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They might have their tension, but Sam is very protective of Xavier. I look at Garrison and he gives me a questioninglook.
“Too sensitive to have someone call him out?” heasks.
“His best friend was murdered many years ago,” I tell him. “In Xavier’s house. Where he stilllives.”
Red dots appear on Garrison’s cheeks and he opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but closes it again before anything comes out. It’s probably for thebest.
“What about Mike and the camp?” he asks, trying to detour the conversation back to where it was before it fell off the rails.
“When I was at his house, he talked about his brother and sister both being good at playing different instruments. Something he wouldn’t remember if he was talking about the sister who died. But he didn’t mention another sister. Which doesn’t fit with him making a point to tell me about the sister who was murdered.” I slide the newspaper toward him. “Unless she didn’texist.”
Garrison picks up the paper and reads over the list of names.
“There isn’t a Kirkland,” he notes.
“No, there isn’t,” I nod. “You said you’ve talked to the families of some of the victims. Did you ever talk to his family? Did you ever encounter him atall?”
“No,” Garrison says. “I thought…” his voice trails off as he seems to be gathering his thoughts and trying to piece them together. “I thought I’d just missed that connection. It was twenty years ago. I was very young at the time. Younger even than he is now. I wasn’t a rookie detective. I was a rookie in general. Just a cop. I knew I wanted to be a detective and I helped with the investigation as much as I could, but I wasn’t in the thick of it all.
“The interviews I’ve had and the research I’ve done has been years after the murders. Some of the families moved away. Others died off. It wasn’t possible to speak with all of them, and when you said Mike mentioned his sister was one of the victims, I just thought it didn’t sound familiar because I hadn’t spoken with that family, or it had been so long.”
“It isn’t your fault. It wasn’t your responsibility to take this on so early in your career. And you would have no reason to recognize every single name. There’s no reason you should immediately be able to recognize every name that has to do with the camp and know immediately which ones weren’t.”
He’s staring at the list, his eyes not focusing on the words. There’s something going through his mind. Something is happening in his thoughts and he’s not willing to put voice to ityet.
“What do we do now?” he asks.
“DetectiveGarrison?”
Before I can answer, a female officer appears at the door. She sounds hesitant, like she doesn’t want to disturb him. Or like she isn’t sure what to think of something.
“What can I do for you, Officer Lee?” he asks, snapping out of whatever emotional space that held him.
“There’s a couple who just showed up here and they say they have something that might be important to thecase.”
“Who is it?” Garrison asks.
“Mr. And Mrs. Pruett.”
“Anthony’s parents,” I say to Garrison.
“I’m coming,” hesays.
“Um,” Officer Lee says. “They want to talk toher.”
She gestures at me.
“Show me theway.”
Officer Lee shows me to one of the rooms where they speak to witnesses or the families and friends of victims. They are larger than the interrogation rooms and have a warmer feeling. There’s nothing that will make the circumstances of having to be in one of these rooms pleasant or welcoming, but having them be less stark and foreboding than the interrogation rooms at least staves the chill a bit.
Two people are sitting in chairs positioned around an oval coffee table that reminds me of hospital waiting rooms, complete with out-of-season plastic flowers. They’re leaned toward each other, their foreheads nearly touching as they murmur to each other about something. The woman sniffles and touches a tissue to her face. I have a feeling she’s crying for more than just her son’sdeath.
“Mr. and Mrs. Pruett?” I start to break the silence and let them know I’m there. They turn and the husband stands first before helping his wife to her feet. “Agent EmmaGriffin.”
I extend my hand and he shakes it. “Yes. Of course. We know. I’m Jonah. This is my wife, Caroline.”
“Hello,” I say. “The officer let me know you wanted to speak withme.”
