by Bell, David
“I wanted to ask you a question about something else, Detective,” Janet said.
“What’s that?” Stynes asked, turning back.
“That man in the jail. I want to talk to him again.”
“You do? Why?”
“It’s hard to explain,” she said. “I want to know who he is and why he did what he did. I was so certain I knew him.”
Stynes took a quick look at the man in the distance and saw that he was turning away, perhaps heading to his car and leaving the cemetery.
“We can talk about it further.”
“I just need to know—”
Stynes walked away, looking back over his shoulder to say, “Call me. We’ll see.”
Stynes dodged tombstones, stepping carefully so as not to disrespect the ground he walked over, but also trying to catch up to the man he saw at the edge of the crowd. His task proved to be easy. The man walked with the aid of a cane, and long before he reached his car Stynes had caught up to him.
“Mr. Ludwig?” Stynes said.
The man stopped, his body freezing in place about ten steps from his car. He didn’t turn around, so Stynes approached him from behind and then went around between Ludwig and the car to talk.
“If you really didn’t want to talk to me,” Stynes said, “you wouldn’t have shown up here today.”
Ludwig smiled. “You’re very perceptive, Detective. But I guess that’s your job.”
The man looked older than when Stynes had first spoken to him—his cheeks more sunken, his skin paler and almost translucent, like thin paper stretched over his skull. Ludwig reached into his pants pocket and brought out a handkerchief and used it to dab at the sweat on his brow.
“Are you just here to lend emotional support, Mr. Ludwig?” Stynes asked. “Or do you have a more—how shall I put it?—vested interest in the proceedings?”
Ludwig smiled, but it looked like it cost him some effort. “I can’t stay long.” He grimaced. “I can’t even stand very long. That’s why I was heading to the car. I heard from my oncologist about a week ago. The cancer that started in my prostate has spread to my bones. Not much they can do about that, Detective. In another six months or so, I’ll be back in this cemetery. Eternally.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We’ll all go down that road eventually,” Ludwig said. “I’ve had more time than the Manning boy—that’s for sure.” Ludwig turned and looked back toward Justin’s grave site. “Much more.”
“Is that why you paid for this?” Stynes asked.
Ludwig turned back around. “Moi?”
“Yes, you. Who else would have the money and the interest in the case?”
Ludwig tapped his cane against the ground a couple of times. “I don’t have any children of my own. No heirs to speak of. When I’m no longer here, my money is going to go to some charities that my mother chose a long time ago. I thought, why not do something nice for someone who needs it while I’m still here? And you’re right. I did want to stop by to see the result of my gift, even from a distance.”
“But you didn’t want the Mannings to know?”
“If you’ll excuse me, Detective.” Ludwig pointed to his car, a white Lincoln. “I need to sit if this interrogation is going to continue.”
“It’s not an interrogation.”
Ludwig opened the driver’s-side door and slowly, awkwardly lowered his body into the seat, his face red from the exertion. He started the engine and fiddled with the air-conditioning dials and vents, creating a stream of cold air that blew against his face. He dabbed at his forehead again while Stynes waited.
“Better,” Ludwig said. “Much better. What were you asking me about?”
“About the anonymity of your gift.”
“Oh, that.” Ludwig waved the handkerchief dismissively. “I didn’t do it to seek credit, Detective. I had my own reasons. Personal reasons.”
Stynes leaned in closer to the open car door. “Which were?”
Ludwig’s eyes opened wider. “Well,” he said, “this does feel like an interrogation now, doesn’t it?”
“Tell me why you disappeared in the park that day. Why we couldn’t find you after you got home.”
Ludwig tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “I’ll tell you,” he said. “But then I do have to get home. I usually nap several times a day. It’s funny that when we reach the part of our lives when time is most precious, we sleep it away.”
“Why couldn’t we find you?”
“I was in the park for the nature walk that morning, as you know. But I had a routine, a habit if you would, that I liked to perform beforehand.”
“Drugs.”
“I’m clean now. I’ve been clean for many years, but back then I couldn’t get enough. Since we had money, I could afford to sustain the habit. There was a man I used to make my purchases from. Never mind who he is—he’s long dead. I never bought in the park or around the kids, but on that day, I ended up short. So my provider agreed to meet me in the park before the walk. I was a good client, so he was willing to work with me.”
“You bought drugs before the nature walk?”
“It’s a low point for me. But there I was, holding. Do you think I wanted to stick around and talk to the police? You can say a lot of things about me, Detective, but I loved my job at the high school. If the police reported that I was in the park buying or possessing cocaine with schoolchildren around, what do you think would have happened to my career?”
“A child was missing. We wouldn’t have cared.”
“You say that now, but how could I be sure? Besides, on my way home, I sampled some of the product. I was paranoid and scared. How do you think I would have responded to the police at my door?”
Stynes studied Ludwig’s face. He believed him. He could see no compelling reason not to. But Stynes also sensed there was more, something else the man had to say about the events of that day.
