David Bell - The Hiding Place

“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.”

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.