field, the soccer field, the blacktop with its painted-on hopscotch and four-square courts - they were all the same as when we were kids.
We walked past the window of Miss Sobel's second-grade class, but it was so long ago now that I think neither of us felt more than a ripple of nostalgia. We ducked into the woods, still hand in hand. Neither one of us had taken the path in twenty years, but we still knew the way. Ten minutes later, we were in Elizabeth's backyard on Goodhart Road. I turned to her. She stared at her childhood house with moist eyes.
"Your mother never knew?" I asked her.
She shook her head. She turned to me. I nodded and slowly let go of her hand.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked.
"No choice," I said.
I didn't give her a chance to argue. I stepped away and headed for the house. When I reached the sliding glass door, I cupped my hands around my eyes and peered in. No sign of Hoyt. I tried the back door. It was unlocked. I turned the knob and went inside. No one was there. I was about to head out when I saw a light snap on in the garage. I went through the kitchen and into the laundry room. I opened the door to the garage slowly.
Hoyt Parker sat in the front seat of his Buick Skylark. The engine was off. He had a drink in his hand. When I opened the door, he lifted his gun. Then, seeing me, he lowered it back to his side. I took the two steps down to the cement and reached for the passenger door handle. The car was unlocked. I opened the door and slid in next to him.
"What do you want, Beck?" There was the slur of drink in his speech.
I made a production of settling back in the seat. "Tell Griffin Scope to release the boy," I said.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied without an iota of conviction. '
"Graft, payola, on the take. Choose your own term, Hoyt. I know the truth now."
"You don't know shit."
"That night at the lake," I said. "When you helped convince Elizabeth not to go to the police."
"We talked about that already."
"But now I'm curious, Hoyt. What were you really afraid of - that they'd kill her or that you'd be arrested too?"
His eyes lazily drifted toward me. "She'd be dead if I hadn't convinced her to run."
"I don't doubt that," I said. "But still it was lucky for you, Hoyt - shooting down two birds with one stone like that. You were able to save her life - and you were able to stay out of jail."
"And why exactly would I go to jail?"
"Are you denying you were on Scope's payroll?"
He shrugged. "You think I'm the only one who took their money?"
"No," I said.
"So why would I be more worried than the next cop?"
"Because of what you'd done."
He finished his drink, looked around for the bottle, poured himself some more. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"Do you know what Elizabeth was investigating?"
"Brandon Scope's illegal activities," he said. "Prostitution. Underage girls. Drugs. The guy was playing at being Mr. Bad."
"What else?" I said, trying to stop quivering.
"What are you talking about?"
"If she kept digging, she might have stumbled across a bigger crime." I took a deep breath. "Am I right, Hoyt?"
His face sagged when I said that. He turned and stared straight out the front windshield.
"A murder," I said.
I tried to follow his gaze, but all I saw were Sears Craftsman tools hanging neatly on a pegboard. The screwdrivers with their yellow-and-black handles were lined up in perfect size order, flattops on the left, Phillips head on the right. Three wrenches and a hammer separated them.
I said, "Elizabeth wasn't the first one who wanted to bring Brandon Scope down." Then I stopped and waited, waited until he looked at me. It took some time, but eventually he did. And I saw it in his eyes. He didn't blink or try to hide it. I saw it. And he knew that I saw it.
"Did you kill my father, Hoyt?"
He took a deep swig from the glass, swished it around his mouth, and swallowed hard. Some of the whiskey spilled onto his face. He didn't bother to wipe it away. "Worse," he said, closing his eyes. "I betrayed him."