The Hiding Place by David Bell Read Free Book Online Page B

the present. But who was he to think he could play psychological mind games with the family member of a crime victim? Stynes was who he was—an aging detective in a midsized Midwestern town, a guy who had investigated three murders in almost thirty years as a cop. He too had seen the pathetic picture of a doughy, paunchy Dante Rogers in the morning paper, and like Janet Manning he even felt the questions rise in his own mind: had this guy really lured a little kid away from a playground and killed him? Unlike Janet Manning, Stynes was supposed to know better. Regular-looking people committed awful crimes every day. Appearances didn’t tell the whole story. They never did. Circumstantial or not, Dante Rogers was guilty. He had served his time.
    But Stynes held his own doubts, had held them for the past twenty-five years. Sure, they’d done everything right while they investigated the crime, and the case—circumstantial though it was—held enough water to put Rogers away. Stynes fell back on an old trick, one that had served him well ever since the jury returned with a conviction against Dante Rogers: he told himself to forget about it, to not dwell on things from the past that didn’t need to change. It was over, long over. More important, it was time for everyone to move on.
    “Maybe if you think of this as the last time you have to answer these questions, it will make it easier,” Stynes said.
    Janet nodded but didn’t seem convinced.
    “You know, Janet—” Stynes began. He shifted forward on the couch. He’d always wanted to say something to her but never felt the time or moment was right, even when she was a kid. He decided to take his chance. “No one blames you for what happened. It wasn’t your fault.”
    Janet looked surprised by what he said. Her eyes widened a bit, and Stynes worried he’d overstepped his bounds and said the wrong thing.
    “Thank you, Detective,” she said.
    “I hope you don’t mind me saying so,” he said. “I’ve worried sometimes—”
    Janet shook her head and smiled, and Stynes saw the smile contained a hint of bitterness.
    “I’m not worried about that at all, Detective,” she said. “In fact, these days, that’s the least of my concerns.”

Chapter Eight
    Janet let the reporter in and wondered if some kind of mistake had been made. The girl—woman?—looked too young to be a newspaper reporter unless it was for her high school paper. The only difference between the whip-thin blond girl entering her living room and Ashleigh’s friends from Dove Point High was her clothes, which looked impeccably professional. Knee-length skirt, white top, black pumps, and a leather bag to match. The girl—
woman
—introduced herself as Kate Grossman of the
Dove Point Ledger
, and she apologized for being late, even though she wasn’t.
    Stynes stood and shook hands with Kate, and they all settled into their seats. Kate sat on the opposite end of the couch from Stynes, and Janet noticed the detective take a quick, admiring peek at the reporter’s backside before she sat down. Janet looked at the reporter and then at Stynes. The contrast was striking. The reporter looked to be fresh out of college. Her hair was long and yellow and shined with such good health that Janet involuntarily raised a hand to her own hair and touched her split ends. Detective Stynes looked older than Janet knew him to be. His hair was thin and wiry, and his small physique and below-average height—Janet guessed he was about five feet seven—made him seem more like a high school math teacher than a police detective. He walked with his shoulders slumped a little, as if some unseen weight rested there, pushing down ever soslightly. But she liked him. He tried to reassure her. He just didn’t understand—or
know
—everything she knew.
    “I’m so glad you took the time to talk to me, Mrs. Manning,” Kate said. Her eyes widened when she spoke, as though every word lifted her to a new level of