Walker could tell Jon was sorting through papers on his desk, reminding him that whatever Walker had to say, it was of less interest than the task right in front of him. “They’re digging up the hill off Alita Lane. Cops, cadaver dog, evidence van, the works.”

The paper rustling stopped. “Really. When was this?”

“I saw them just now, on my way home from work. I pulled over and chatted with a gal I knew. She said they thought a child was buried on the hill. They dug up the dog.”

“I’m surprised it hasn’t come up before. One way or another, something was bound to surface. There was always that risk.”

“Yes, but why now? Where’s this shit coming from?”

“I have no idea. I’m sure we’ll find out in due course. Are you all right?”

“So far. It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Don’t be paranoid. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“So you’ve said, but here it is anyway.”

“Cool it, man. Would you do that? Be cool. This won’t blow back on us. I guarantee.”

“Why after all these years?”

“No clue. The cops don’t consult with me.”

“But what could have happened?”

“Walker, it doesn’t matter. It’s a dead end so drop it. Where’s Carolyn?”

“Up north. At her mother’s. She took the kids.”

“Until when?”

“Monday.”

“Good. Gives you time to simmer down and get your head on straight.”

“Take a chill pill,” Walker said, echoing Jon’s unspoken admonition from their teen years.

“Exactly.”

“I’m sorry, but I had to call.”

“Good you did. Let me know if you hear anything else.”

Jon hung up without waiting for a response.

Walker replaced the handset in the mount on the wall. He lifted the glass and swallowed the whiskey in one smooth motion and then said, “Whooo!” Something loosened in his chest, the old familiar sensation he’d been longing for. He shook his head. He’d be fine. Everything was good.

He left his glass on the counter and went out to the mailbox. He brought in the mail and tossed it on the hall table. He made sure the front door was locked and then he returned to the kitchen and refilled his glass, two fingers of Maker’s Mark, the rest water. Easy does it, he thought. He shucked his jacket and placed it on the back of a kitchen chair. He opened the French doors and went out onto the patio. He settled in an upholstered chair and set his drink next to him, as he’d imagined it. He removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt collar, feeling he could breathe for the first time all day. He loved his life. He was a lucky guy and he knew that.