The Hiding Place

by David Bell

Had she really just kicked that guy’s ass?

  The return bus came along Hamilton. Ashleigh waited until traffic cleared, then managed to jog across the street. Her muscles burned from the exertion and her legs felt rubbery. She’d never been so glad to see a bus. If it hadn’t come, she wasn’t sure she could walk all that way, several miles. She needed to sit, to ride. To think.

  She took a seat near the back. The air-conditioning was almost too cool, too intense. But she welcomed it. She fanned her face with someone’s discarded newspaper. The bus was mostly empty in midafternoon, just a few old ladies and their rolling shopping baskets, a mother with a baby near the front.

  Ashleigh thought about what she’d seen on that paper-

  Her uncle’s name. Did she really see it? Or did she want to find something so much she imagined the name?

  No, no, she said. She saw it. She knew she saw it. He’d come to their house in the middle of the night. He’d told her mom he knew the truth about what really happened to Justin.

  And he was Justin?

  Who else could he be?

  Ashleigh reached up and rang the bell when they were just half a block from the stop. She was so distracted she almost forgot, and the bus lurched as the air brakes whined. The bus driver, a middle-aged guy with greasy hair, looked in the giant rearview mirror at the front and shook his head at her. She didn’t care. She needed to get off the bus. She had cooled off; her breathing was normal again.

  She had things to do.

  She had to talk to Kevin first.

  “You did what?” Kevin said.

  His manager had let him out of work early, Kevin told her. He’d walked to the library looking for Ashleigh and didn’t see her. So he texted her-at least three times. Getting no response, he returned to McDonald’s, where Ashleigh found him waiting in a booth, two hamburger wrappers and the remnants of an order of fries scattered before him. He looked up in anticipation, but then Ashleigh sat down and told him where she’d been.

  “I had to know,” Ashleigh said. “I couldn’t wait.”

  “You went there alone? To that strange dude’s apartment? Jesus, Ash.” He looked to the ceiling, as if he wanted divine intervention. “Did you do that because you were mad at me about what I said earlier?”

  “I told you-I just couldn’t wait. I’ve been looking forward to this a long time. I couldn’t just sit in the library and pretend to read a book.”

  Kevin almost smiled. “You’ve got balls, girl. I’ll say that for you. Damn.”

  Ashleigh took Kevin’s drink, shook it, and when she heard liquid slosh in the bottom of the cup, drew from the straw. She swallowed, then said, “If you think that was ballsy, let me tell you what happened while I was there.”

  Kevin listened while Ashleigh told the story. When she told him she went into the vacated apartment, his mouth fell open a little. Ashleigh didn’t pause. She didn’t want him to be able to interject. And it wasn’t the most important part of the story.

  She watched him carefully as she told him about the letter with her uncle’s name on it. As she said that, his mouth fell open even more. Something lit up in his eyes, something between joy and fear-she couldn’t tell which.

  “Holy shit,” he said. He looked around the restaurant, which was fairly empty. He said it again. “Holy shit. Ash, you were right. You found something.”

  “I know.”

  Ashleigh tried to contain her own joy and enthusiasm, but her heart raced, and this time not from the adrenaline of the run and the close call with the creep, but instead from the pure joy of accomplishing something she’d set out to do. She felt like a little kid. If she’d let herself, she could’ve screamed and squealed with joy.

  “Did you take the letter?” Kevin asked. “Where is it?”

  A thin shadow of disappointment fell over Ashleigh. She’d dropped the letter. When the creep took hold of her, she let it go. Why couldn’t she have held on to it? If only-

  “I don’t have it,” she said.

  “You don’t? Didn’t the apartment manager let you take it?”

  “Kind of…” She told him the story of the guy talking to her about school and trying to act like they were friends. Then she told Kevin about the sudden grab around her middle, the fumbling hands, the fight-

  “No,” Kevin said. The response was simple, direct. She knew what it meant. Kevin was pissed. “He touched you.”

  “He tried to,” she said. “Well, he did. He put me in a bear hug. But I got away.”

  Kevin started to slide out of the booth. “I’m going back.”

  “No.”

  “Ash, that little creep. That asshole. I’m going to-”

  She reached out, placed her hand on his. “Stop. It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters. I’m calling the police. Then I’m kicking his ass.”

  “No, wait.” She kept her hand on his. She had to admit, she liked seeing this side of him-protective, passionate. He wanted to stand up for her, exact justice on someone who had wronged her. Ashleigh didn’t want him to follow through on his threats. She thought that her own defense of herself was good enough. But it felt good to have Kevin on her side. “Forget about that guy. We have something bigger to deal with, remember? This guy.” She lowered her voice even though no one was nearby. “The guy from the porch. He says he knows something about my uncle’s death. Well, now we know what he knows. He is my uncle.”

  Kevin sat back in the booth, letting the news really sink in. While he sat there for a moment, still and quiet, Ashleigh noticed that they were still holding hands. Well, not really holding hands, but her hand rested on top of his-and neither one of them bothered to slide their hand away.

  “But all that stuff,” he finally said. “The body they found. The body they buried. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know,” she said. “But what else could it be?”

