Hiding Place (9781101606759) (13 page)

“Let me ask
you
something, since you’re so fond of these trivia questions. Who commits most of the violent crimes in Dove Point? And where do most of the violent crimes take place?”

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.

Janet knew she was acting distracted. She didn’t tell Madeline who she had seen—
might
have seen?—but she abruptly announced her intention to head back to the office, leaving Madeline to hustle to keep up.

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.

“I read that article in the paper,” he said. “I tried to come by yesterday to talk to you, but couldn’t make it.”

“You came by here?” Janet asked. “To campus?”

The man didn’t answer.

“Did you come to my house? Last night in the dark? Were you there?”

“I’m here to talk to you now,” he said.

“Are you here to tell me what I want to know?” Janet asked. “What do you know about Justin’s death?”

The man looked around a little, as though he thought someone might be listening. “Can we talk somewhere?”

“We can talk here,” Janet said. “Now tell me what you know, or I’ll call the police on you. If you think you can come by my house—”

“I just want to sit down somewhere and talk.” He looked behind him. About fifty feet away sat a shaded bench, a donation in the name of some long-dead alum. “Can we sit over there?” he asked. “For just a few minutes.”

Janet looked over at Wilson Hall, to the first-floor windows where the dean’s office was housed. She saw Madeline looking out, not even pretending to be subtle. Janet gave a little wave to her, trying to let her know that, at least for the moment, everything was okay.

But was it?

She didn’t see the harm in staying close. And she knew Madeline was on alert.

“Let’s go,” Janet said. “But I don’t have a lot of time. I’m at work.”

They walked to the bench. Janet looked around before she sat, making sure of her surroundings. She didn’t see anyone else nearby. She took that as a good sign. She felt better thinking the man was alone and not accompanied by others.

They settled on opposite ends of the bench, and Janet studied his face, matching to the memory she carried from that one night on the porch. Her recollections seemed surprisingly accurate. The man did carry the features she remembered, the ones that she associated with Justin. The shape of his eyes—round like her father’s. And like hers. The chin that came to a sharp point—kind of but not exactly like her mother’s. Janet studied his features so long it took her several moments to realize how rapidly her heart was beating. She wiped a drop of sweat off her forehead with a shaking hand.

“Do you need something to eat?” Janet asked. “Do you need help?”

He smiled a little. It made him look young, almost childish.

“Why would you think I needed something to eat, or help?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Janet said. “I don’t know where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing. You might be in trouble.”

“Do you remember me, Janet?” he asked.

“I’m trying to figure that out.” She tried to keep her voice level. “Who are you?”

“I lived here in Dove Point when I was a kid. I have to admit I didn’t really like it very much.”

“You didn’t like Dove Point?”

“I guess I didn’t like being a kid,” he said. The man smiled a little, but it looked forced, like some pressure existed behind his lips he was trying to hold in. “People control us when we’re kids. They hold us back. They do things to keep us in line.”

“I wish you’d tell me what you know about Justin.”

The man looked at Janet, considered her. “I didn’t always meet people who had my best interests in mind when I was a child. It wasn’t easy at all.”

“I’m sorry.”

“My mother died. My father didn’t care.”

“I’m sorry. My mother died, too.”

“Yes,” he said. “I saw that in the article. That must have happened after I left town.” He looked around again. His lips were dry and cracked. They looked painful to Janet. “I thought that was…particularly sad.”

“Why?”

“Mothers.” He shrugged. “Are you and your daughter close, Janet?”

Janet squirmed in her seat. “I’d prefer you didn’t ask or talk about her.”

The man shrugged again. “The newspaper mentioned her. It must be difficult—”

“You need to tell me what you came to tell me, or I’m going to leave. I might leave anyway, but I’ll leave even sooner if you don’t start telling me about Justin. You said you knew something.”

“I do. But I have to tell you something about me first.”

“Why? What’s the connection between you and Justin?”

He held up a finger, asking for patience.

Janet wanted to bolt. She shifted her feet. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She couldn’t walk away from him. Janet told herself she needed to let go of the notion that this man was Justin—but she couldn’t. His face, the similarities…the hints he dropped in conversation…There was something there.

“We’re a lot alike, Janet. You and I. We share certain experiences from our childhoods. We’ve both lost things. Precious things. Pieces of our families and of ourselves.”

“Because we both lost our mothers? What does this have to do with—?”

“You lost a member of your family,” the man said. “He was taken away.”

“What do you know about that?”

“I was taken away from my family,” he said.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I was taken away from them,” he said. “Taken.”

“Kidnapped?” Janet’s control slipped. She moved closer to the man. “Who took you? You mean in the park?”

“I’ve seen you, Janet. Your house, your family.”

“You have been to my house—?”

“I never had that. A home like that one.”

“Why didn’t you? Do you mean the house I live in? Is that what you’re talking about? Tell me.”

She reached out and took his hand. Squeezed it inside her own. The man didn’t return the squeeze, but he didn’t back away or seem put off. He left his hand in hers for long moments, their flesh touching.
Connection,
Janet thought. There was something there, something she felt about this man—

Janet couldn’t stop herself.

“Justin?” she said. “Is it you? Justin?”

The man’s eyes widened. He did pull back. His hand slipped out of Janet’s as he stood up.

“Not yet,” he said. “Not yet.”

“Now,” Janet said. “Tell me what you know. We’ve been waiting a long time.”

But the man was backing away from the bench, his pace increasing with every step. He turned and started jogging away, across the quad.

Janet didn’t think. She simply acted.

She kicked off her shoes and started after the man, running through the dry grass. She thought she’d never catch him, but he didn’t seem to be running all out. She closed the gap between them quickly, reaching out her hand until she took hold of his shirt.

Did he want to be caught?

He stopped running, and Janet stopped next to him. She was out of breath from the short, intense burst across the quad. She hadn’t done anything like that in years. It felt like being a kid again. Running, chasing, tagging—

Janet looked the man right in the eye, worked up the ability to speak.

She managed to get a fractured, breathless sentence out.

“Tell me what you know,” she said.

“We need to be closer before I can tell you,” he said. “We need to know each other better.”

“Bullshit. You’re a liar, and I’m calling the police. My friend is probably calling the police right now. She 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.