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“Not that I know of,” says K.W. “Jen, do you know anything?”
She stands where she is by the coffeemaker. She’s a long way down the counter from us, like she’s afraid of catching a flesh-eating virus.
Jen shakes her head.
“Not that I know of. If he knew any of them, he was keeping it a secret.”
“Was it his habit to keep secrets?” asks Vidocq.
“No. That was more TJ. Hunter is a good kid,” says K.W.
“He was on the debate team at school one semester,” says Jen, like it’s proof that Hunter is an angel and that none of this is happening. “But he had to quit to go out for track.”
I ask, “Did he do all right in school? No changes in his grades?”
“He was a hard worker,” says Jen.
K.W. smiles ruefully and nods.
“He did all his homework and his grades were decent, but there wasn’t much danger of him becoming a Rhodes scholar.”
While the coffee burbles away Jen starts getting cups down from the cupboard. She puts one down and stops. Her body has gone rigid again. Her heart rate is climbing fast. She’s trying not to cry. Probably doesn’t want to look weak in front of a bunch of strangers talking about her missing son like he’s a stolen dirt bike. K.W. gets up and wa"0"ts up alks over to her, puts his hands on her shoulders.
“Why don’t you go sit down? I’ll get the coffee,” he says.
She doesn’t reply, but comes over and sits on the stool K.W. just vacated. Her arms are crossed and she’s looking down at the counter.
Candy reaches out and touches Jen’s hand lightly.
“We’re very sorry to have to ask you all these questions.”
Jen nods, still staring down.
This is bullshit. The kid was a jock with ambitious parents. They’d lost their smart son, TJ, and hoped that Hunter would take his place. But Hunter isn’t TJ. If he joined the debate team, it was only to make his parents happy, and when he wanted off, he found a good enough reason that they couldn’t get mad.
K.W. puts down cups for everyone. I sip mine.
“This coffee is good,” I say to no one in particular.
K.W. nods.
“Yeah. It cost enough.”
“You have a coffeemaker this good at work?”
“That’s a funny question.”
“It is, isn’t it? But do you have a good coffeemaker at work?”
He shakes his head, still looking puzzled.
“Not this good, but the one in the office is okay. Most of the guys I work with wouldn’t know good coffee from kerosene. They’re the types who put on a pot on Monday and are still drinking it on Friday.”
“What kind of guys are we talking about?”
“Construction mostly. I’m a property developer. Someone has a piece of land and wants something on it, they call me.”
Makes sense. I remember seeing mud and cement around the wheel wells on the pickup in the drive.
