“He didn’t seem to have any close friends,” Stuart said. “Oh, he’s been on the Hospital Expansion Board for the past six years; and so have Len Thomason and Barney Simpson, which makes sense. They’re all health-care professionals, though from different aspects of the field. That minister got elected to the board last year, the one that conducted the memorial service. They’ve tried to get matching grants, federal money, private money, worked on fund drives, that kind of thing. Knott County really does need a new hospital, as you may have noticed.”

All roads seemed to lead to the hospital. No matter what direction I started out in, I ended up at the front doors of Knott County Memorial.

“Has the boy spoken yet?” I asked, aware that pretty soon Stuart and Klavin would decide not to answer any more questions, just because.

“Not yet.”

“And I know you’ve got him under very heavy, very careful guard?”

Klavin said, “You can believe that. Nothing will happen to that boy.”

“His family come forward?”

“Oh, yes, they’d reported him missing the night before. And we found his car on the side of the road about a mile from the Almand house. He had a flat tire, and no spare.”

“Well, that explains that. Considering the weather, he’d be glad to get a ride, no matter how nervous he was.”

“Kids never think anything can happen to them,” Stuart said grimly.

He’d found out different. He’d never be the same.

“Would you consider putting a guard on Manfred Bernardo?” I asked.

“He’s older than the other boys,” Stuart said.

“But he’s part of the case.”

“He’s an adult, and he’s in the hospital with plenty of people watching him,” Klavin said gruffly. “Our budget’s shot to hell.”

“It’s been interesting talking to you,” I said. “Thanks.”

“Did you know they were there?” Tolliver asked as we drove back to Doraville.

“No, I had no idea. I just wanted to look at the site again when it was clean.”

“Clean?”

“No bodies. Just dirt and trees.”

We drove in silence for a few minutes. Then I said, “Tolliver, if you knew you were going to be accused of murder in the next, say, three or four days—you weren’t sure when, but you knew it was coming—what would you do?”

“I’d run,” Tolliver said.

“What if you weren’t quite sure?”

“If I thought there was a chance I wouldn’t be picked out of the lineup, or whatever?”

I nodded.