Stynes came farther into the room and pulled a chair out from the opposite side of the table. He sat down, feeling the uncomfortable metal dig into his back.
“I guess Reverend Fred told you what’s happening with the case.”
“He did.”
“Is there anything you want to say to me about it?” Stynes asked.
Dante swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing on his puffy neck. “I’m glad that family will have some peace.”
“That’s nice of you to say.”
Dante shrugged. He picked up one of the folders and held it in his hand. He looked like he wanted to return to his filing, but he didn’t. He just held the folder in his lap, gently tapping it against his thigh.
“Dante, I want to tell you how sorry I am about your conviction. We made some mistakes during our investigation. We…There were witnesses, but it looks like their testimony was probably influenced by someone in a position of authority.”
“You mean those children.”
“That’s right. If we’d listened to what they said that day, right after Justin disappeared…”
“They were scared. Kids get scared.”
In his mind, Stynes had pictured the whole scene going another way. He had imagined feeling differently about everything he would say to Dante. He had hoped to speak to him and then feel a wave of relief and calm wash over his body and mind, a release from the burden of guilt he carried. But nothing like that came. Instead, he looked at Dante, a broken middle-aged man, and understood the limits of his own words and actions to make any kind of significant difference in Dante’s life.
Stynes reached into his suit coat and brought out one of his business cards. He wrote his home phone number on the back of the card and handed it over.
“If there’s ever anything I can do to help,” he said. “If you need a job or anything, let me know.”
“Thank you.”
Dante tucked the card into the pocket of his jeans without reading it. He tapped the folder again.
“Okay, I’ll let you get back to your work.”
“Okay.”
“Dante?” Stynes said. “Why did you keep those newspaper clippings about Justin Manning in your room? Why were you interested in the case?”
Dante stared at the tabletop when he spoke. “I remembered that boy from the park. I saw him that day. I played with him, carried him on my shoulders and made him laugh. I could do that with some kids, make them laugh. After he disappeared and you all started asking me questions, I started keeping the newspaper stories. I just felt connected to the whole thing, I guess.” He paused, then went on. “I’m not saying I wanted to, you know, touch him that day. But I might have done it if I’d had the chance. It was a close call for me.”
“Why are you so calm, Dante? If someone put me in jail for something I didn’t do, I don’t know if I could control myself. You act like nothing happened.”
Dante didn’t answer, so Stynes stood up and moved toward the door. But before he left the room, Dante said, “Prison helped me a little.”
“What’s that?” Stynes said, turning back to the table where Dante sat.
“It helped me,” he said. “I found God there.”
“You can find God out here, too, Dante. You’re in a church.”
“I had desires back then.” He started shuffling the folders again and talked while he shuffled. “I had a desire for small children. Being in prison helped me with that.”
“Are you saying it cured you?” Stynes asked.
“God did. He healed me.”
“So you don’t have those desires anymore?”
Dante put his head down and kept working. He acted like Stynes had already left the room.
“You should get help, Dante. Counseling of some kind.”
“The Reverend Fred counsels me.”
“I mean a real counselor.” Stynes tried to correct himself. “The reverend is fine with the spiritual side of things, and I’m sure he’s been a good friend to you. But you have to believe me about this-I’ve seen other guys like you. Other guys with your…desires, let’s say. My experience is they tend not to go away.”
“Not without counseling?” Dante asked.
But he didn’t say it.
“Just keep at it, okay, Dante? Keep fighting the good fight.”
Dante nodded and added the file in his hand to the tall stack, pushing it that much closer to toppling over.
Chapter Forty-nine
Janet drove to Rose Bower’s house. She turned the air-con-ditioning off and rolled down the windows, letting fresh warm air into the car as she moved through town. She turned the car radio off as well. She didn’t want distractions. She didn’t want to hear happy music or sad news or anything really. Nothing except Michael’s voice, telling her he hadn’t been using her, that he hadn’t been trying to use Steven against her. She wanted to hear Michael say they weren’t just pawns as Steven had said.
She’d known him her whole life. She hoped she would get to the house and Michael would be there, opening the door to her. And they’d talk the whole thing through, the way they would have when they were kids. And she’d understand, and it would all make sense.
But when Rose Bower opened the door to the little house, Janet could tell by the look on her face-something between surprise and pity-that Michael wasn’t there.
Janet followed Rose inside, and the two women sat. Rose wore a housecoat, and her hair looked limpid and dirty, as if she hadn’t bathed for a couple of days.
“Did he leave, Rose?” Janet asked. “Did he leave town?”
Rose didn’t answer. She rubbed her hands up and down the tops of her thighs, back and forth across the gray floral-patterned material.
“Rose? Just tell me.”
“He packed some things earlier today,” she said.
“He was here?”
“He was here and gone. He threw his clothes into bags. He said he’d stayed too long as it was, and he needed to get out of town.”
“Where was he going?” Janet asked.
“He didn’t say. I didn’t ask, I guess. I don’t want to be a nag.”
“He’s your son.”
“I know, but…” Her words trailed off. She seemed to not have the will to finish.
“Do you know the police are going to the hospital to question Ray?” Janet asked.
Rose’s eyes widened.
“They found another witness who saw him in the woods that day. They’re going to ask Ray if he’s ready to confess to killing Justin. They’re hoping to do the whole thing without a trial.”
Rose stopped rubbing the tops of her thighs. She raised one hand to her mouth, covering it as though she might cough or say something inappropriate. But she didn’t speak. She held the hand there for a long moment.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you that, Rose.”
She nodded her head. “It’s okay, honey.”
“Why do you think Ray would kill his own child?” Janet asked. “He knew, or suspected, that Justin was his son. Why would he hurt him like that?”
