the windows last night.'
'You happened to be walking by?'
'I'm staying with Ben's mother for a couple of days. I'm the executor of his estate. She's a little lonely, so I'm staying in his room.'
'Which has a view of the Thurmans'.'
'That's right.'
'Where you saw . . . ?'
'A flash. Something passing behind the glass.'
'Male? Female?'
'I don't know if it was even a person.'
'Wel, I have to tel you, that's not going to be enough for a search warrant.'
'You think you need one of those? Even if you got one, who would you serve it on? The place has been empty more or less since you and I were shooting spitbals in Mrs. Grover's French class.'
Barry Tate crosses his arms over his chest. Considers me. Perhaps wondering whether the years have left old Trev as bonkers as Ben McAuliffe was.
'Hel of a business,' he says finaly. 'What they puled out of that place back when we were kids.'
This is a surprise. It shouldn't be, but it is. Even though al of Grimshaw remembers the bad news of the winter of 1984, it feels as though it's private knowledge, something shared by me, Randy and Carl alone.
'No doubt about it.'
'You think that's got something to do with you wanting us to take a look in there?'
'How do you mean?'
'The mind, the way it works sometimes. It can get roling along certain tracks and not want to stop,' Barry says, touching his now neatly trimmed moustache as though it was helping him find words. 'What happened to Ben, and now you're staying in his house and everything. Could be that you're just a little spooked.'
'I'm spooked sily, to tel you the truth. For me, this whole town is crawling with ghosts. I'm
Barry coughs, though between men, it is a sound to be understood as a kind of muted laugh.
'Okay. I'l try to clear some time in the afternoon,' Barry says, puls the door open a foot more.
'Thank you.'
I get to my feet. It takes longer than I'd like.
'My dad had the Parkinson's too,' Barry says.
