“We have some more questions for you,” Larry said.
“Shoot. Not literally, of course.”
Amanda blinked at the joke, not getting it. Larry sighed inwardly. He had heard it a thousand times.
“The cook said there were other runaways at Brightwood,” Larry said. “But I couldn’t find any reports.”
“Hmm.” The constable frowned. “I think she might have gotten that wrong. I don’t recall any runaways. Not on my watch.”
“She seemed quite clear about it,” Larry said.
“Not that I recall.” He shook his head.
“What about Dennis? Did they file a runaway report for him?”
“No need. Once they discovered he was missing, someone went after him.”
“The custodian?”
The constable looked surprised. “Yes, that is correct.”
“What was the custodian’s last name?” Larry asked.
“I’ve told you I don’t recall.”
“But it would be in your report.”
“After you left last time, I checked for the report. It’s gone. I think my former secretary might have purged it. You know the law. After seven years, police records can be purged.”
“Minus those for murder,” Larry said.
“Are you saying the boy was murdered?”
“Are you saying your unsolved case reports were destroyed?”
“The case wasn’t unsolved. The boy was swept away.”
“The body was never recovered. That makes it unsolved. All youhad was the eyewitness account of one man, a custodian whose last name you say you don’t remember. What about that doesn’t seem right to you?”
The constable was staring at Larry. The pulse in his neck became visible.
“I think we are done here,” he said.
“Please,” Amanda spoke up. She pulled the photograph from her pocket. She had wrapped it in plastic, to keep it safe. It was all she had of her brother. “This is my brother,” she said. “I know the center wasn’t your business. But it was under your jurisdiction, right?”
“Yes,” the constable answered. His eyes, very dark, stayed on Larry.
“So Dennis was your responsibility.”
“Yes, miss. He was.”
“I just want to know what happened to him.”
“I think you do know. You’re just denying the truth, and your friend here isn’t helping you any by chasing phantoms. It’s something retired officers do, at times. They can’t leave the work behind. Can they, Mr. Palmer?”
Back outside, the last of the fog had blown away, and the day was both bright and muted, in the distorted echo chamber of mist that Amanda was learning was the coast. In the distance, the foghorns were dying down.
Larry seemed unfazed by their encounter with the constable.
