I did last week, and you’re asking me to believe that you can remember something that happened twenty-five years ago, something you haven’t clearly remembered until now. I don’t know what to do with all of that. And the truth is I don’t want to believe you. I don’t want to believe that your father or my father had anything to do with Justin’s death. I want to believe he’s still alive, that the man claiming to be him is really him.”
Michael stood up. He came over, and Janet scooted to her left so he could sit on the rock next to her. Their legs touched, the fabric of their jeans rubbing against each other. Michael took her hand in his. “That’s what I’m here to find out. That’s why I came back here.”
“They’re looking for that man, Michael. The one who might be Justin.”
“He’s not Justin, Janet.”
Janet pulled back so she could see Michael’s face clearly. “Why would you say that?”
“The answer is here,” he said. “In this clearing. With my dad.”
“But you don’t know that.”
“I believe it.”
“And you need me to believe it along with you?” Janet asked. “That’s why you brought me here today.”
“I do.”
Janet looked around at the darkened ground. That was always the thing with Michael, always the thing. He needed, and she ran along behind providing. Twenty-five years, ten years-nothing had changed.
“Okay, Michael,” she said.
“You believe me,” he said.
“I believe how important this is to you,” she said. “I’m not sure I’m convinced of anything else.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Stynes stayed up too late, then woke up too early. After returning home from the apartment complex, he checked his e-mail and downloaded a scanned copy of the police report on the arrest of Justin Manning. Stynes read it over several times, sitting at the small table in his kitchen. He made notes, but when his eyes grew bleary because of the late hour, he put it all aside and decided to deal with it in the morning.
Which meant he didn’t sleep well. He stared at the ceiling for an hour before he drifted off. The time in bed, in his dark house, represented the first quiet moments he’d had since he’d gone to the Mannings’ house in the afternoon. And every question that the day had raised swirled through his mind.
Was this man Justin Manning? Why was Bill Manning home that day? Why was money disappearing from the accounts at the church where Dante Rogers worked-accounts overseen by the father of one of the key witnesses against Dante?
He woke up sooner than he needed to as well, but took it as punishment for being in the middle of a case that should have closed twenty-five years ago. So he went in to work and reviewed the notes he’d made the night before. One thing stood out that merited further investigation: the man assaulted by Justin Manning worked for a child welfare office in Columbus. Why hadn’t Helton mentioned that detail on the phone? Stynes located the office through a Google search and understood why Helton hadn’t mentioned it-the assault hadn’t taken place at the child welfare office. Stynes called the office, and after a series of transfers and relays through secretaries and assistants ended up speaking to the man named as the victim in the police report: Paul Downing.
When Downing came on the line, Stynes explained who he was and why he was calling.
“Oh.”
Downing sounded a little taken aback by Stynes’s introduction. Wouldn’t a social worker be used to getting calls from the police? Maybe just not about a case in which he was the victim…
“I’m just wondering if you could tell me about this altercation you had with Justin Manning.”
“It was hardly an altercation,” Downing said. “Altercation suggests something mutual, like a fight. This was decidedly one-sided.”
Downing’s voice sounded high and reedy. He expected the man to harrumph though the phone.
“So what happened?” Stynes asked.
“Well, Mr. Manning came into my office seeking records and information about someone who had been in our foster care system many years ago.”
“Who?”
“Well, it’s been a little while. I see so many names cross my desk.”
“He wasn’t asking about himself?”
“No.”
“Was the name ‘Steven Kollman’?”
“Yes, I believe that’s it.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“I told him he couldn’t just come in and ask for records for anybody and expect us to hand them over. Most of those records are sealed, and even if they aren’t, someone would have to get a court order to have anything released to the public, let alone someone who didn’t appear to be related to the individual in question.”
“Did he say why he wanted Steven Kollman’s records?”
“No.”
“And did he give any identification saying he was Justin Manning?”
“Not to me, no. But I didn’t ask for it.” He sniffed. “I suspect the police saw his identification.”
“So you told him no, and he decked you?”
“He begged and pleaded for me to bend the rules, but I held firm. I just can’t do anything like that. A few hours later, I was at a restaurant near work having a drink, and Mr. Manning came in and confronted me. He asked for the records again, and when I refused him again, he did, as you so eloquently put it, deck me. Someone called the police, and I filed the complaint.”
“Were you hurt?”
“Just my pride.”
“Did Manning threaten you or have a weapon?”
“The punch was threat enough. I didn’t see any weapons.”
“How do you think he found you in this restaurant? Did you mention it in front of him?”
“It’s near my office. For all I know, he just went to the places near where I work looking for me. There aren’t many.”
“What’s the place called?”
“Hathaway’s.”
“Would any of your coworkers give that information out to Manning?” Stynes asked.
“Heavens, no. In this business, we do whatever we can to protect ourselves. As evidenced by Mr. Manning’s behavior.”
“Anything else you can think of?” Stynes asked.
“No, I haven’t seen the man since.”
“After all this happened, did you look into the records of Steven Kollman? Just to see what might be there?”
“I didn’t bother.”
“Can I check them out?” Stynes knew the answer but wanted to take a shot.
“You’d need a court order, too, Detective. It shouldn’t be hard to get.”
“Of course.”
“Tell me, Detective, this Manning isn’t some sort of serial killer, is he? I’d hate to think I’m in danger.”
“I guess we don’t know what he is yet,” Stynes said. “But I’d sure like to find out.”
Stynes hung up, then stood and walked to the desk officer.
“Covington?”
The eager young officer looked up. “Yes?”