“Where did you meet your dealer?” the detective asked.
“Well, we couldn’t do it out in the open.”
“So you went into the woods?”
Ludwig nodded.
“Where exactly?”
“We met as far as we could get from the playground. There’s another path over there, one that leads to the homes that border the far side of the park. Not that many people use it.”
“What did you see there that day?”
Ludwig sighed theatrically. “I guess I should count myself lucky that I’m being given enough time to correct mistakes I’ve made in the past. We all hope for that, Detective, don’t we?”
“What did you see?”
Ludwig dabbed at his head. “I saw a man, a man I later came to realize was Ray Bower, the father of one of those kids who was in the park and a friend of the Manning family. He was kneeling down in the dirt out there near that gross little pond, and then he stood up. His hands and his pants were dirty like he’d been burying something. He didn’t see me. He hustled away back toward the houses on the far side of the park.”
Stynes stepped away from the car. He walked in a large circle away from where Ludwig was sitting and then back again. While he walked, his heart pumped faster and faster. He flexed and unflexed his right hand, and when he came back to Ludwig, he pounded his closed fist on the roof of the car.
“Why didn’t you tell us that back then?”
Ludwig jumped but maintained his composure. “I just told you why. And you all said you were looking for a black man. You had a description and a sketch. I knew what I should have done, but I only saw a man digging in the dirt in the woods.”
“Where we found a child’s dead body.”
“Detective, if you want to stand here and try to make me feel guilty, you can’t do a better job of it than I have over the years. I know what I should have done, and I know why I didn’t do it. I didn’t think it mattered until all of this recent attention around the case seemed to open everything back up again.”
“You’ll testify
to this.”
“I will.”
“It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. You will testify to this in court if need be.”
Ludwig lifted his left leg and pulled his body the rest of the way into his car. He pointed to his cane. “If I’m still here, Detective, I will. I have nothing left to hide.”
Chapter Forty-six
Several hours after the graveside service, Janet met Detective Stynes at the entrance of the police station. She followed him inside and back to his desk, which sat crowded in among other desks in the small office. A detective at a nearby desk spoke on the telephone, and two uniformed officers talked near a coffee machine. Stynes offered Janet a seat in an uncomfortable-looking vinyl chair. Stynes sat behind his desk and pulled out his ever present notebook.
“They faxed over some reports from the state welfare office,” Stynes said. “I’ve been going over them this afternoon.”
“His name really is Steven Kollman?” Janet asked.
“It really is. I’m not sure of much in this life, but I’m sure of that. Steven John Kollman. Born in Columbus, moved to Dove Point when he was eight, and didn’t stay very long. Mother deceased. Father missing in action. Entered the foster system at age five and was in it until he was eighteen. One of his former foster families recognized the photo we sent out and called us. Apparently, they hadn’t seen him since he was sixteen or so, but they thought it was him.”
“He lived in more than one foster home?”
“Looks that way.”
“And no one else recognized him?”
Stynes shrugged. “A lot of kids pass through that system. They either forgot him or they just didn’t care to call. A lot of these foster families don’t want to have anything to do with the police.”
Janet let that sink in. She thought of Ashleigh and wondered how people could let any child in their care just slip away from them like a lost memory. “Why did he start all this pretending to be Justin?”
“He won’t talk to us,” Stynes said. “Still won’t, even though we know who he is. He’s facing some pretty serious identity theft charges, plus the outstanding warrant in Columbus. He’d be wise to do something to protect himself. He goes before the judge tomorrow, now that we know who he is. We won’t keep him here. He’ll probably go to the county lockup and wait for a trial if he doesn’t plead.”
“What did he do when he lived in Dove Point?” Janet asked. “I mean…what kind of life did he have?”
“You might know better than any of us.”
“What do you mean?”
Stynes tapped the notebook. “He went to school with you in the third grade. Steven Kollman? You don’t remember the name?”
Janet shook her head. She didn’t remember at all.
Stynes brought Steven Kollman into the small interview room where Janet was waiting. Steven slumped into a chair on the opposite side of the scarred wooden table. Stynes looked at Janet.
“Are you okay with this?” he asked.
Janet knew what he meant. Do you feel safe?
She did, and she told Stynes she was fine. So he left. She knew he or other officers wouldn’t be far away if something did go wrong. But Janet doubted it would. She looked at Steven in his chair. He couldn’t meet her eye. He wore an orange inmate jumpsuit and stared at the floor. Janet felt a little angry that she had ever let this man manipulate her.
“Are you going to look at me, Steven?” she asked.
He did, raising his eyes slowly until they met Janet’s ever so briefly across the table. Just as quickly he lowered them again.
“Are you being treated okay in here?” she asked.
“It’s fine,” he said. “It’s not the worst jail I’ve been in.”
“Detective Stynes tells me we went to school together in the third grade.”
“Briefly.”
“I don’t remember you. Did we know each other?”
“I told you we knew each other a long time ago. Remember?”
