Vern sighs, and I hear something like resignation in that small release of breath. “Leroy was a good boy,” he says adamantly. “But there was a time, a few years, when he liked to live his life on the fast road.”

“Sometimes even good kids get into trouble.” I shrug, hoping he’ll elaborate, knowing that sometimes parents withhold details to protect their children. Or in this case, the reputation or memory of their child. “Sometimes that’s part of growing up.”

“Leroy went through a phase when he was drinking alcohol,” Sue tells me. “Smoking cigarettes. And he ran around with a few English girls.”

“Loose girls,” Vern adds.

“Did he have a girlfriend?” I ask.

Another long look between the elderly couple, and I realize they’ve been together for so long they can practically read each other’s minds.

“We don’t know for sure,” Vern says finally.

“Leroy was … quiet about such things,” Sue adds. “You know, private.”

“But we think he was seeing a girl.”

“Any idea who she was?” I ask.

Vern shakes his head. “I asked him about it once. Leroy just grinned like he always did and said he’d tell me when he could. I’m not one to pry so I let it be.”

“What led you to believe he was seeing someone?” I ask.

“Well,” Vern says slowly, “his attitude changed mostly. He became a happy young man. Had a spring in his step, I guess. He stopped drinking and running around.”

“He stopped seeing those loose English girls.” Sue spits out the words as if they’re a bad taste.

We fall silent. I sip the tea, everything they’ve told me about their son turning over in my head. “What about friends?”

“He used to run around with Clarence Underwood back in the day,” Vern tells me.

“They were best friends,” Sue agrees. “I never liked that boy. Had shifty eyes. But Leroy thought he was the berries.”

I pull out my notebook and write down the name, but I’m familiar with Clarence Underwood. Three years ago, I busted him on a charge of manufacturing methamphetamine, which was a first-degree felony because there were two children in the home at the time. Just two months ago, I received notification from the Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Correction that Underwood was about to be released after a two-year stint in Mansfield. I did my due diligence as chief and stopped by his rental house to welcome him back. He wasn’t happy to see me, but the visit let him know I’ve got eyes on him. So far Underwood has kept his nose clean, but I’m certain the list of things he doesn’t get caught doing is a lot longer than the things we in law enforcement know about.

“Is it possible your son was involved in drugs?” I ask.