by David Bell
“I couldn’t make it today,” he said. “I know you wanted me to see that reporter, but I couldn’t make it.”
Typical Michael. He wouldn’t apologize for not showing up. He’d just say he couldn’t make it.
“I wanted to talk to you about that,” she said, thinking back on Stynes’s words. She’d been turning them over ever since the detective left and coupling them with the words spoken by the man on the porch that night.
“I said I just couldn’t make it.”
“I don’t mean that,” she said. “I don’t care about that. The reporter was just a little college girl. She wanted to score some kind of big scoop, I guess. She was annoying and pretty.”
“Pretty?” Michael perked up.
Janet knew he was joking, but she still felt a twinge of envy. He was free to come and go. If he wanted to give Katie College Girl a call and ask her out, he could. He wasn’t beholden to anyone, unlike Janet.
“I meant to tell you how good you look,” Michael said.
“Me? Right now?”
“You look young,” Michael said. “You haven’t changed that much since high school really.”
Janet felt her face flush. “Anyway,” she said. “I wanted to talk to you about what you said today on campus. You asked me what really happened at the park that day, and I just wanted to know what you meant by that. Why did you ask me that question?”
Michael looked around, his eyes restless like they were in the parking lot. This evasiveness was a new trait. When they were kids, Michael didn’t look away from people. He didn’t avert his eyes from things. If you asked him a question, he answered it.
Janet waited until he was ready to talk, the clacking of the wooden Jenga pieces and the teenage conversation the only sounds she noticed.
“You think about that day a lot, don’t you?” he asked.
“I do.”
He looked away again, eyes restless still. “I do, too,” he said. “Almost all the time lately.”
“Why? Did something change?”
“My parents getting older, I guess. Thinking about that and the anniversary got me thinking about it. I can’t think about home without thinking of that day.”
“That seems normal to me.”
“I guess a lot of people around here think about it,” he said. “That’s why they did the newspaper stories, right? How did that go with the reporter?”
“It was a little tough talking about it,” she said. “I didn’t expect it to be. I really didn’t. I hadn’t talked about it since the last parole hearing, I guess. I don’t talk about it with Dad. Or with Ashleigh.”
“Did you read the story about Dante Rogers?” Michael asked.
“Yes. Did you? Did you have the same reaction I had?”
“What was that?”
Janet tried to think of what she wanted to say, but there seemed to be only one way to say it. “I felt sorry for him.”
Michael was nodding. “Exactly,” he said. “I felt that, too.” He licked his lips and leaned in, lowering his voice. “And I couldn’t help but think he’s a victim, too.”
“How?”
“It’s the system, Janet,” Michael said. “A black man like Dante in a town like this-what chance does he have?”
“That’s what the reporter was asking about today.”
“Was she?”
“Yes.”
“I wish I’d been there now,” he said, shaking his head. The waitress came and brought refills. Coffee for Michael, hot water and a new tea bag for Janet. When the waitress was gone, Michael continued. “We put him there, Janet,” he said. “We threw him into that system.”
Janet had never thought of it that way. She told the truth to the police when she was a child. She saw that man in the park, and when they asked, she told them. She had never stopped to consider everything else that went along with it. She’d been a kid then, only seven. She didn’t think of the larger implications.
“I asked you that question on campus because I really wanted to know,” he said. “What do you remember from the park that day? What did you see?” Despite the importance of the question, he didn’t seem to want an immediate answer. He pressed on. “I’m not sure anymore what I saw. I know what I told the police, and I know they acted on it. And I know they arrested Dante and put him on trial. But I’m not sure anymore if I remember what I saw, or if I remember what I think I saw. I don’t know if I can trust my own memory anymore.”
“Michael, I have something very important to say about that.”
“When I was in Portland and again in LA, I took some recreational drugs to try to regress my memories back there. I did some hypnosis, too, with a therapist, but I didn’t trust it. I didn’t think I could really get back to that place.”
Janet was ready to jump out of her chair. “Michael,” she said, “I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
“There’s a man,” she said. “And this man came to my house. And he says he knows what really happened in the park that day.”
Michael froze in place for a long moment, his lips slightly parted. “What do you mean?” he finally asked.
She told him the story of the man coming in the middle of the night, appearing on the porch out of the blue and spinning his strange tale. Janet told Michael that she kept waiting for him to come back, to explain what he meant by his cryptic words, but that so far he hadn’t returned. While she spoke, Michael listened. He didn’t interrupt, and he didn’t ask questions. He just listened, his face rapt. Janet knew that not only would Michael be fascinated by the story, but he would listen to her without judgment. He wouldn’t laugh. He wouldn’t call her crazy. She knew this about him, and so he became the first person she had ever told.
“That man on the porch,” she said. “Sometimes I think he’s just like that day in the park. Sometimes I can’t really believe that he came to the door. I’m the only one who saw him. I don’t know him. He didn’t give me anything. He appeared like a ghost. In fact, I know I’m overreacting, but I thought I heard someone in the yard when I left the house tonight. I almost didn’t come because of it. I thought it might be that man and maybe he meant to hurt someone. Ashleigh. Or me.”
