Abby moved in her seat, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t object.
“Caitlin told me that she’s in love with John Colter. She said he didn’t do anything wrong, that no one did anything wrong, and she wants the police and the two of you to drop all of this and let her life go back to the way it was before.”
“Meaning . . .”
“Meaning she wants to go back to her life with him, not with you.”
He let that settle over the table, a deadweight dropped into our lives.
“We’re going to hold Colter on the suspicion of arson charge. We’re still talking to witnesses and waiting for the arson investigator’s report.”
“So he’ll stay behind bars,” Abby said.
“We need Caitlin’s story,” he said. “She’s the only lead-pipe witness we have. Without that, and without the evidence that went up in the fire . . . Have the two of you thought any more about that picture I showed you of John Colter?” He dug in his pocket and brought the photo out. “Why don’t you look at it again?” He slid it across to us. I didn’t look.
“Do you know something else?” I asked.
“Do you?” he asked. “Are you absolutely certain you’ve never seen that man?”
Abby picked the photo up and looked it over. “How can I answer that?” she asked. “Maybe I passed him in the grocery store. Maybe he came and fixed our plumbing. How can I remember every face I’ve ever seen? But, no, I don’t know him, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t. Do you, Tom?” She held the picture out to me, but I didn’t take it.
“Is there something you’re not telling us?” I asked.
Ryan held my gaze, unblinking. I didn’t look away either. He was digging for something, pushing. I couldn’t imagine what it was. He took the photo back.
“Nothing,” he said. “But we need to be sure.”
“Nothing?” I said.
He stood up, hitched his pants. “I’ll have Caitlin brought right out to you,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-eight
I really didn’t feel like dragging ourselves back to Rosenbaum.
But we all climbed into the car, our jackets zipped against the cooling fall weather, and backed out of the driveway.
Then Abby surprised me. She turned to me while I was still backing out and said, her voice casual and effortless, “How would you feel if I went to the church today?”
“Now?”
“I just . . .”
She didn’t finish her thought. But I understood. “You want to talk to Chris. I mean, Pastor Chris.”
“It’s not that simple.”
I didn’t drive away. The car sat in the middle of our street, idling. No traffic came either way, and Caitlin sat in the back quietly. “What is it then?” I asked.
She looked back at Caitlin, then shrugged, as if to say, Who cares if she hears? “It’s been a difficult time, and I get something out of being at the church,” she said. “It’s not just Chris.”
“Not just.”
“Let’s just go to Rosenbaum’s,” she said. “I should be there.”
When I came to the turn that would take us to Rosenbaum’s, I went right instead of left. We didn’t say anything else about it, but I headed for the church. We passed a couple of strip malls and a long, low building that manufactured machine parts. Then I turned into the church lot.
“Head toward the back,” Abby said. The complex of buildings went on and on, like a small corporation. “Stop by this door,” Abby said. I did. It was a nondescript side entrance flanked by some evergreen shrubs. Ten cars were scattered through the lot, most of them later models. Abby sat with her hand on the door release. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go?” she asked.
“It’s fine.”
“We could take her in there,” she said, nodding toward the door. “She could talk to Chris again. The last time . . . Do you really think she talked to Chris just to get back at you?”
I turned and looked into the backseat. Caitlin stared at me. “Yes, I think so,” I said. “Isn’t that right, Caitlin? You talked to Chris just because you were mad at me? Because I slapped you, right?”
“You have it all figured out, don’t you?” Caitlin said.
Abby turned around now, too, letting her hand slip off the door. “Did that man at the jail hit you?” she asked. “Did he hurt you? What about that bruise on your stomach? I’ve never asked, but I worry that he abused you.”
“You don’t know,” Caitlin said.
“What? What don’t I know?” Abby asked.