“Ah,” Randall said. “Well, that’s good. Another witness. Do you think you’ll be able to find him?”

“Jon says he’s a vagrant who lives down by the tracks,” Ray said.

“Oh, so you’ve seen him before?” Randall asked Stride.

Stride nodded.

“Isn’t that lucky,” Randall said. “Detective, I hope you can apprehend him. Of course, I know that these people are often desperate itinerants. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s long gone by now. He must know that the police will be on his trail.”

“No doubt,” Ray said.

“Do you need anything else from Peter right now?”

Ray shook his head. “Not for the moment.”

“That’s good. Do you have another minute, Detective? I’d like to share something with you privately.”

Ray rubbed his mustache and nodded at Stride. He tossed him the keys to the Camaro, which Stride caught in midair. “Wait outside for me, okay, Jon? I won’t be long. Play the radio, if you like.”

Stride and Peter left the room together. The waning sunlight gathered through the high windows in the vault of the foyer, but where the two boys were, the room was filled with dusty shadows. Stride heard a clock ticking. A gamey smell of venison rose from the downstairs kitchen. Peter escorted him silently to the front door, and Stride felt a frozen tension between them.

“You weren’t dating Laura,” Stride said.

“What are you, a cop? Leave it alone.”

“Did you kill her?”

“No, I didn’t, you asshole. Get the hell out of here.”

Peter yanked the heavy door open. Stride shoved past him and heard the door slam as soon as he had cleared the threshold. He kicked at the loose gravel, then bent down and picked up a loose rock and hurled it into an oval duck pond. He walked past Ray’s Camaro and found a black wrought-iron bench in the gardens, where he sat down, his long legs stretched out. He waited. Silhouettes of birds flitted among the fir trees. The air outside was humid, and he began to sweat. Twenty minutes later, the front door opened again, and Ray came out alone. Ray lit a cigarette and strolled over to the bench.

“Hey, Jon, sorry that took so long.”

“No problem.”

Ray exhaled a cloud of white smoke. “So what do you think?”

“I think Peter is lying.”

“Maybe,” Ray said, “but his story about this guy Dada tracks with what you saw. You didn’t spot this guy until after the storm hit and you left the softball game, right?”

“Right.”

“Any chance Peter saw him hanging around before the game?”

“Not likely,” Stride said. “I was already in the field when Peter arrived, and I didn’t see Dada anywhere around there.”

“So Peter must have seen him after you did. After the storm. When Laura was coming back to the softball field.”

“I guess so,” Stride said.

“Do you think Laura could have been hiding her affair with Peter?”

Stride frowned. “I think Cindy would have known.”