“Nothing.”

“Do you ever dream about it?” she asked.

“No. I don’t dream.”

“I bet you do, Finn.”

“Go. Just go. Get away from me.”

“Tell me about your dreams.”

Finn shook his head mutely. She knew he was ready to break.

“Tell me,” she repeated.

“I have nightmares,” he whispered. “I’ve had them for years.”

“About what? What do you see?”

“Blood.”

Tish waited.

“There’s so much blood,” he said. “It’s all over her.”

“What else?”

“Noise. Like something sucking. Gurgling. And the wind. Except it’s not the wind. It whooshes. Like a bird’s wings.”

“What is it?” Tish asked. But she knew.

Finn’s eyes grew wide, and his mouth opened into a hole like the entrance to a cave. “It’s the bat. I can see it going up and down. Up and down. I can’t make it stop. Somebody make it stop!”

He stared at his hands. His bandaged hands.

“I killed her,” he said. “Don’t you understand? I killed her.”

35
___________

“Who killed her?” Stride asked Hubert Jones.

“I have no idea.”

Stride shook his head in frustration. “Then why are we here?” Jones tilted his bottle of beer and drained it, then dabbed at his puffy lips with a napkin. They had relocated to a quiet table in the rear of a bar in Terminal 5.

“I never said I knew who killed that girl,” Jones said. “I only know that it wasn’t me. When I last saw her, she was alive. I was shocked when word spread at the tracks that she had been murdered.”

“Why not come forward?”

Jones chuckled and shook his head. “When a white girl gets murdered, the first question that the police ask is, ‘Who was the nearest black man?’ You said yourself, the cop on the case was dirty. I knew what was coming. I knew I had to get out of town.”

“You said Laura had secrets,” Stride said.

“Yes, she did. I knew it the moment I saw this girl.”

“When was that?” Stride asked.

“In the woods. I saw her pass me no farther away than you are now, but she didn’t even see me. She was determined. She had a destination in her heart. It was in her walk and how she held her backpack. I looked at her and I thought to myself, tomorrow this girl will be gone. Not gone as in dead, mind you. Gone as in somewhere else. Gone as in starting a new life.”

Stride wasn’t convinced. “Tell me about the fight in the softball field.”

“I heard the girl scream. I came upon the two of them in the long grass. The boy had her pinned. He was kissing her, tearing at her clothes, and she was fighting back, beating at him.”

Stride waited.

“I became enraged,” Jones continued. “To me, rape is the ultimate disrespect. It’s the barbarian who strips a woman of her soul.”

“Exactly what did you do?”

“I saw something in the grass. A baseball bat. I picked it up and struck the boy in the back. I jabbed it like a spear and heard his ribs breaking. He let go of the girl, and I picked him up bodily and threw him into the weeds. When I bent over to see to the girl, the boy launched himself at me again. I hit him in the face then. He fell backward. He was unconscious.”