“But you came.”
“I figured I was being silly. And I just texted Ashleigh in the car, and she’s okay.”
Michael shook his head. Just a little, but the shake was there. He looked surprisingly agitated. “See, you need to forget about this guy,” he said.
“Why?”
“He sounds like a kook. Aren’t you worried he’s dangerous? Coming to your house in the middle of the night? What if he is sneaking around the yard? What if he’s crazy?”
The same thoughts occupied Janet’s mind at least once a day. She wasn’t naive. She knew sickos got kicks from tormenting the families of crime victims. She knew strange men shouldn’t be knocking on the door in the middle of the night.
“I know,” she said.
“Did you call the police?” Michael asked.
“The guy said not to.”
Michael looked satisfied, his point made. “See.”
Janet felt uneasy leaving the house sometimes, wondering if the man watched what she did, making sure she didn’t contact the police. Did he see Stynes at the house that very day?
“Forget about this guy, Janet. He’s a creep. Tell me, answer the question-what do you remember from that day?”
Janet looked down. An oily sheen had formed on the top of her tea, swirling around in the wake of her stirring. Janet had been asking herself this question-really asking it-for the past three months, ever since the man appeared on the porch raising questions of his own.
“It was hot. Very hot.” She looked up at Michael, and he nodded. So she went on. “And Justin and I were there first. We were playing in the park, and then a little while later you showed up.”
“See, I don’t remember that, but I believe you. I thought I was there the whole time.”
�
�It wasn’t long before you came,” she said. “I remember what you were wearing. I can see that. Shorts and a long belt.”
“I remember that belt.” He smiled.
“Yeah. It was goofy.” Janet paused a moment, then went on. “I saw Dante with Justin. I saw him talking to him. And I think I saw him carrying Justin on his shoulders. Way up high.”
“Right. I thought I remembered that, too.”
“But you don’t?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“What do you remember?”
He paused a long time, drawing the moment out like a good actor would. He rubbed his chin with his right hand. “I think Justin ran away. Don’t you? I think I remember him running into the woods.”
“Are you sure? I don’t remember him running away. I don’t really remember anything that happened after he was on Dante’s shoulders. I don’t even know what order those memories come in.”
Michael had a look of focus on his face. He didn’t seem to hear Janet’s words. “I think he ran away and into the woods. There was a dog in the park, not much bigger than a puppy. And a bunch of the kids were playing with it. And Justin was fascinated by that dog.”
“He loved dogs,” Janet said. “I remember that. He wanted one. We both did, but my parents didn’t want one. My dad always said he’d end up taking care of it.”
“That dog ran off into the woods eventually. And Justin went after it, trying to catch it. And I have a very clear memory of running after Justin, like I wanted to bring him back to where he was supposed to be.”
“Was it in the direction…they found him back there…?”
“It was,” Michael said. “He ran toward the woods where they found his body, and I went that way, too.”
“And what happened?”
“I went into the woods after him,” Michael said. “I remember going down that path, past that little pond, following him. I remember the voices from the playground growing fainter and more distant.”
“You were in the woods right then, right before…”
A long pause settled over the conversation. Janet didn’t realize it, but she had gathered a paper napkin into her hand and was slowly, surely grinding it between her thumb and forefinger, turning the napkin into small, pulpy balls that littered the tabletop. When she noticed the mess, she stopped and brushed the napkin pieces aside, behind the little dish that held sugar packets and artificial sweeteners.
Janet looked at him. “What is it, Michael? What did you want to tell me?”
“I told you I’ve been to therapy to try to remember things about that day.”
“Sure.”
“There’s something I’ve been able to remember, something I’ve never told anyone else.”
“What is it?” she asked.
He swallowed once, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Janet became aware of the tension in her own muscles. They felt taut as steel cables waiting for Michael’s words.
“I think my dad was there in the woods that day. I saw him when I went in there after Justin and the dog.”
The noise in the coffee shop stopped. People were still moving. The waitress wandered from table to table. The teenagers nearby continued to play. But Janet didn’t hear them. She concentrated on Michael’s face, locked in on him as she processed his words.
“But that’s not possible, Michael,” Janet said. “Your father wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the park that day. Or in the woods.”
“He was, Janet. I can picture it.”
“What was he doing?” she asked.
“I don’t know. That part isn’t clear. But I feel very certain about this, Janet. My father was there in the woods. He was there the day Justin died.”
Even though she hadn’t seen Michael for years, since he’d moved away immediately after high school, and even though they had rarely spoken in that time, Janet still trusted Michael almost as much as anyone else she knew. She felt she could tell him anything, and he would listen without judgment.
“Michael.” She picked up another napkin and went to work on it. “There’s something I want to say, too, something about Justin.”
The room still felt still and quiet, a bubble that enclosed them both. Michael nodded, encouraging her to go on.
“That man who came to the house,” she said. “His face-it’s frozen in my mind. All I have to do is close my eyes, and I can see him. Every detail, even though I only saw him once.” She stopped working on the napkin. “There’s something familiar about his face. The shape of it, the color of his hair. The shape of his eyes and the prominence of his chin. I see my dad there, Michael, when I think of that face. I see Justin.”
