“I always knew that family did it,” says Judy’s father. “Back when it happened. Everyone knew they had something to do with it. We just didn’t know exactly how.”

Judy’s mother, who has been silent this whole time, suddenly takes Judy’s cup from her. Pours her more tea. She is a visitor in their home, now; a guest. The realization makes Judy feel proud and sorrowful at the same time.

“What about the girl? Barbara,” Leonard says. “Any leads there?”

There are. But she can’t tell her family about them—not yet—and so another curtain is drawn between them.

“Nothing substantial,” she says.

•   •   •

On the way back to Ray Brook, Judy watches the pines become taller and denser. She reaches her exit, turns onto 73. Climbs up and up in her Beetle.

In the car, she lets her mind wander again to the most recent developments in Barbara Van Laar’s disappearance.

Most interestingly: Annabel Southworth—Louise’s CIT—has come forward with a confession. She was with John Paul McLellan the night of Barbara Van Laar’s disappearance: once at ten p.m., during the community dance; and again in the early hours of the morning. She has provided him with an alibi; her parents, Katherine and Howard, have verified her story as well. The two families—the Southworths and McLellans, both good friends of the Van Laars—are supportive of the new relationship, despite Annabel’s young age.

They’re very compatible, said Katherine Southworth, in her signed affidavit.

The only other charges they had against John Paul—driving while intoxicated, and felony possession of a controlled substance—have been resolved. The bloody clothes—which John Paul maintains were planted—are not admissible as evidence without a charge. He’ll do no jail time; instead he’s been commanded to perform one hundred hours of community service work by a judge who seemed, to Judy, particularly chummy with John Paul’s father.

Judy is surprised by none of this: only slightly disappointed at the outcome.

•   •   •

But since then, there’s been something new. Although they may never be able to charge John Paul McLellan with anything related to the disappearance of Barbara Van Laar, they will be able to charge him with something else: second-degree aggravated assault.

The victim: Louise Donnadieu.

After some discussion with Judy, Louise has agreed to come forward with a complaint. Even better: several people have agreed to testify on Louise’s behalf. Judy has done the legwork of tracking down the witnesses who were there in John Paul’s shared house near Union College, the night of the attack: his roommate, Steven, along with three girls Steven named as guests of theirs on that occasion.

She thinks of the boys she went to high school with. The girls, too. Would they have been so brave? She isn’t certain. But it’s 1975 now, she tells herself. The world has changed.

•   •   •

“So what’s your theory?” her brother had asked, at the kitchen table. “If you can’t give us any new details—give us your hunch.”

“About?”

“Barbara Van Laar,” said her brother, and to her right her mother had made the sign of the cross. That poor child, she muttered lowly.

Judy looked out the window.

“I think she’s all right, actually,” said Judy.

Leonard furrowed his brow.

“How do you know?”

“I don’t know. I just have a feeling,” said Judy.

•   •   •

The night she ran into Louise Donnadieu at Driscoll’s Pub, Louise said one thing that has echoed in Judy’s mind for weeks.

On a whim, Judy had asked Louise about T.J. Hewitt. Because, despite her belief in T.J.’s innocence, she could never shake the story that the boy—Christopher—told her.

Why on earth, thought Judy, was Barbara going into T.J. Hewitt’s tent at night? What could she have been doing there, aside from something—incorrect?

And so, with two beers in her belly, and her inhibitions lowered, she floated this idea to Louise Donnadieu. Making sure she was out of earshot of her brother before she did.

Louise had laughed.

“What?” said Judy.

“There’s no way,” said Louise.

“Why?”

“A lot of people think T.J.’s strange,” said Louise, “but she’s harmless. She’s better than harmless. She’s a good person. All she wants to do is hunt and fish and be alone. Her family’s got a place on an island up north. I think she’d move there now if she could.”

Louise flagged the bartender down. Ordered a beer for herself.

“She just needs money first,” said Louise.

Judy watched her.

“Where exactly?” she said.

Louise furrowed her brow. “Where what?”

“The island. The house.”

“Oh, I don’t know the name of it,” said Louise. “But she’s got a map of it on the wall of the Director’s Cabin. Last time I looked, there was a pin where the cabin is.”

She drank again.

And then, slowly, she looked up at Judy. Realizing.

•   •   •

It would be career-making for Judy. Finding Barbara Van Laar—finding her alive, no less—would mean a promotion. Maybe two. It would set her on a path for success. And it would resolve the question that’s hovered over her head since she began her work as an investigator, the one that every male investigator she’s encountered has thought upon seeing her. Are women cut out for this work?

Captain LaRochelle, she knows, would find Barbara if he could. Every investigator would—but none of them would take into account Barbara’s preferences, or her safety.

Instead, they’d sacrifice Barbara’s well-being to better their own lot in life.

This, in fact, is what Captain LaRochelle did do, in a way, when Bear Van Laar disappeared, and when Carl Stoddard became a convenient suspect: he let Stoddard, voiceless in death, take the fall, while LaRochelle took the promotion that came with a closed case.