  Kevin looked thoughtful again. He leaned forward, his hand still underneath hers. “I know you’re not going to like this,” he said. “But we’re going to have to do something now.”

  Ashleigh was already a step ahead of him.

  And she agreed.

  “I know,” she said. “We’re going to have to tell my mom.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Janet took a few deep breaths and then opened the door to Detective Stynes. She thought she knew what he was there for. He had heard about the man from the porch. Someone had called to report him-maybe even Madeline, maybe someone else at work-and Stynes was at the house to ask Janet what she knew about the man.

  And if he came in asking questions about the man, her dad would hear. Everyone would know the secret she’d been carrying with her.

  Janet gathered her wits and decided to keep Detective Stynes out on the porch and handle the situation out of her dad’s earshot, but Stynes changed things by saying, “I wanted to talk to your dad for a few minutes.”

  “My dad?”

  “Is he home?” Stynes asked. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

  “He’s here,” Janet said, but she didn’t turn or make any effort to call for him. She hoped that by standing in the doorway long enough Stynes would feel compelled to explain the purpose of his visit. But apparently the detective possessed better waiting skills than Janet. He wore a patient look on his face, his eyes calm, his expression mild. He looked like a man without a care in the world-and all the time to pass. “Come on in,” Janet finally said.

  The detective followed Janet inside, where they found her dad standing beside his chair, the TV turned off. His face still looked agitated from their argument, and before Janet could say anything, her dad said, “I don’t want to hear about all of this stuff anymore, Janet. I’m just tired of it.”

  “It’s Detective Stynes,” she said. “And he says he needs to talk to you.”

  Stynes nodded to her father, ignoring his complaint. For his part, her dad looked surprised and rendered speechless by the detective’s appearance. Janet wasn’t sure anyone could look
good or react well when the police unexpectedly showed up on their porch.

  “Is something wrong?” her dad said.

  “No,” Stynes said. “Do you mind if I sit?”

  He didn’t wait for an invitation. He took a spot on the end of the couch, and with nothing else to do that seemed reasonable, Janet and her dad sat down as well, her dad back in his chair and Janet on the opposite end of the couch from Detective Stynes.

  “Like I said, Mr. Manning, I’m sorry I didn’t call. But this shouldn’t take long.”

  “This? What’s this?”

  Stynes reached into the inside pocket of his sport coat and brought out a small spiral-bound notebook. Then he brought out a pen and clicked it with his thumb. While Janet watched, she couldn’t help but think his movements and gestures had become practiced and meaningful over the years. He wasn’t just taking out a notebook and a pen-he was stalling, drawing out the moment so the person on the other end of his questions grew more nervous and agitated as he waited.

  So then why was he giving this treatment to her dad?

  Did Detective Stynes suspect her dad of something, possibly some involvement with Justin’s death? Janet felt a hint of outrage start to grow, but just as quickly reined it in. Why would it bother her to see Detective Stynes think that when she had just been thinking the same thing minutes earlier?

  “As I’m sure you know,” Stynes said, “there’s been a lot of attention focused recently on Justin’s death.”

  “Okay,” her dad said.

  “I’ve been going over the case notes from back then,” Stynes said. “It’s a bad habit I have. Rethinking things, second-guessing myself. Maybe it’s something that happens with age.”

  Stynes seemed to be waiting for an answer, so her dad provided one.

  “Maybe,” he said. He looked uncomfortable to Janet’s eyes. Tense and nervous, and Janet felt sorry for him. No matter what might or might not transpire between them, he was her father, and she didn’t want to see him made to squirm.

  “Detective, can you tell us what this is about?” Janet asked. “You know my dad. He doesn’t like to talk about these things. That’s why I spoke to the newspaper and not him.”

  “I understand,” Stynes said. “But this isn’t for the newspaper. This is just for me. I promise I’ll be quick.” He flipped through the notebook, found the page he wanted, and looked up. “I’m curious about your recollections of the day Justin disappeared. Specifically, that morning. Did anything unusual happen before you knew he was gone?”

  Her dad shifted his weight in the chair, his posture gaining rigidity and energy. He sat up straighter, making it clear that he was taller than Detective Stynes by at least four inches. “I answered all these questions twenty-five years ago,” he said. “I sat right in this house the day Justin disappeared and I told you everything I could. So why are you showing up here now and asking me these things?”

  Stynes didn’t show any concern. He wasn’t intimidated. “I’m asking you these things because I’m a police officer, and we like it when citizens cooperate with the police. But, okay, I understand that it seems a little strange for me to show up now and ask a question like that.”

  “Yes,” Janet said. “It does.”

  Both men looked at her, but she didn’t feel embarrassed. Her heart rate started to rise, and her hands, which were clasped together in her lap, felt moist from sweat.

  Stynes looked back to her father. “When we interviewed you right after Justin disappeared, you told us that you went to work as usual that morning. You worked for Strand, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And that night, when we talked to you again, you said the same thing. You said you got up at the usual time and got ready and went to work as usual. I guess your wife called when she realized Justin was missing, and you came home from work. Right?”

  “I don’t see the problem,” he said.

