Reynolds didn’t answer his phone, so at lunchtime Stynes drove to his former partner’s house, hoping to catch him there or, short of that, leave a note saying they needed to talk. When Stynes arrived at the house, he saw Reynolds in the front yard surrounded by three grandkids tossing a ball back and forth, trying very hard to keep it out of Reynolds’s reach. And he was doing his best to pretend like he couldn’t intercept their throws.
Stynes stepped out of the car, pushed the door shut, and said, “Careful, kids, you’ll give your granddad a heart attack.”
The kids paused for only a moment to look at the man by the curb before returning to their game. Reynolds told them to go into the backyard with Grandma, and then came over to the street by Stynes.
“I left you a message this morning,” Stynes said.
Reynolds jerked his thumb toward the house. “I was busy, as you can see. Being retired means I don’t have to answer the phone if I don’t want to.”
“I see that.” Stynes leaned back against the car. “You got a minute?”
“A minute. It’s almost lunchtime for the kids.”
“I was going to ask you if you wanted to go out and grab something to eat.”
“I can’t. What’s up?”
The day was hot, the sun high above in a cloudless sky. Stynes felt the heat against his scalp.
“You know all those loose ends with the Manning case?” Stynes said.
“Loose ends for you, you mean.”
“We had two pretty big loose ends. The stories told by the kids, and the questions about the whereabouts of Bill Manning on the morning of the murder. Not to mention the questions about Scott Ludwig.”
Reynolds looked at his watch. “You better hurry up and get to it.”
“I know those loose ends don’t really mean anything to you. Maybe it’s because you’re retired. I don’t know. I hope when I hang it up I’ll be able to walk away and turn the switch off as well as you have.”
“You won’t.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re different than me, Stynes. When my head hits the pillow late at night, I go right to sleep. I don’t give a shit that Dante Rogers says he’s innocent or that those kids told one story at the park and another later on. But not you. No, you’ve got to make sure everything is right with the world. I bet you’ve been sleeping like crap, haven’t you?”
Stynes didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Reynolds had pegged him.
Reynolds said, “I bet you stared at your bedroom ceiling so long you started to see cracks in the plaster you didn’t know were there, right? Well, you can do that with any case. Stare long enough until you see all the imperfections. It doesn’t change the facts, though.” Reynolds looked like he wanted to say more, but he swallowed the additional words, whatever they were going to be. “Do me a favor? Don’t come back here anymore. Don’t drag your bullshit onto my lawn.”
As he started to turn away, Stynes said, “We’re searching for a man right now.”
Reynolds stopped.
“He’s using Justin Manning’s name and carrying his identification,” Stynes said. “He’s wanted for assault in Columbus. He beat up a social worker over there, someone associated with child protective services.”
Reynolds raised his hands. So?
Stynes decided he didn’t really know why he had come to Reynolds’s house after all. He knew he wasn’t going to change his former partner’s mind. He knew Reynolds wouldn’t concede any fault or fallibility. He never had.
“You know, you’re right,” Stynes said.
“About what?”
“I’m not going to come back here anymore.”
“Good.”
“But I do want to say something to you. I want to apologize to you.”
Reynolds looked puzzled. He tilted his head to the left, almost like he didn’t believe the words he heard coming his way. “What for?”
“I should have been a better cop,” Stynes said. “I should have been a better partner to you. You said I did a good job back then, but I didn’t. I should have stood up to you. I should have asked the tough questions. That’s what I was supposed to do, and I didn’t. But I’m going to ask them now, and we’ll see what happens.”
Reynolds waited a long moment, then said, “Are you finished, Oprah?”
“With you, yes.”
“Good.” Reynolds pointed to the car. “Then get the fuck out of here before I beat your scrawny ass.”
Stynes got into the car and started the ignition. As he drove off, he looked back one more time. He watched Reynolds trudging across the lawn, his body a little bent, his posture that of a man in the last phase of his life. Then Stynes caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror, saw the lines around his eyes, the old-man sweat on his forehead.
“You’re almost there,” he told himself. “But not quite yet.”