“The whole town,” says Judy, now. “Every person in Shattuck thinks the wrong man was blamed when Bear disappeared. And that the Van Laars were too quick to accept it.”

Hayes tilts his head in the direction of the Command Post in the Director’s Cabin.

“Come on,” he says. “I need coffee.”

Together, they walk. He glances at her.

“Judy, were you wearing the same outfit yesterday?”

She flushes. “Don’t remember,” she says.

It’s still raining, on and off, and her hair and clothing have gotten soaked and partially dried several times over. She must look like a drowned rat, she thinks.

“Judy,” says Hayes. “Where exactly did you hear this about Bear Van Laar?”

She tells him what happened last night, and early this morning.

He raises an eyebrow. They’ve reached the Director’s Cabin now, and he holds the door open for her. Judy goes inside first. Reflects for a moment on the time-capsule decorations, the World War II–era kitchen appliances, all of which clearly predate the director herself. Judy has seen her only a few times, wandering about the grounds. Each time, she’s looked beside herself with anguish. More distraught, thinks Judy, than the Van Laar parents themselves.

Hayes pours himself a mug of coffee. Holds one out to her, as well.

She takes it. She’s never been much of a coffee drinker—it’s something she associates with older people, with her own father—but since being on the Van Laar Preserve, she’s begun appreciating its bitterness and warmth, which now cuts through the wetness of her hair and clothing.

She sips. Grimaces. Sips again.

“So who does the town of Shattuck think is to blame?” says Hayes. “If Carl Stoddard was innocent.”

“Well, according to Mr. Alcott, there are two prevailing theories.”

“I’m all ears.”

“The first,” says Judy, “is that Jacob Sluiter did it.”

He looks at her. “Weren’t you the one asking me about Sluiter yesterday?”

“Well, yes,” says Judy. “But—it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Good old Slitter,” Hayes says. “The bogeyman of the North Woods. I’ve heard him blamed for every death—accidental or intentional—from here to Rochester.”

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.