He leans against the counter.
“It’s not crazy,” Judy says. “Think about it. The majority of Sluiter’s killings took place not far from here. And all of them in the early sixties, right when Bear disappeared, and right before Sluiter was caught.”
“True.”
“And now,” she says, “he’s escaped, right at the same time that Barbara Van Laar goes missing. Am I saying something wrong?”
She stops, annoyed. Hayes is laughing.
“You’ve got the bug,” he says.
“What bug?”
“It’s a good thing,” he says. “We’ve all got the bug. Go on.”
“The second theory is more popular in the town,” says Judy. “And it’s one you won’t like to hear.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it’s more—controversial, I guess,” she says. “It’ll make more waves.”
“Go on.”
She sips from her coffee, steadying her nerves.
“Mr. Alcott says that the majority of people in Shattuck—the ones who don’t think Sluiter did it, anyway—think that Bear’s grandfather is to blame.”
She expects him to scoff. Instead, he turns and looks out the window, his hands on the counter next to the sink. He’s quiet for long enough that she gets worried.
“Are you all right?” she says.
“I remember that theory,” says Hayes. “I remember it being spoken of, when the boy went missing.”
Judy stares at him. Why hadn’t he mentioned this before? She had—interviewed the man, her first day here. According to Hayes, he was a minor player. Someone above suspicion. Frantically, she searches her memory for anything he said that sounded suspicious, but all she can remember is his demeanor: Dismissive. Impatient. Unkind.
“What happened?” Judy asks. “Was he interviewed back then? Did anyone in the BCI think he did it, too?”
“According to the records I’ve been going through,” says Hayes, “some did. But no one pursued it.”
“Why didn’t they?”
Hayes pauses. “Well,” he says. “Couple reasons. Carl Stoddard seemed pretty suspicious to everyone, according to some of the guys here who’ve been around long enough to remember. He was the last person to see Bear. There was some carving that was found—a whittled bear—that Bear had apparently been carrying just before he disappeared. That was the only trace of the boy that was ever located. Turned out Stoddard had been the one teaching him to whittle. Everyone thought he had a kind of obsession with Bear.”
Judy waits.
“Second,” he says, “the Van Laars’ attorney liked him for the crime. And he was aggressive from the start.”
Now it’s Hayes’s turn to wait for Judy to catch up.
“McLellan,” says Judy.
He nods.
“Senior,” says Judy.
Hayes nods again.
Judy thinks. “Can I take this lead?” she says.
“Bear’s grandfather?” says Hayes, and Judy nods. She can talk to people like him, she thinks. She knows how.
“All right, as long as you don’t scare him off,” says Denny Hayes. “He’s right up there at the main house, as far as I know.”
• • •
Before she can set off, there’s a knock on the front door of the Director’s Cabin, and Investigator Goldman comes in, panting, shirt untucked.
He looks from Judy, to Hayes, to Judy again.
“Either of you any good with kids?” he asks—doing his best to phrase the question neutrally—but his implication is clear. Judy, as a woman, will take this one.
Judyta
1950s | 1961 | Winter 1973 | June 1975 | July 1975 | August 1975: Day Three
Outside the Director’s Cabin, a tiny boy is waiting with his parents.
“Mr. and Mrs. Muldauer,” says Hayes. “This is Investigator Luptack. She’ll be speaking with Christopher, if that’s all right.
