“I bet you do.”
They pause, watching T.J., who closes her eyes for such a long time that Judy wonders if she’s asleep. Then she opens them.
“I think she was afraid the Van Laars were right on the cusp of framing an innocent person again. Just like they did with Carl Stoddard.”
Hayes turns to her, frowning. “McLellan?” he says. “She thinks McLellan’s innocent?”
“No,” says Judy. “She thinks he did it. But McLellan, Junior, is the Van Laar’s godson. He’ll take over the bank someday, according to his sister—since the Van Laars have no son. And McLellan, Senior, has a lot of sway over the family, and the bank. T.J. was afraid the McLellans would convince the family that Louise Donnadieu was the culprit.”
Hayes pauses.
“So the Hewitts came forward to save Louise Donnadieu’s reputation?”
“And Carl Stoddard’s. All these years later.”
Hayes nods.
“Never too late, I guess,” he says.
• • •
Together, they watch as T.J. Hewitt turns her face toward the one window in the interrogation room. It’s too high to give any view of the buildings outside, or even of the trees; but still she searches it, her eyes moving rapidly. She breathes deeply, face turned toward the bright sky.
What will she do now, wonders Judy, if the Hewitts lose the camp? If the Van Laars cut them out entirely, as they’ll no doubt do, snapping the thin thread that has stretched for decades between the Hewitts and Peter the First?
And she answers her question herself: They’ll be fine. The Hewitts—like Judy, like Louise Donnadieu, like Denny Hayes, even—don’t need to rely on anyone but themselves.
It’s the Van Laars, and families like them, who have always depended on others.
Judyta
1950s | 1961 | Winter 1973 | June 1975 | July 1975 | August 1975: Day Six
Technically, her shift is over. But now that she no longer has to answer to her parents each night, Judy can stay as long as she likes. Until her work is done.
Hayes, on the other hand, has to get home to his family.
Before he leaves, he claps her on the shoulder. “Good work,” he says. “I mean it.”
• • •
In the wake of the Hewitts’ revelation about the Van Laars, Investigator Goldman is on his way to obtain arrest warrants for both Van Laar men—Peters II and III—and also for John Paul McLellan Sr., on charges of criminal conspiracy for their role in lying to the police in the 1961 drowning of Bear Van Laar. Vic Hewitt may be formally charged as well; but given the state of his health, it’s unlikely he’ll serve time.
Tonight, at a press conference, Captain LaRochelle will announce the discovery of Bear Van Laar’s body. He will also announce that the case has been reopened, with more information forthcoming to the public as soon as he can disclose it.
Within a week, she suspects, Carl Stoddard’s name will be publicly cleared; and his wife, Maryanne, can at long last retire from haunting the grounds of the Van Laar Preserve, looking for any evidence that might restore her husband’s innocence.
The Van Laars, on the other hand, will finally suffer the consequences of their actions.
All of these developments should, in theory, give her a feeling of peace.
But instead, the feeling she has is that there’s more work to do—another whole case to solve.
Because Barbara Van Laar—or Barbara Van Laar’s body—still hasn’t been found.
• • •
In the parking lot at Ray Brook, she gets into her Beetle. Drives south on the thruway, toward Shattuck. These days, she does her best reasoning in her car.
The most logical conclusion, she thinks, is that Barbara was killed by John Paul McLellan. All of the evidence points in this direction: the bloody uniform, most damningly; but also the mural, the references Barbara made to an “older boyfriend,” her nightly excursions up Hunt Mountain, the fingerprints, pulled from beer bottles, that indicate that John Paul had been living there for some time.
Given all of this evidence, Judy feels as if she should be more certain of John Paul’s guilt.
But something isn’t sitting right with her.
More than that: without finding Barbara—alive or otherwise—they still can’t make an arrest. And this means that John Paul McLellan will go free.
Over and over again, she goes through the pieces of the puzzle, willing a final piece to land in place.
But it doesn’t, and doesn’t.
For a while, Judy drives in silence, until her stomach rumbles so loudly that she laughs.
Last night, she ate dinner in Shattuck’s only restaurant, which was more like a bar.
At the bottom of the exit off the thruway, she squints into the darkness, looking for the sign.
There it is: Driscoll’s.
Judy, still in her same wrinkled pantsuit from a long day of work, turns right, and then right again, into the driveway of Driscoll’s Pub.
Louise
1950s | 1961 | Winter 1973 | June 1975 | July 1975 | August 1975: Day Six
Put on a shirt,” says Louise. “A real shirt.”
By this she means a shirt with a collar. Her little brother has been wearing the same Led Zeppelin T-shirt, thin from use, for a year.
“I don’t have one of those,” says Jesse. So she gives him her own: a white Camp Emerson polo, unisex enough to make him unashamed.
“I’m taking you out to dinner,” says Louise.
• • •
At Driscoll’s, the air is smoky, the atmosphere one of disuse.
Several men Louise vaguely recognizes play pool in the middle of a side room. The dining room, where Louise and Jesse sit, is empty but for a woman sitting at the bar.
