“I haven’t had a home number for three years, but if it’s an emergency, send me an email okay?”
“Okay, honey. Guess where I am right now?”
“I don’t know. Where?”
“I’m at Margie Lowry’s house for lunch. You remember Margie?”
“Kind of, I think.”
“You remember Danny Lowry?” A memory surfaced of a painfully shy boy with thick glasses and bright red hair. He’d been in Jessica’s class from kindergarten all the way through senior year of high school, although she doubted they’d ever exchanged a single word.
“I remember Danny. You’re at his mother’s house?”
“She’s having a little luncheon reunion for all the ex-troop leaders, the Brownie moms.”
“Oh, fun. I won’t keep you, but can I ask you to do one thing for me?”
“Of course,” her mom said, and now Jessica could hear chatter in the background, the sound of elderly women gossiping.
“When are you next going to visit Dad?”
“I was thinking of going over this afternoon after lunch, because Margie now lives in Westford so I’m halfway there as it is.”
“When you see him, can you ask him a question about one of his old friends? Someone named Art Kruse.”
“Art Kruse? One of your father’s old friends?”
“I’m pretty sure he was. The name doesn’t mean anything to you?”
“Not really, honey, but maybe. You know your father—”
“I know. Just ask him. I’m not expecting much. Will you remember the name?”
“Can you text it to me?”
“I can’t, actually.”
“Right, right. No phone. You said it was Art Kruse. Can you spell it for me?”
Jessica spelled out the name, and her mother promised to ask her father about him. She doubted it would lead to anything, but it couldn’t hurt.
After finishing the call with her mother, she punched in the number that Aaron had given her for Art Kruse in Florida. After several rings, a man’s voice, hoarse-sounding, said, “Hello?”
“Is this Art Kruse?” Jessica said.
“Depends on who’s calling.”
“Mr. Kruse, this is Agent Winslow calling from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m pretty sure that you’ve talked, already, with my colleague …”
“Yes, yesterday. He gave me a list of about a hundred people, none of whom I’d heard of, but wouldn’t tell me what it was all about. Something to do with my son’s death, I guess.”
“I’m very sorry about that, by the way, Mr. Kruse,” Jessica said.
“Oh, well. We weren’t close, but he was my son, I guess.”
“I’m not going to ask you a lot of questions, but I did want to follow up on just one of the names, and make sure that he’s not someone whom you know. Is that okay?”
“Sure. I doubt I can give you any more information today than I could give you yesterday, but go ahead anyway.”
“It’s Gary Winslow. He’d be about the same age as you are now. Take a moment and think about it.” She wondered if he’d remember that she introduced herself as Agent Winslow and make a connection, but somehow doubted it.
He cleared his throat. “I knew a couple of Garys in my lifetime, and it’s possible that one of them was named Winslow, but I’m not so sure.”
“How did you know this person?”
“Well, let me think a moment. It was a long time ago now, but I think there was a Gary who came to visit at the lake house in New Hampshire. I would’ve been in college then.”
“Whose lake house?”
“My parents bought a lake house up on Squam after I graduated from high school. It’s not there anymore, or it’s there but no one in the Kruse family owns it. I remember there was this kid, Gary, with long hippie hair and a beard. His parents were friends with my parents. And I think those parents were called Winslow. I’m not really sure about any of this, but it sort of rings a bell.”
“Do you remember anything else about Gary, other than the hair?”
There was a long pause, and Jessica wished very badly that she could see Art Kruse’s face at this particular moment. Even listening to him on the phone she felt certain he was holding something back. “Nope,” he finally said. “Bit of a druggie, I remember thinking.”
“What about Gary’s parents. What do you remember about them?”