Jim Jr. and Mindy sat finishing their breakfast at the kitchen table while their father talked on the phone with a Camp Nelson detective. They watched him pace the floor, wandering as far away as the phone cord would allow, then retracing his steps. Now and again he would ask a question—So he’s not local? How long has he been out? But he hasn’t confessed?—then nod intently while he listened to the answers.
“Sounds like they caught the guy who shot Mommy,” Jim Jr. said.
“Shush,” Mindy told him.
She walked over to her father and whispered, “Daddy, what is it?”
“Can you hold on a second?” Jim said into the receiver.
“Why don’t you kids wait for me in the living room?” he said. “The cartoons should be on now.”
“But Daddy—”
“I’ll be right there.”
Mindy stayed put. Jim Jr. pretended not to hear.
“Now!” Jim said.
The children walked away at a snail’s pace. Jim returned to his call.
“Just so I’m clear,” he said, “you have made a formal arrest?”
“Yes sir, we have,” Wylie confirmed.
“So you’re confident it was this Beauchamp who killed Bonnie?”
“He wouldn’t be in jail otherwise. Still, I’m not the judge or jury.”
“And all you’ve got is a fingerprint?”
“We also have an eyewitness, Mr. Hood. One who seems to be getting stronger and remembering more every day.”
“You mean the man who was sleeping with my wife?”
Wylie let the question pass.
“I’ll be in touch when we know more,” he said. “Meanwhile, feel free to call me any time.”
Jim found Mindy and Jim Jr. sitting at attention on the couch, both of them too eager to speak or move. He crouched on the floor in front of them, put one hand on Mindy’s arm and the other on Jim Jr.’s knee.
“I’ve got big news,” he said. “They’ve arrested the man who killed your mother,” he said.
“Told you!” Jim Jr. said.
Mindy ignored her brother.
“Who?” she asked. “Who is he?”
“Yeah, who is he?” Jim Jr. echoed.
Jim hesitated, not sure how much he should share or withhold.
“A man named Bruce Beauchamp,” he said.
“Yeah, but who is he?” Mindy insisted.
“I don’t really know,” Jim said. “At least I don’t know much. He’s a construction worker. He’s been in prison before.”
“Are you going to kill him?” Jim Jr. asked, his voice full of hope.
“Ask a real question,” Mindy said.
“That is a real question.”
“No it isn’t. The man’s in jail already. You know Daddy can’t kill him in jail.”
“He could if—”
“Kids, kids,” Jim interrupted. “No arguing, please.”
They were quiet for a moment, as though arguing were their only means of communication, and then, to Jim’s surprise, they began asking many of the same questions he’d asked Wylie.
“Why?” Jim Jr. wanted to know. “Why did he do it?”
“Did he know Mommy?” Mindy asked.
“Was he mad at her?”
Jim shook his head.
“I wish I had answers for you,” he said. “I never heard of this man before.”
“But he must have had a reason,” Jim Jr. insisted.
“Bad guys have all kinds of reasons,” Jim said. “They aren’t always personal. Maybe he wanted to rob Mommy, and she wouldn’t let him.”
The explanation sounded lame to him, but he had nothing better to offer.
“How do the police know it was him?” Jim Jr. asked.
“Because of his fingerprints,” Jim said. “They found them nearby.”
“But did he say he did it?” Mindy asked.
“No. At least not yet.”
“So there’s just fingerprints?” Mindy pressed. “What if they have to let him go?”
Her eyes were welling up, and her voice sounded panicked. Jim Jr. seemed to catch her fear.
“No, no, no, sweetie,” Jim said. “Fingerprints are—”
“What if they let him go and he gets in his car and comes looking for us?” Mindy asked.
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not? If he wanted to kill Mommy, he must want to kill us, too.”
Jim sucked in a long breath. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so powerless to calm his own children.
“That’s not how it works,” he said. “Besides, the police won’t let him go. They have more than fingerprints. They have an eyewitness. Someone who saw the man do it.”
“Why didn’t the witness stop him?” Jim Jr. asked.
“He tried,” Jim said. “I have to give him that much. He tried.”