  “Well, we spoke to your wife that morning, of course, and then again that night.”

  Stynes stopped speaking. He let his words hang in the air between the three of them. Again he seemed to be waiting for something. When no one said anything, Stynes went on.

  “That night, she told us that you had gone to work that morning like any normal day. But that morning, when we came and spoke to her, she told us that you hadn’t gone in to work at your usual time. That you’d stayed home, and you were here when Justin disappeared and not at work.”

  Janet almost gasped. She sucked a large gulp of air into her lungs and felt it catch there like an obstruction. It took a long moment for her to be able to breathe again, but the men didn’t seem to notice. They were staring each other down, their eyes locked.

  “She made a mistake,” her dad said.

  “You know that?”

  “She was upset when Justin disappeared. She made a mistake. I don’t see why that’s such a big deal. You talked to her about it that night. Here she was racked with grief over her missing child, and you just wanted to pick her words apart like she was a criminal.” He paused. “She was very upset that day.”

  Stynes nodded. “Right. Of course. People do make mistakes in stressful situations. And if we checked the records out at Strand to see what time you arrived at work, they’d confirm that you were there?”

  “I don’t know what they would confirm after twenty-five years,” her dad said. His voice sounded less steely, less certain.

  Stynes held her father’s gaze for a long moment, then tapped the little notebook with his index finger. “Well, I guess I’ll have to see.”

  “What do you mean?” Janet asked.

  “I mean I might go out to Strand tomorrow morning to take a look at their records.”

  “And,” Janet said, “what if the records say my dad didn’t go to work that morning, if such records even exist after all this time? What if they say he wasn’t there? What happens?”

  Stynes smiled, his eyes still on her dad. “One old cop will have his curiosity satisfied, I guess. I’ll just file it away in the drawer of oddities I keep in my mind.” Stynes stood up and tucked the notebook back into its pocket. “I told you it wouldn’t take very long.”

  And that was it? Janet thought. But what did it mean? She tried to wrap her head around Detective Stynes’s visit, but she could reach only one conclusion: Stynes had suspicions about her father, and he was following up on them.

  It was as though Stynes had tapped into the dark thoughts growing inside Janet…

  “Let me ask you something, Detective,” her father said.

  Stynes stood still, looking down on her dad, who remained in his seat.

  “Yes?”

  “Have you investigated a lot of murders over the years?”

  “A few.”

  “And other crimes? Robberies? Rapes?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you pay these kinds of visits to the parents of those victims, or am I just special?”

  Stynes considered this and said, “Some things stay with us longer than others, I guess.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Stynes expected to hear the door slam at his back, but it didn’t. Instead, Janet Manning came through the door behind him and out onto the front porch. Stynes stopped at the edge of the steps and looked back, surprised to see the woman standing there, arms folded, lips pressed tight.

  Stynes thought he might have overplayed his hand. What did he really have to go on anyway? In the confusion of events in the aftermath of a kidnapping, two children jumbled their stories and a distraught mother misspoke about her husband’s whereabouts. Was it worth chasing and waking ghosts over things like that?

  He wondered if Janet was going to chew him out for the indelicacy of his visit, coming as it did just days after the twenty-fifth anniversary of her brother’s murder. She would have a point, Stynes admitted to himself. But then again, Bill Manning did act a little off balance about the question of his whereabouts that morning. Did it mean anything? Or did the guy just feel
ambushed by a twenty-five-year-old question?

  Janet didn’t say anything. She stood on the porch looking into the distance, toward where a neighbor washed his car, the hose creating a fanning spray of water in the sunlight.

  “Did you want to ask me something, Janet?” Stynes said.

  It took her a moment, but she spoke without facing him. “What was that about, Detective?”

  “I was following up on something related to your brother’s case,” he said.

  “After all this time?”

  “I think we both know time doesn’t matter so much with this case.”

  “Why didn’t the police follow up on this back then?” she asked. “If someone gave conflicting stories twenty-five years ago, why didn’t you explore it?”

  Stynes saw Reynolds’s face in his mind’s eye, heard his claim that Mrs. Manning’s story didn’t matter because we all knew who committed most of the crimes in Dove Point.

  “It was determined at the time that your mother was simply confused about the course of events,” he said. “Your parents were distraught, obviously, and those of us investigating the case decided we didn’t want to push them. We felt we had more evidence pointing in the direction of Dante Rogers. We have to make those judgments during an investigation.”

  She turned to face him. She studied him.

  “You don’t think Dante did it, Detective, do you?”

  Stynes wanted to tell her. He wanted to admit his doubts about his performance on the case all those years ago, that he should have worried less about his stature as a young detective and more about finding the truth, whatever it was. He recognized that of all the people he knew-Reynolds, his fellow officers, his few friends and acquaintances-Janet Manning might be the person he was most likely to tell what he really thought about Dante and what Stynes had come to think of as his alleged role in the crime. But Stynes knew he had already tipped his hand too much. Janet Manning wasn’t a dummy. She only needed to listen to the questions Stynes directed at her father to know that there was suspicion in that direction, that a follow-up on the man’s whereabouts meant Stynes harbored some doubts about her father and the events of that morning.