“What’s this crap I hear about you opening a can of worms in the Mary Claire Fitzhugh case? I can’t believe you’d have the gall to meddle in police business . . .”

The guy was yelling so loud it took me a minute to figure out who it was. “Lieutenant Dolan?”

My relationship with Lieutenant Dolan had spanned a number of years. Health issues had forced him to retire, but he was still plugged into the department grapevine. Having knocked heads early on, we’d finally come to an understanding based on mutual admiration and respect. I should have been inured to his occasional sharp tone, but it always took me by surprise.

“Who the hell else?”

“What can of worms are you talking about?”

“You know damn well. You’re off on some tangent, stirring up talk.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Not from Mrs. Fitzhugh’s perspective. She’s had enough wackos making claims about the child over the years.”

“Could you just tell me what you’ve heard and who you heard it from?”

“Cheney Phillips. He says he talked to some kid who thinks he saw Mary Claire’s body being buried. Phillips sends the guy to you and you get the cops all in a lather, thinking there’s been a break. Turns out it’s all bullshit and you’re responsible.”

“You want to hear my side of it?”

“No, I do not! How come I’m calling you when you’re the one who should be calling me? You should have told me about this on day one.”

“Why would I tell you?”

“Because it was my case,” he snapped. And then, grudgingly, “At least until the FBI stepped in.”

“How was I supposed to know?”

“Because everybody knew.”

“I was in high school. We didn’t meet until years later.”

“Didn’t Cheney mention my name when he sent the Sutton kid your way?”

“No. If I’d known you were involved, I’d have been on your doorstep, begging for information. I’ve been working out here on my lonesome and I could have used the help.”

“You didn’t know I was the lead detective?”

“Cheney never said a word. This is the first I’ve heard.”

“Are you blind? It’s right there in the files.”

“The files are sealed. And even if they weren’t, the police aren’t going to invite me down for a cozy chat about the case.”

“Well.”

“Yeah, well,” I said.

“Maybe I spoke in haste.”

“You certainly did. You owe me an apology.”

“Consider it done.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

I could hear him take a puff on his cigarette. “Okay, then. I’m sorry. Is that good enough?”

“Not quite, but I’ll give you the opportunity to atone.”

“How so?”