“Which was?” says Goldman.

Judy is looking at something on the wall.

“Judy?” says Hayes.

“Investigator Goldman,” says Judy. “Who was the person running the search for Bear?”

“Well, the family was,” says Goldman.

“No,” says Judy. “The person providing direction. The person actually overseeing the search.”

Goldman looks down at the floor, thinking. Then he looks up. “I think it was the former camp director, actually,” he says. “The father of the current one. Vic Hewitt was his name.”

For a moment, Judy goes silent.

Then she walks down the hallway, toward the bedroom she now knows to be Vic’s.

When she returns, she proffers the group photo she found to Denny Hayes.

“Look,” she says, pointing to the pencil on the back. Blackfly Good-by. 1961. She flips it again to its front side. “Look again.”

A small group of investigators gathers around, looking at the photo.

Everyone in the picture is formally attired, children and adults alike, in dresses and suits. The women wear small hats. Even in black-and-white, she can see their lipstick and mascara.

Only two people stand off to one side, dressed differently: T.J., a young teenager; and her father Vic. Middle-aged. Bearded. Wearing a fishing hat with a floppy brim, and a plaid shirt rolled at the elbows, and corduroys patched at the knee.

Judy puts a finger to the girl. “That’s T.J. Hewitt,” she says. “Right? Doesn’t it look like her?”

Hayes nods.

“Which makes him,” says Judy, and Hayes says: “Vic Hewitt.”

She moves her finger back toward the larger group. “I’d describe them as summer people,” she said. “Based on their clothes. But how would you describe Vic?”

Hayes looks at her. “A local,” he says.

He turns to an investigator. Hands him the photograph. “Take this to Jacob Sluiter,” he says. “Ask him if he recognizes anyone in this photograph as the man who buried Bear Van Laar.”

•   •   •

A knock at the door interrupts them.

Anna, the conservator, stands blinking in the bright sunlight, exhausted.

LaRochelle, taking the last few drags on his cigarette, stands behind her.

“Anna, did you ever go home?” Judy asks her.

“No. I got excited.”

She turns and walks in the direction of the main house. Judy glances over her shoulder at Hayes, who glances at LaRochelle. Then the three of them follow her, trotting to keep up with Anna’s long strides.

•   •   •

With both Van Laar parents back in Albany, and most of the guests now gone, the house is almost empty.

Together, Judy and Anna walk to the pink room. Inside, the exposed mural is in plain sight.

Judy’s first reaction is to be surprised at the quality of the artistry. Barbara Van Laar could paint; that’s certain. The wall is covered with a set of icons Judy doesn’t understand: safety pins and flags and odd-looking faces with odder-looking haircuts. Music notes abound, as well.

A river makes its way from the upper left-hand corner of the wall to the lower right-hand corner.

Judy takes the whole thing in, scanning it rapidly to see if anything catches her eye.

“Do you see it yet?” says Anna.

Judy’s heartbeat quickens.

“See what?” says Captain LaRochelle, his head moving in quick circles as he takes the whole wall in.

“I don’t blame you,” says Anna. “The whole thing is overwhelming. But come closer.”

She walks to the river. Its waves, she realizes, are not just waves. They’re letters.

BVL + JPM, they spell.

The way that children, for decades or centuries, have memorialized their love.

•   •   •

“Barbara Van Laar plus John Paul McLellan,” Hayes says.

He’s asked for the Director’s Cabin to be cleared. As senior investigator, he has that authority. Now Judy sits opposite him in a folding chair, elbows on knees, gaze on ground.

“I think that’ll hold up as solid evidence,” says Hayes. “With any judge. We’ll start the process of getting a warrant for his arrest. The only question now is—where’d he stow the girl?”

“That’s not the only question,” says Judy.

“Oh?”

“The other one is: Did Vic Hewitt kill her brother Bear?”

Hayes looks at her. Then he slaps his knees and stands up.

“That’s your assignment, Judy,” he says. “Forget the grandfather, for now. Forget Jacob Sluiter. I’m on the lead desk, and that’s the lead I assign you. In the meantime, I’m driving down to the hotel McLellan’s staying in myself. I don’t trust these troopers to keep good tabs on him.”

Judyta