Of course, Barry and Maureen could have kept their son in his apartment by paying his rent, but that had struck both of them as an open-ended commitment they could not afford, so they’d offered him his old room. They had mixed feelings when he took them up on it, but as it turned out, even with Trevor living under the same roof with them, they saw little of him. He was out most evenings, and returned home after Barry and Maureen had turned out their lights.

Trouble was, they often lay awake until he came home, as if he were still a teenager with a curfew. When your kids no longer lived with you, Duckworth said, you didn’t care what their hours were. But when they were back sharing quarters with you, you couldn’t help but wonder, and worry, what they were up to.

“Is it Trevor?” he asked now.

He heard Maureen sigh. “He doesn’t seem himself these days.”

“Like how?”

“You haven’t noticed?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Aren’t cops supposed to be keen observers of human behavior?”

Duckworth wasn’t sure whether she was needling him or being serious. Maybe both.

“We’re distant second to mothers in that area,” he said.

“Sure, patronize me,” Maureen said.

“I’m not patronizing you.”

“You are. You think I’m being overly concerned.”

“Tell me what you’ve seen that I’ve been too dumb to notice.”

“Okay, it’s not anything specific. But he seems more withdrawn, more to himself.”

“He’s got a lot on his mind,” Barry said. “He’s looking for work, and living with his parents. How much fun can that be?”

“He spends a lot of time on the computer.”

“He’s probably looking at job ads. It’s not like you can find them in the paper any more.”

“I suppose so.”

They’d both wondered if Trevor needed to go back to school. Learn some kind of trade. After traveling around Europe with a girlfriend, he’d gone to Syracuse University and taken political science, and done well with it. Graduated. No one expected him to become a politician, or work for one, but they’d hoped his field of study would lead to something more challenging than driving a truck for that narcissistic asshole who was now the mayor of Promise Falls.

“I wish I had some idea where he goes off to every night,” Maureen said.

“We never knew where he went at night when he didn’t live with us. He’s entitled to a personal life. What he does at night isn’t any of our business.”

“I know. I—Gotta go. Customer.”

“Talk to you later,” Duckworth said.

When he got to Brian Gaffney’s parents’ house, it was nearly five in the afternoon, and there were two cars in the driveway. It was a modest but well-maintained two-story, and the cars were mid-price GM sedans, each about five years old.

Duckworth rang the bell, and seconds later a heavyset woman in her fifties opened the door.

“Yes?”

“Ms. Gaffney?”

“That’s right.”