Mayfield’s voice never wavered. “It’s a simple question, Jamal. When did you last see Dylan Whitley?”

“Sunday.”

“At what time?”

“Late.”

“When Dylan drove you back from Galveston?”

“Yeah.”

Clark and Mayfield glanced at each other again.

“And what time did you return to town?” Mayfield said.

“Eight. No. Nine.”

“Which is it?”

“Nine.”

Mayfield frowned. Clark felt it too: one of these boys was lying, no question, but here, at least, their stories matched, just barely. KT too had said that he and Jamal had returned to town last night around nine o’clock.

“So Dylan dropped you off at your house around nine. He drove you because your car’s having alternator trouble?”

Jamal nodded his head yes.

“And did KT drive back by himself?”

Jamal flinched. Clark would bet money the boy had just realized he’d made a serious mistake.

“KT stayed in Galveston, I think. I don’t really know. He’s been a dick lately.”

Mayfield cocked his head. “Is that right? I understand you boys all went to Galveston a lot this summer.”

“Them two did. I hadn’t never been before. That’s why we went. So I could come.”

“KT told us it was your idea to go with them this time, Jamal,” Mayfield said, which was the truth: KT had divulged it at the end of his interview. Revealed that, and plenty else. “Is he correct?”

Jamal blinked. He toyed with the tissue in his fingers. “I guess.”

“Why did you want to join?” Mayfield said.

Jamal shrugged. “It seemed fun, I guess.”

Mayfield adjusted his shirt’s collar.

Clark spoke gently, as if this were just a simple mistake to clarify. “Jamal, why would KT tell us that he drove you home from Galveston last night, not Dylan?”

From somewhere outside, a door burst open and a moment later another door slammed. In the space between, a girl was screaming.

Jamal stared at the wall. “That sounded like Bethany.”

When the young man’s back was turned, Mayfield gave Clark a shake of his head. Jamal was shutting down on them.

“Jamal,” Clark said calmly. “Jamal, look at me, please. Is it true that Dylan talked about quitting the football program over the summer?”

Reynolds glanced at her. “He what?”

Clark said nothing.

“Why the fuck would Dylan want to quit?” Jamal sniffed. “What’s that even matter now?”

“Right now, Jamal, everything matters.”

The bell rang, a worried hum of voices flooded the hallway. Faces stopped to stare through the door’s window until Clark taped it shut with a sheet of paper.

Jamal said when she sat back down, “All I remember is back, back in June, D said he’s gonna get me more field time this season.”

“Is it possible that Dylan did more than talk about that?” Mayfield asked.

“He wasn’t shouting it.”

“Mr. Staler said that Dylan told you two he was quitting in June, but then the very next day he came around and said he’d changed his mind. Is that true?”

“I don’t know nothing about that.”