his usual time, Jonah got off the bus, and seeing his father’s car, he went home instead of to Mrs. Knowlson’s. He scrambled into the bedroom excitedly because he hadn’t expected to see his father until later and thought they could do something together before he went out with Mark. But he saw the file and knew immediately what that meant. Though they talked for a few moments, Jonah sensed his father’s need to be alone and didn’t bother asking for anything. He wandered back to the living room and turned on the television.
The afternoon sun began to sink; at dusk, Christmas lights throughout the neighborhood began twinkling. Jonah checked on his father, even spoke from the doorway, but Miles never looked up.
Jonah had a bowl of cereal for dinner.
Still, Miles scoured the file. He jotted questions and notes in the margins, beginning with Sims and Earl and the need to get them to testify. Then he turned to the pages that dealt with the investigation of Otis Timson, wishing he’d been there in the first place. More questions, more notes. Did they check every car on the property for damage—even the junked ones? Could he have borrowed one, and from where? Would someone at an auto parts shop remember if Otis ever bought an emergency kit? Where would they have disposed of the car if it had been damaged? Call other departments—see if any illegal chop shops had been closed down within the last couple of years. Interview, if possible. Cut a deal if they can recall something.
A little before eight o’clock, Jonah came back into the bedroom, dressed and ready to go to the movies with Mark. Miles had forgotten about the outing completely. Jonah kissed him goodbye and headed out; Miles went straight back to the file without asking when he’d be back.
He didn’t hear Sarah come in until she called his name from the living room.
“Hello?... Miles? Are you here?”
A moment later she appeared in the doorway, and Miles suddenly remembered that they were supposed to have a date.
“Didn’t you hear me knock?” she asked. “I was freezing out there, waiting for you to answer, and I finally just gave up. Did you forget that I was coming over?”
When he looked up, she saw the distracted, distant look in his eyes. His hair looked as if he’d been running his hand through it for hours.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Miles started shuffling the papers back together. “Yeah...I’m fine. I’ve just been working...I’m sorry...I lost track of time.”
She recognized the file and her brow arched up. “What’s going on?” she asked.
Seeing Sarah made him realize how exhausted he felt. His neck and back were stiff, and he felt as if he were coated in a thin layer of dust. He closed the file and set it aside, his mind still on the contents. He rubbed his face with both hands, then looked at her over his fingers.
“Otis Timson was arrested today,” he said.
“Otis? What for?”
Before she’d finished her question, she suddenly realized the answer, and she inhaled sharply.
“Oh... Miles,” she said, moving toward him instinctively. Miles, aching everywhere, stood up and she slipped her arms around him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she whispered, holding him tight.
As he embraced her, everything he’d felt during the day came rushing back. The mixture of disbelief, anger, frustration, rage, fear, and exhaustion magnified the renewed feelings of loss, and for the first time that day, Miles gave in to them all. Standing in the room with Sarah’s arms around him, Miles broke down, the tears coming as though he’d never cried before.
Madge was waiting for Charlie when he got back to the station. Normally off at five, she stayed for an extra hour and a half waiting for him. She was standing in the parking lot, her arms crossed, hugging her long wool jacket against her.
Charlie stepped out of the car and brushed the crumbs from his pants. He’d grabbed a burger and fries on the way home, washing it all down with a cup of coffee.
“Madge? What are you still doing here?”
“Waiting for you,” she answered. “I saw you pull up and I wanted to talk to you out of earshot.”
Charlie reached into the car and grabbed his hat. In the chill, he needed one. He didn’t have enough hair anymore to keep his head warm.
“So what’s up?”
Before she answered, a deputy pushed through the door and Madge looked over her shoulder. Buying time, she said simply, “Brenda called.”