Page 53 of The Advocate’s Ultimatum

“None that tied him directly,” Sabre said. “But no one else fit better.”

JP stood. “I’ll go talk to Hayes in Donovan.”

“He’s had years to get his story straight.”

“They all do,” JP said.

She shook her head. “If Hayes didn’t do it, then we’ve been looking in the wrong direction for a long time. I’ll call and set it up for you.”

~~~

Donovan State Prison hadn’t changed in years, until recently when it was rebuilt after the earthquake that nearly killed his brother, Gene. But the only significant change was that the concrete looked newer. It was the kind of place that didn’t care if you were guilty or not, it only cared that you were there.

JP gave his name, signed in, and waited until they brought Hayes out in his prison blues, heavier and more muscular than his booking photo, older than his years. His eyes moved first quickly, assessing, then settled on JP.

“You ain’t my lawyer,” Hayes said as he sat.

“No,” JP replied. “My name’s Torn. I’m a private investigator. I’m looking into some things regarding your case.”

Hayes looked skeptical. “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

JP just watched him. People showed themselves if you gave them enough quiet.

Hayes shifted. “What do you want?”

JP slid a copy of Hannah’s school picture across the table. She was smiling like the world hadn’t made up its mind about her yet.

Hayes’ jaw tightened.

“Do you remember her?” JP asked.

“I remember every day.”

“Then tell me what happened.”

Hayes finally looked up. “I didn’t take her.”

“Walk me through it.”

Hayes rubbed his hands together, slow, like he’d done it a thousand times before. “I was supposed to be home,” he said. “She got out of school at three and usually walked with those neighbor kids. I knew the routine.”

JP waited.

“I stopped for a drink,” Hayes continued. “Just one. That’s what I told myself. Then it wasn’t one anymore.” He gave a humorless laugh. “I lost track of time.”

JP said nothing.

“When I got home, she wasn’t there. I figured she was late or with the neighbors. I waited.” He swallowed. “Then I called her mom.”

“And when the police asked where you were?”

“I lied,” Hayes admitted. “I told them I was home. I thought it sounded better than ‘I was sitting at a bar while a five-year-old walked home alone.’ Besides, I wasn’t even supposed to be there, according to Social Services.”

JP leaned forward. “And then?”

“They found out,” Hayes said. “Or I told them. I don’t even remember which came first anymore. But once I told the truth, it didn’t matter what I said after that.”

“No,” JP said quietly. “It usually doesn’t.”