“And I’m better than basic?”

I smiled. “Certainly more important. You’ve been through a lot. How does it feel to be home again?”

“Like I have a target painted on my back.”

We continued to talk. He was obviously coming to terms with his freedom, and all the things that had happened since Becky Drake’s death. He seemed pleasant enough, but I thought under the calm facade he was simmering. I wasn’t surprised. Years of his life had vanished, and despite his release, too many people were treating him as if he was still a murderer.

I thought it was a good thing I was interviewing him now. I had a feeling Quayle wasn’t going to stay in Seabank for long, and this might be all the Free Press ever got directly from him.

The interview went well enough, and I stuck to the basics because what would I do with anything else? Tell Grant he’d been wrong not to let me strut my stuff? Quayle seemed to relax as we spoke. I have an excellent memory, so I took few notes, planning to write down most of what was said after we finished. We were there for half an hour, and we were more or less done when he checked his watch. The storm seemed to drift away, but the skies were still gray and night would fall soon.

“I have to be somewhere by nine,” he said. “You have enough for your article?”

“Not an article. Just background for one in the future. And you’ve been helpful.”

“You didn’t take many notes.”

“I have it all right here.” I tapped the side of my head. “But I’m going to stay and write it down.”

He had a nice smile, the kind that promises that the used car he just sold you will run another hundred thousand miles. I didn’t like him, and I didn’t feel I’d gotten very far under the surface, or that I even wanted to. But I also knew that someone who’d been incarcerated unfairly might not care about being likable. Sincerity might take a while to relearn.

He stood and I stood, too, holding out my hand. “Thank you, Mr. Quayle. It was nice of you to take the time to set the record straight. The Free Press wants to do that. Can they count on you for a more in-depth interview in the future?”

“Why not? Maybe someday the cops will even get around to catching whoever killed Becky. Then you’ll have a whole new feature to interview me for.”

I nodded, although from talking to Teo, I knew the local cops were sure they’d already caught their man, and he was now walking the streets again. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to see that day.”

He stopped by the counter and left with a takeout cup, raising a finger in goodbye as he walked out the door. I watched until he had disappeared down the sidewalk. I might have nearly total recall, but memories are better the fresher they are. I stayed to jot more extensive notes, so I wouldn’t forget details before I got back to my parents’ house.