I answered with care because this part would sting, too. “I’m pretty sure I saw him.” Chance’s mouth opened—he looked horrified—and even Becky paled. “Twice,” I continued. “Once, the day we were in court, and then again right after Tyra … you know.”

“Right after she was hacked into a million pieces.” Chance almost came over the seat. “Is that what you mean? Right after Tyra was killed, and right before Sara was abducted.”

“Settle down, Chance.”

“You settle down! Jesus!” He slammed a palm on the seat top, then dropped back into a cross-armed, clench-jawed silence.

“Are you sure it was him?” Becky asked it softly, as if to make the point that she and Chance were very different people.

“He matched the description, like he was forty but looked sixty. Small and narrow. Not particularly dangerous-looking. Just like Jason said.”

“Where else did you see him?”

“On Tyra’s street, parked in a car…”

“Oh, that’s perfect,” Chance said. “On her street.”

“It might not have been him.”

“But you believe it was?” Becky asked.

“It would be one hell of a coincidence, a man like that parked on her street so soon after Tyra’s death. And it is an oddly particular description. Specific. Nonspecific. Like you said. And he’s easy to miss, too; he just kind of fades. Had I not seen him in court, I wouldn’t have noticed him the second time.”

“But you did see him in court.” Chance interrupted. “You did notice him the second time.”

“He was watching me, too. Maybe thirty seconds as I walked to my car.”

Becky was the first to see the bigger picture. “If Jason knows who killed Tyra, why won’t he tell the police?”

This part bothered me, too. “Maybe he doesn’t really know. Maybe he has no proof.”

“No, I think he’s definitely protecting you.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because it’s what you would do.” Becky leaned close, like it was the two of us, alone in the world. “Think about it. He won’t answer your questions or let you near the investigation. He’s warned you about this horrible man. He all but begged you to stop asking questions. If he knows who killed Tyra, he would want to tell the police—any innocent man would—unless there’s some powerful reason not to.”

“He said we’re barely family.”

“Do you really think he believes that?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Aren’t you, though?”

I drove the car in silence.

I had no kind of answer.