“I remember you saying that. But I don’t remember you. Like you said, that’s been a long time, so maybe you could help me place you.”
Steven lifted his eyes. He scooted closer to the table. “Do you know what it’s like to not be remembered? To pass through people’s lives like smoke? That’s always been the way for me, Janet.”
Janet told herself not to listen to what he said, to not be absorbed into his self-pity trap. “I just want to know why you came and did this to my family. Why did you pretend to be my brother?”
“I thought you wanted to know how we knew each other.”
“I do.”
“Okay,” he said. “I can tell you that. And in the course of telling you that, I’ll answer your other question, the one about why I pretended to be Justin.”
Janet thought about leaving. She considered the possibility that just listening to this man, sitting across from him and hearing his story, would draw her deeper into his web. And she’d be better off just standing up and going and letting the police handle him the rest of the way. But she knew it was a bluff. She knew she couldn’t turn away. She had to hear. And she suspected he knew that as well.
“Did the detective tell you I was a foster child?”
Janet nodded.
“That’s how I came to live in Dove Point,” he said. “Do you remember a place called Hope House? It was over on Market Street.”
“I do.” She remembered what looked like an average residential home. But the children she went to school with knew differently. Kids from Hope House showed up at St. Anne’s from time to time, and when they did, the other kids somehow found out the secret. He’s from Hope House. He’s an orphan, they would whisper to one another. And it wouldn’t be hard to spot the Hope House kids even without the whispers. They tended to wear less stylish and, in some cases, more ragged clothes. And they never stayed long. None of the kids from Hope House lasted for more than a year or two. They passed through St. Anne’s and Dove Point very much as Steven described it—like smoke.
“I was one of those kids,” Steven said. “I came to school with you in the third grade. You were in another class, but I had Miss Stanton. Remember?”
Janet searched, turning the name over in her mind—Steven Kollman. Was it familiar to her? When she thought she saw her brother’s face, had she really just been seeing a glimmer of a boy she knew in grade school?
“I want to know what this has to do with Justin.”
“You saved me once, Janet. Don’t you remember that? You saved me from the other kids.”
“Saved you?”
“Do you know what it’s like to be the new kid? To show up in a school where all the other kids know each other and have grown up together for years? And then I come into that from Hope House. My white shirt is gray. My pants don’t fit because I grew so fast I had to wear another kid’s. My shoes are scuffed. And I have no idea what’s going on academically because I’ve been in another school for the first part of the year, so I don’t know the math or the reading. And they just put me in the lowest track because they don’t know what else to do with me. That’s what it was like for me, Janet. I don’t even know how many times that happened. I can’t tell you how many different schools I went to. Public, private. Big and small. I can’t even tell you the number.”
“I don’t know what that’s like. I’ve lived here my whole life. But I do know what it’s like to have people say things about you. Everyone in town knew about my brother. And then my mother. People treated me different sometimes because of that.”
“Exactly,” Steven said. He nearly leapt out of his chair. “You get it, don’t you? We’re alike, you and I. We understand each other.”
“I’m not sure we do.”
“You know what it’s like to be ostracized. To be on the outside looking in.”
“You haven’t told me about Justin yet. You haven’t told me anything.”
“I haven’t?” Steven said. His tone shifted. A trace of anger slipped into his v
oice. “I’ve told you about my life.”
“You said you were going to tell me why you came here and why you came to me.”
He leaned forward and tapped the table with the tip of his index finger, emphasizing every word. “Because you saved me, Janet. Don’t you remember? You saved me.”
“From what?”
“From the boys at the school. Don’t you remember what they used to do to kids like me?”
“Are you talking about—?”
And then Janet knew. She remembered the segregated playground, boys on one end, girls on the other. She remembered the boys playing rough games—football and dodgeball—while the girls played hopscotch or jumped rope. And Janet knew—they all did—what the boys, even as early as second or third grade, did to kids they didn’t like.
Steven nodded. “You remember now.”
“The football?” Janet asked.
Steven nodded. “Have you ever known people who can look back on their childhoods and laugh about the awful things they did or had done to them? You know, someone wet their pants in front of the whole class, and they can tell the story as an adult and act like it was no big deal to be embarrassed and humiliated in that way? I can’t do that. I don’t think I ever will.”
“I remember that day now,” Janet said. “I remember you.”
“It was wet,” Steven said. “It was the late fall, just a few weeks after I came to school there, and it had rained and there were puddles all over the playground.”
“It was one of those Nerf footballs. It was like a sponge.”
“Yes. They’d been on me for weeks about everything. I had a buzz cut, remember? They gave all of the boys at Hope House one because it was simpler and saved time. They knew I lived there. They were on me for the clothes and the hair and for not reading that well. I hated coming to school. I woke up in the morning feeling sick and went to bed feeling worse. I would have done anything to get away.”
“What made this day worse than any other?”
“I stood up to them,” he said. “They were making fun of the way I read in class, and I told Roger Fouts to go to hell. Remember him?”