“Listen, Tish,” Stride said. “I’m going to tell you a couple things, but like I said before, it’s off the record. Okay?”

Tish nodded unhappily.

“I need to hear you say it,” Stride said.

“Yes, this is off the record.”

“Good. You have to remember that I know this case inside and out. I lived it back then with Cindy and with Ray Wallace, who was the cop in charge of the investigation. When I took over the Detective Bureau, I went through the file page by page. I reviewed all the evidence, because I had my doubts, too. I didn’t find anything new that pointed at Peter or at anyone other than Dada, the man I confronted near the railroad tracks.”

“So what did you find?” Tish asked.

“First, there was a fingerprint report. There were prints on the baseball bat that matched Dada’s.”

“Except it was Peter Stanhope’s bat,” Tish said. “I read about that in the paper. His prints must have been on the bat, too.”

“Yes, but his prints made sense. Dada’s prints didn’t.”

“Laura was being stalked,” Tish insisted. “Someone had been pursuing her for weeks. That wasn’t a stranger. It was someone who knew her.”

Stride put a hand lightly on her shoulder. “The police knew about the stalking.”

“Are you sure?”

“Cindy told them. I was there when she told Ray. Look, Cindy thought the same thing you did—that whoever had been pursuing Laura was the one who killed her. She even had one of the notes that this guy sent her. A porn photo with a warning scrawled on it.”

“So?”

“So there weren’t any fingerprints on the photo,” Stride said. “It wasn’t helpful.”

“That was then. Don’t they have better techniques for raising prints now? Maybe there’s still something there.”

Stride nodded. “We have much more sophisticated techniques for that kind of thing, but what we don’t have is the photograph. It’s gone, along with the other crime scene photos they took back then. So’s the bat. Somewhere along the line, much of the physical evidence from the case was lost.”

“Son of a bitch!” Tish exclaimed. “Don’t you think that’s suspicious?”

“You’re talking about a case from thirty years ago. Things get misplaced.”

He didn’t tell her his own suspicion that Ray Wallace was the one who had made the evidence disappear.

Tish walked away. They were near the lighthouse at the end of the pier. She climbed the steps and leaned back against the chapped white paint of the light tower with her arms folded. Her purse was slung over her shoulder. Stride followed her up the steps.

“I’m sorry,” he told her.

Tish looked up at him. “Can I trust you?”

“What?”

“You said you don’t trust me. Can I trust you?”

“I think you can. There will always be things I have to keep confidential, but I won’t lie to you.”

Tish unzipped her purse. She slid out a small, clear plastic bag that contained a yellowed envelope. He could see block handwriting, and even without taking it in his hand, he saw the name written on the front.