That same low thrumming begins in her abdomen. The feeling she got when she was talking to Mrs. Clute. The bug, Denny Hayes calls it.

“And how long did she stay there for?”

“I don’t know,” said Christopher. “I always fell asleep before she came out. In the morning, she’d be back at our campsite.”

“Thank you, Christopher,” says Judy. “This is really helpful. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

“She got hurt on that trip,” says Christopher.

“Barbara?”

He nods. “She was skinning a squirrel. She had an accident with the knife. She hurt herself bad. T.J. was the one who fixed her.”

“Anything else?”

“It kept happening,” says Christopher. “Even after we got back. I saw Barbara going to T.J.’s cabin every night.”

This he says quietly, with a certain resignation. At eight, he already understands the implication of what he’s saying—or at least that it isn’t right. For a child to go to the abode of an adult, late at night, in secret.

He looks as if he might cry.

“You’ve done a really brave thing, Christopher,” says Judy. “You’re a brave person. Thank you. I only have one more question for you.”

“Okay.”

“What’s the problem you have?”

He looks at her. Doesn’t understand.

“The problem you have, that keeps you awake?”

“Oh,” he says. His face turns a deep red. “Oh. I wet the bed.” He’s practically whispering now. The father puts his hand on his son’s shoulder.

“It happens,” says Judy. “You know, I wet the bed when I was a kid too.”

“You did?”

She didn’t. “I did.”

“If I can stay awake long enough,” says Christopher, “I can go to the bathroom one last time, after everyone else is asleep. Usually that helps.”

“I bet it makes you tired, though,” says Judy, and Christopher nods, with dignity.

•   •   •

Just before the Muldauers leave to go home, Mrs. Muldauer pulls Judy aside. She speaks in a whisper.

“We heard from a friend that this camp was the best around. And heaven knows the people who attend have good taste. But,” she says—inclining her head toward Judy’s, seeking out her eyes—“if I had seen the camp director in advance, I might have had second thoughts.”

Judy keeps her face very still.

“Especially if I had a daughter. Do you understand what I mean?”

Judyta

1950s | 1961 | Winter 1973 | June 1975 | July 1975 | August 1975: Day Three

I’ll work the lead on the grandfather,” says Hayes. “You go talk to T.J.” To his credit, he can tell that momentum is on Judy’s side.

“We need good notes,” Hayes reminds her, before walking away.

Judy nods, and then she walks toward the Staff Quarters, to which T.J. Hewitt has been relocated, ever since her house became the Command Post for the BCI.

•   •   •

T.J. Hewitt, her short hair disheveled, swipes at her face, as if she’s just woken up from sleep. She wears a white undershirt and cutoff blue jean shorts. She’s barefoot.

“Sorry,” says T.J. “I’m out of it. I haven’t been sleeping much.” She stretches.

Then, perhaps noticing Judy’s expression, she goes still. Sits up straighter.

“How can I help you, Investigator Luptack?” asks T.J.

Judy thought about her opening question on her walk over. Something open-ended, she decided; something neutral.

And so she begins: “Miss Hewitt—”

“T.J.”

“Excuse me. T.J. Can you tell me about your relationship to Barbara Van Laar?”

T.J. shifts. “Pretty sure I told Investigator Hayes all about it already,” she says.

“Well, would you mind telling me?” says Judy. “I’m trying to catch up.”

T.J. clears her throat. “I’ve known Barbara since she was born.”

“How old were you at that time?”

“Fourteen.”

Her voice is quiet. She looks just to the left of Judy’s head as she speaks, so intently that Judy turns her head briefly to see if something, or someone, is behind her. But the only thing she sees is the unfinished wood of the wall.

“And did you spend much time with her prior to her arrival at Camp Emerson?”

“I did.”

“Can you describe the time you spent with her?”