The Hiding Place

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.

“What do you remember about that day, Janet? Do you remember talking to me in the park?”

Her mouth twisted a little as she thought. She shook her head. “Not really. It’s fuzzy. I know the police were there. I remember seeing the police cars at the park, more than one of them.”

“But you don’t remember what you said?”

She shook her head. “I’ve read about it in the paper so many times that I know what I said, but I don’t remember saying it.”

“Do you remember talking to us that night? Here at the house?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. I just remember a lot of people coming and going. I remember feeling empty all the time. Justin was gone, and something wasn’t right. But I can’t look back there and tell you what I was thinking.”

“It was confusing.”

“Yes. I know Michael came over one night and we played together. The adults were in another room, I guess.” Janet smiled, almost laughed.

“Why are you smiling?” Stynes asked.

“Michael.”

“What about him?”

“I cried for him. Not for Justin.”

“What do you mean?”

“I cried because I wanted to see Michael and play with him. I guess my parents didn’t think I needed to be playing or goofing around, you know? I don’t know if that was the first day or later. But somehow Michael ended up coming over to our house and we played together.”

“He was here that night. I remember that.”

“It must have been then. I just remembered that,” she said. “I hadn’t thought of that for a while.” She shook her head a little. “But that’s about it.”

“I heard he’s back in town.”

“Michael?”

“Yes.”

“He is.”

“Have you seen him?” Stynes asked.

“A few times. Why? Do you want to talk to him?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Stynes said. “But if you think of anything else about that day or that time-anything at all-you let me know.”

“It’s funny, Detective,” she said. “I always told myself when I was growing up and then when I left home that I wouldn’t be defined by that day in the park. I saw what it did to my mother, and to a lesser extent my father.”

“Why a lesser extent for him?” Stynes asked.

“He’s a man, I guess. He’s always kept things inside and been hard to reach. But my mother was very open and loving until Justin died. She lost something then, some spark of life.” Janet sighed. “Anyway, I said I wasn’t going to be like them, looking backward all the time. I had a daughter to raise, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let her get dragged into all of this.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Stynes said.

“And if it’s such a good idea,” Janet said, “why are we all standing in the same place, in the same town, at the same house, still talking about that day twenty-five years later?”