probably saw me running after you.”
The man shook his head. “That won’t help,” he said. “That won’t do anyone any good at all.”
He started running again, faster than before and away from her. He didn’t look back.
Janet didn’t go after him this time. She was too tired. She couldn’t will herself to give chase.
But she managed one more word. She called it but doubted the man heard her.
“Justin!”
He kept on going.
When the man was gone, his body disappearing out of sight as he ran across the quad, Janet didn’t know what to do. She noticed her legs were shaking, her knees loose as though someone or something had removed the tendons and ligaments that held them in their proper place.
She needed to sit down.
Janet went back to the bench she had sat on with the man and let her body fall onto it. Her back thumped against the wood slats. At another time, it might have hurt, but Janet didn’t even notice the contact.
It couldn’t be, she told herself. It couldn’t be.
Michael was right. There was a body and a grave and a funeral.
Justin was gone.
So then why did this man come to Janet saying Justin’s death didn’t happen the way she thought it happened-the way everyone thought it happened? And why did he say he knew her but wouldn’t give his name?
Janet’s mouth felt dry. She needed water. But she couldn’t move. She sat on the bench, staring at the grass.
What did it all mean?
A hand touched her shoulder. Janet whipped her head around.
“Hon? Are you okay?”
It was Madeline. She looked down at Janet, a confused and concerned look on her face.
“What?” Janet asked.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did that man do something to you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Do you want me to call campus security?”
“No,” Janet said. Her voice came out strong and harsh, like she was correcting a child. She moderated it when Madeline looked like she’d been slapped. “It’s okay. Thanks. I’m fine.”
Madeline sat down on the bench close to Janet.
“Hon, who was that man?” she asked.
“He was-he just wanted money.”
“He’s a beggar?”
“I guess,” Janet said.
“But you ran after him. You looked like you knew him.”
“I thought he needed help.”
Madeline didn’t look convinced. Her brow furrowed. “I saw things getting weird between the two of you, so I came out. I heard you say something to him when he ran away. I heard your voice.”
“I told him to go away.”
“You said a name, Janet. You called him by a name.”
“I didn’t. I don’t know the man’s name.” Janet patted Madeline on the knee, a gesture of thanks. “He just freaked me out, but I’m fine. Let’s go back to work, okay?”
Chapter Sixteen
Stynes recognized the symmetry of it all. He’d started his day in East, easily the worst part of Dove Point. He headed west in the late afternoon to the neighborhood a few blocks outside of downtown where the oldest and nicest houses in Dove Point stood. Those homes didn’t change much, nor did the types of families who lived inside them. The names changed in some cases, and generations came and went. But by and large the occupants were still doctors and lawyers, prominent insurance agents and bankers. The homes rarely sold, and when they did, they went for a price that Stynes could only dream of spending.
He followed West High Street three blocks away from the circle and turned onto Washington. The home he sought sat on the corner, a large redbrick colonial complete with white columns and two even rows of windows-one upstairs and one downstairs-that bounced the late-afternoon sun back off themselves, making it impossible to see anything inside. Stynes took the three steps up the front walk, then another three across the porch. Someone liked to mow the grass and pull the weeds, and it looked like they did it with a ruler. Not one blade of grass appeared to be taller than another. Not one weed grew. The petunias and geraniums in the window boxes conceded nothing to the summer heat and dryness. They looked like they spent their days in a greenhouse.
Stynes rang the bell. Unannounced visits were touchy. They tended to make people feel like the police suspected them of something, leading to defensive behavior. It also meant they could hide out in an upstairs room and simply pretend they never heard the bell. But Stynes prided himself on his patience. He could come back if he had to.
He didn’t have to.
He didn’t even have to ring again. The door opened revealing Scott Ludwig, the object of Stynes’s quest. The middle-aged man wore a white summer suit and panama hat as though he were about to stroll the grounds and inspect the cotton crops. He used a cane for support on his left side and didn’t appear at all surprised or concerned to see Stynes on his porch. He squinted at Stynes and seemed to want to treat the visit of a police detective as a game.
“I know you, don’t I?” Ludwig said.
“We’ve met before.”
“Help me remember,” he said. “Give me a hint. The gallery walk? The hospital fund-raiser?”
“The police.”
Ludwig’s eyes opened wider, a look of exaggerated shock. “Oh, my,” he said. “You must have a badge then, hmm?”
Stynes reached into his coat pocket and showed Ludwig the badge. Ludwig barely looked at it, then stepped back.
“You may as well get out of that beastly heat,” he said. “Unless this is a brief visit.”
“I could stand to cool off,” Stynes said.
“Fine. I can’t stand for very long, so come in.”
Ludwig turned to the right, leading Stynes into a sitting room. It was painted white with bookshelves all around. The large windows let in a flood of light, and Ludwig pointed to a chair that left Stynes squinting into the sun and Ludwig backlit against a window. Stynes perched on the edge of the chair while Ludwig sat, laying his cane at his feet.
Ludwig took a long time to adjust himself. He shifted his weight one way and then the other, grimacing every time he moved. The man looked thin, almost bony. His crisply ironed white shirt hung loose on his midsection. His skin was pale, with a touch of pink on the cheeks and nose. He didn’t remove the hat, even indoors, and Stynes noticed that no hairs stuck out from the sides. Not a single stray strand showed itself. His hair must have been as neatly combed into place as the lawn, or he didn’t have any left.
When the man was finally settled and most of the grimacing over, Stynes spoke.
“You don’t seem alarmed about a detective showing up at your door,” Stynes said. “Does this happen all the time?”
“What’s your name, Detective?” Ludwig asked.
“Stynes. Frank Stynes.”
Recognition crossed Ludwig’s face. He rolled his eyes theatrically. “Oh, that’s where I know you from. Oh, Lord. It has been a long time, but now I get it. I saw you in the paper this week talking about that awful