“Justin?” Michael looked confused. “Where are you going with this?”
“Michael, sometimes I think, I really, really think that man who came to the door? I think that man is Justin. He didn’t die that day in the woods, and he’s back to tell us all what happened.”
“Oh, Janet,” he finally said.
“You think I’ve lost it. You think I’m mad with grief and guilt-”
“No, no, I didn’t say that at all. I think it’s natural that you have a lot of emotions connected to this, Janet. It’s a huge rent in your life.”
“But?”
She felt her cheeks flush-embarrassment this time and not desire. How awful to be embarrassed in front of Michael. She didn’t want that. Never that. Even after all those years, she still couldn’t help but feel he was the cool kid she had to impress.
“Think about what you’re saying,” he said. “You saw this man once.”
“How is what I’m saying any less valid than what you said about your dad?”
“There was a body, Janet. They found a body in the woods. Right in those woods Justin ran into. I’m not trying to be dismissive, but is it really possible?”
Michael’s words restored some reality. They were a splash of cold water against her face. What was she thinking? Michael was right-they’d found a body. They’d had a funeral. Everyone else had moved on, years ago.
What had she seen in that face? A real resemblance? Or did she simply see what she wanted to see? Could her memory of that man’s face be trusted any more than Michael’s memory of his father in the woods?
Janet felt tired all of a sudden. The day had whipped her-the reporter, Michael’s return, the conversation with Stynes, the fight with Ashleigh. Work waited for her in the morning, and she contemplated doing something she never did-taking a personal day and spending the entire day in bed.
She knew she wouldn’t. But it sounded tempting.
“I should go,” she said. “It’s late.”
Janet dug in her purse for her wallet. She tossed some bills onto the table, intending to cover the cost of Michael’s coffee as well as her tea.
“We can talk about this more, Janet. I want to.”
“Of course.”
“I think we both have a lot we’re working through from that day.”
“I’ll call you,” Janet said.
She stood up, expecting him to walk out with her or at least make sure she made it to her car safely. But Michael stayed seated. As she turned to go, he signaled the waitress and asked for a refill.
Chapter Twelve
The desk officer approached Stynes, who was hunched over his keyboard entering reports from the last two days. He hadn’t had a spare moment to get caught up, and he’d entered the station that morning-early, before anyone else had arrived-with only one thought in mind: Give me some peace and quiet.
The desk officer approached cautiously. Stynes saw her coming out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t look up. He was hoping she wouldn’t notice him and would just walk past. She was a new recruit, kind of timid, and Stynes didn’t know her name yet.
“Detective?”
“I died and didn’t leave a forwarding address.”
“Excuse me?”
Stynes looked up. The girl was pretty, but so, so young. Another reason to retire. When the new
recruits looked like high schoolers, it was time to go. “Wishful thinking on my part. What is it?”
“There’s a woman here, and she needs to see a detective.”
Stynes pointed to the computer. “Does this promise to be as fascinating as yesterday’s stolen purse or last night’s vandalism at the school?”
“She says she has a complaint about Dante Rogers,” the young officer said.
“Dante Rogers?”
“Yes, sir. You know, he’s the guy-”
Stynes held up his hand, cutting off the rookie’s words. “I know who he is.”
Stynes had spent the past two days going about his business as a cop, all the time trying to reassure himself that there was nothing to what the reporter had said, nothing to Janet’s nervousness and doubts. But here was Dante Rogers-again-and he seemed to be falling into Stynes’s lap, insisting on being heard.
The day did just get a little more interesting, he thought to himself.
Stynes drove east out of downtown, taking High Street, one of the four spokes off Memorial Circle. For a short time he passed businesses-a pizza parlor, a Laundromat, a bike shop-then his car rattled over an uneven set of railroad tracks, traveled down an incline, and-presto-he entered what passed for a black neighborhood in Dove Point. Literally and figuratively, at least in the minds of most of the town’s white citizens, the wrong side of the tracks.
There was truth to back up the belief. More crime happened on the east side-East Dove Point, as some had taken to calling it. A public housing project as well as a collection of run-down low-rent apartment complexes meant a lot of transients, a lot of comings and goings and drugs. A murder was still rare, but assaults and gun-related crimes were up. What was that movie? The one with the crazed killer-No Country for Old Men. Stynes felt that way when he drove over to the east. He was too old for this shit and thankful he had only a couple of years to go. He couldn’t imagine what East would look like in another decade.
Stynes made two turns, a right and a left. He knew everyone in their yards and on the street corners made him out as a cop. Even the little kids. The shiny car, the white man in a shirt and tie. They looked at him like he was an alien, the contempt dripping off their faces. Stynes stopped in front of the Reverend Fred Arling’s First Church of Zion, a low brick building with an overgrown yard that looked no more like a church than Stynes’s car looked like a fighter jet. A sign out front advertised the upcoming sermon: WHO IS YOUR BROTHER? WHO IS YOUR NEIGHBOR?