“As I recall, you pulled Mrs. Manning aside for a little heart-to-heart the night her kid disappeared, didn’t you? You asked her all about this, right? As I recall, you did it without my permission. And what happened?”
“She stuck to the story,” Stynes said. “She said she mixed things up in the morning because she was upset.”
“There you go,” Reynolds said.
“But was it enough? Couldn’t we have pushed them just a little more?”
“Let me ask
Stynes paused, letting Reynolds’s words sink in. “Jesus, Terry. Are you for real?”
“I’m talking numbers, Stynesie.”
“You’re saying that blacks commit most of the violent crimes, and most of them take place over in East.”
“Amen, brother.”
“So that’s why we looked so hard at Dante Rogers and let the alibi from the Mannings go?”
“We had the witnesses against Dante,” Reynolds said. “Against the Mannings we had what? A woman’s hysterical story about her husband?”
“And the tendency of kids or anyone else to be killed by people they know.”
Reynolds shook his head. “I don’t see it, Stynesie. Take my advice-get a hobby. Become one of those Walmart greeters. Do something. But I have to get out of here-”
“What about Scott Ludwig?” he asked.
Reynolds tightened his jaw, as though biting back on something.
“Ludwig was there,” Stynes pressed. “He was doing that nature walk or whatever for a group of kids. But he left without talking to us. As soon as trouble went down, he was gone. And nobody saw him or could find him.”
“That’s not a crime.”
“It is damn weird if a crime has been committed, and he was at the scene. He’s always been an odd duck-”
“Also not a crime. Look at you.”
“We should have looked at Ludwig harder. We both know that.”
“I don’t.”
“You don’t? I guess Dante made a more vulnerable target, didn’t he? He wasn’t white and from a prominent family-”
“Hey,” Reynolds said. The word came out so loud it seemed to surprise even Reynolds. Other diners turned to look, and Reynolds ducked his head a little, gathered his cool. But he didn’t cool off. He pointed at Stynes and said, “Listen, you want to carry around some bullshit guilt and doubts, that’s fine with me. But you do it alone.” Reynolds looked around. The other diners were back to their own business-or at least pretending to be. He turned back to Stynes. “You can accuse me of a lot of things, but I wouldn’t dump a case because someone has money. You bring me one shred of proof, one piece of evidence that Ludwig or anybody else did anything to that Manning kid, and I’ll change my mind. Otherwise, put it in the win column and let Dante Rogers live out his crappy life over in East like the puke that he is.”
Stynes hated himself for feeling chastened, like a little kid scolded by his dad. Reynolds had that effect on him. Always.
But at some point, everybody leaves home…
“I’m going to talk to Ludwig, Terry,” Stynes said. “And Bill Manning. I have to.”
Disgust dripped off Reynolds’s face as he pushed himself up from the table and left Judy’s without saying good-bye.
Chapter Fifteen
Janet knew she was acting distracted. She didn’t tell Madeline who she had seen-
In the bright sunlight outside the student center, Janet looked left, then right. She saw scattered people- individuals and groups-but no sign of the man from the porch. No sign of a blue shirt or the short-cropped blond hair. Why was he there if he only wanted to slip away without speaking to her?
“Hon? Is everything all right?”
Madeline came alongside of Janet, a little out of breath. Janet didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t tell her the truth, of course, so she nodded.
“Fine,” Janet said. “I just-I want to get back and get out of this heat.”
“If you keep moving that fast I’m going to faint on the sidewalk.”
“Sorry.”
As they walked, Janet paid more attention to the surroundings, to every figure that passed through her line of sight, every tree or car someone might be hidden behind. Madeline talked-something about her son and his decision to get a tattoo-and Janet interjected some mindless yeses and noes as she saw fit.
But she kept looking for the man, and as she looked, her anxiety level rose.
What if Michael was right? What if the man intended to do her some kind of harm? He’d shown up in the middle of the night and adamantly insisted she not tell the police.
Who would make such a request but someone who was in trouble?
Janet started to reach for her phone, to call home and tell her dad to be careful if a strange man came to the door. She could even call or text Ashleigh and tell her not to leave the house-
But she didn’t.
If the man wanted to hurt someone or do her family harm, wouldn’t he have done that already? He knew where they lived. He knew he’d hooked Janet with his appearance on the porch and the promise of more information to come. And did she need to make Ashleigh any more agitated with her than she already was?
Then Janet saw the man again. He stood on the left side of Wilson Hall as they approached the front of the building. He leaned against the trunk of an old and richly green maple. They locked eyes, but the man made no gesture toward her. He didn’t summon her with a wave or acknowledge her at all.
But he watched her. He didn’t avert his eyes.
Madeline continued to talk. Janet doubted she had even seen the man, or if she had she would figure he was a student or maintenance worker or other campus visitor.
Janet felt a chill, a quick frosting inside her chest. She knew she could just walk into Wilson, sit at her desk, and go about her day. She could call campus security and report the man. She could have done any of those things.
But she didn’t.
She wanted to talk to the man. She wanted to find out what he knew.
She turned to Madeline at the entrance to the building.
“I’ll be right inside,” Janet said. “I have to do something.”
Madeline saw the man then. She looked to the man and then back to Janet, her face full of questions.
“Go on. I’m fine,” Janet said.
Madeline didn’t look like she believed her, but she did-reluctantly-go inside the building.
The man wore his hair short, buzzed almost to his scalp. He didn’t appear to be losing his hair, but he wore it that way. He wore baggy jeans and mud-splattered work boots. His blue T-shirt advertised a local food bank. If he felt scared or nervous about talking to Janet, he managed to keep it hidden.
When Janet reached him, she didn’t know what to say. Her legs felt light and hollow. She wanted-needed-to sit down.
“Hello,” the man said.
“How did you know I worked here?” she asked.
