“Did you tell him about the Carriage Room?” Chance leaned forward, every bit as angry. “That you are involved?”
“I told him.”
“And he still wouldn’t help? Unbelievable.”
“What next?” Becky asked.
“I don’t know what else to do. Jason won’t talk to me, and I know almost nothing about Tyra, not her friends or where she worked. I don’t even know where she’s from. Normally, I’d ask Sara…”
The words trailed off because that sentence spoke for itself. Chance leaned forward, his sunburned arms folded on the back of the seat. “Sara’s gone, man, and that sucks. I don’t even know her, and it sucks. But maybe the cops will see things differently now. Time, you know. Perspective. Two victims, like Burklow said, a different dynamic. Maybe if your father pushes…”
I watched him in the mirror, and then glanced at Becky. This part was going to hurt. “I think Jason knows who killed Tyra.”
It was as if I’d said something perverse. Chance’s face went slack. Becky’s lips parted enough to form a perfect, silent O. But how much of my brother could I share? I’d seen his bleakness and resolve, what, at the very end, had seemed like the blackest kind of despair.
The brother you remember is gone, kid, killed as dead by Vietnam as Robert ever was …
That part was private.
The rest of it, though …
I gave it to them word for word: the warning, the risk, everything Jason had told me. Afterward, Chance parroted my words, seemingly in shock. “There are people who want to control me, bad people who will hurt you to do it.”
“He’s trying to scare me off,” I said.
“Or protect you,” Becky replied. “Though, I guess that’s the same thing.”
“Let’s assume it’s all true,” Chance said. “We have to assume that, right? And if it is true, who was he talking about? What dangerous people?”
“All I know is what I told you.”
“It’s not much, man.”
“Becky?”
She took her time, more thoughtful than Chance. “What does he mean by middle-aged men who look older than they should? That’s oddly specific and nonspecific.”
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.
* * *
It took twenty minutes more before the tall buildings of downtown Charlotte rose in the distance. At a stoplight outside the city line, Chance said, “Turn here, man. Take me home.” He seemed frustrated and troubled, and at his house, oddly embarrassed. “I’d go with you if I could—wherever you’re going. It’s my mom, is all. She only has two hours between jobs. I told her I’d come home for lunch.”
I said, “Hey, brother. All good.” But I knew him well enough to understand his thoughts. Things were getting real …
“What will you do next?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe you should do nothing at all. How about that for a change? Go to class. Graduate.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Chance looked at his house, still struggling. “That man you saw on Tyra’s street … How close were you?”
“Ten feet, I guess.”
“Just sitting in his car?”
“Watching the condo, I think.”
Chance studied my face as if some kind of answer might be written there. “Call me later?”
“Sure. Course.”
“All right, then. Bye, Becky.”
We watched him into the house. “What now?” Becky asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe you’re looking at this wrong. The whole thing.”
“How so?”
“So far, it’s been about Tyra. That’s been your focus. Who did she make angry? What did she do that got her killed?”
“Yeah, because she is, in fact, the one who got killed.”
“How well do you know your brother?” Becky asked.
“I don’t understand.”
She took my hand, and shrugged sadly. “Maybe Tyra’s murder is not about Tyra at all.”
* * *
Becky’s insight was blindingly bright, and simple enough to open the door to an entirely new line of thought. From the beginning, I’d considered little but Tyra’s life and choices. It’s why I’d gone to the Carriage Room and to Sara’s condo. Becky’s modest question turned all that on its head. I truly did not know Jason at all; he’d told me as much. Even so, I’d assumed that the distance between us was born of mere circumstance, of war and distance and time apart. On that first day at the quarry, he’d said a brother should know his brother. But what effort had he made? We’d spent one day out, one day with the girls.