Mia knew the drill. She complimented him on the lacrosse trophies she’d seen on display when she’d walked into the building, admired his family in the photos on his desk. She let him assist her to remove her coat, turned down the offer of a cup of coffee, and settled in. “I was looking at the students and wondering if I’d ever been that young.”

He laughed. “You’re still a young sprout. Imagine what I feel at my age.”

She smiled, leaned forward. “As I told you on the phone, Coach Wiliker, I’m writing a background article on the New York City mayoral candidate Alex Harrington. You were his coach during his years here at Bennington. You may remember you also coached his best friend, Kent Harper, also from Boston?”

Wiliker beamed out a smile. “Yep. They were some of our best years at Bennington Prep, championship years, because of them, especially Alex. I knew that boy would go places. I’m pleased he’s running for mayor of the Big Apple. Now, Ms. Briscoe, what exactly would you like to know about Alex?”

“May I record this, sir? I want to be sure I’m completely accurate.” At his nod, she set up her iPhone. “I hoped you could tell me your impressions of him—his habits, his strengths, his friendships, that sort of thing. Whatever comes to mind about him and Kent, in your own words. I know it’s been a long time, but it seems you have fond memories of both of them. I’ll ask questions if I need more.”

He nodded, leaned toward her, clasped his big hands on top of his desk. “I remember Kent and Alex were the greatest of friends, smart boys from the best families. Both were into those computer games at the time, every spare minute—you know boys—but both were really popular, with the boys and the girls.” A wink. “Alex wanted something, he’d go after it.”

“And Kent?”