He nodded, jotted something down.
“And if that’s the case,” Krissy continued, starting to get on a roll, “they probably want some sort of ransom.”
The detective studied her face, then said, “We’ll certainly look into it. We have people by the phones, though no one’s attempted to make contact. And so far, we haven’t found anything to indicate that someone’s making demands. But like I said, we’ll keep an eye out. Do you have any other theories?”
Krissy looked down at her lap and noticed her hands were knotted tightly together. “I…Well, what about the dancing thing? I mean, we take January to competitions. I know she’s only six, but they’re the real deal. There’re judges, contestants from all over the state. There can be seventy-five, a hundred people in the audience. And January’s good. You saw it—all those medals.”
The detective leaned forward. “So you’re saying you think it could be a competition thing? Someone was jealous of your daughter’s success?”
“Well, or…what if there was someone in the audience who had no business being there? Some of those men…” But she couldn’t finish the rest of the sentence. Between this and that photo of January in her nautical-themed costume, Krissy felt like the worst mom in the world. This is what you get.
“Ah,” Townsend said. “I see. You think the performances could have attracted some unwanted attention?”
Krissy hitched a shoulder, unable to look him in the eye, fat tears dropping onto her pajama pants. “I don’t know, but what else could explain those words? They’re…You just don’t hear that sort of talk here in Wakarusa.”
“So you’ve said.” Magician that he was, Townsend suddenly produced another tissue out of thin air. “Thank you for your thoroughness on this, Mrs. Jacobs. I can assure you we’ll look into every possible lead.” He slapped his hands on his knees. “Now, Detective Lacks should be wrapping up with your husband and I think it’s about time we get you two out of here. Would you like to change clothes? Then she and I will drive you both to the station where we’ll do fingerprints and some other logistical stuff. Officer Jones will meet us there with your son. Hopefully a change of scenery will help shake something loose.”
* * *
—
At the state police station in nearby South Bend, a new officer they hadn’t met before walked Krissy and Billy through the fingerprinting process, then fixed them each cups of coffee and told them to sit in the uncomfortable metal chairs in the hallway until someone escorted them to wherever they were meant to go next. As they sat, Officer Jones, with the big ears and breasts, appeared through the front door, Jace’s small hand swallowed up in hers. At the sight of her son, Krissy felt breathless with nerves. She wanted to tuck him away, to wrap him up and hide him. But she was only allowed a quick hug before he was swept off again for “coloring and maybe even another cookie.”
Shortly after, Krissy found herself yet again in a room alone with Detective Townsend, sitting across from him at a rickety metal table. In the center sat an already whirring recorder.
“I’d like to take a few minutes,” he said, “to ask about you and Billy.”
“Me and Billy?” she repeated. “What does that have to do with the investigation?”
“Well, as you mentioned, whoever wrote those words on the wall could have been motivated by some sort of personal grudge.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.”
He gave her one of those flat smiles of his that she was beginning to hate. “So how did you two meet?”
She hitched a shoulder. “The same way everyone here meets. We’ve known each other our whole lives.”
“I see…And how did you start dating?”
At that, Krissy closed her eyes, and then she was back to the summer of 1987.
* * *
—
That summer began with a party. It was the week after high school graduation, and Krissy’s friend Dave had had the idea to throw one on the school’s football field. Or not a party exactly, just some beers with friends and whatever “surprise” Dave had promised them.
Billy’s arrival that night made Krissy both delighted and shocked. Although she’d invited him earlier that day when he was buying feed from the grain elevator where she worked, she didn’t think in the four years they’d been in high school together that she’d ever seen him out before.
“Well, well,” Krissy called across the darkened football field when his figure came into view. “If it isn’t Billy Jacobs.”
Around her, the others turned to look.
“Hey,” Billy said once he’d reached their little group. He was a big guy, six feet probably, and muscle-bound from working his family’s farm, but as he stood there with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his Levi’s, Krissy thought he looked small and uncertain, almost childlike.
“I can’t believe you came,” she said, wide-eyed and grinning. “I can’t believe I am the siren who lured Billy Jacobs to slum it with the likes of us.”
Billy dipped his head, looking bashful and fighting a smile.
“Aw, Kris,” Martha said. “Look. You made him blush.”
“Marth,” Krissy snapped playfully. “Don’t make our guest feel unwelcome.” She turned back to Billy. “Here.” Holding her can of Natural Light in one hand, she used the other to tug a beer from its plastic ring in a half-empty six-pack, then handed it to Billy and looped an arm around his shoulders. “Everybody,” she said, turning to the circle. “You all know Billy Jacobs. Billy Jacobs, this is Martha”—she gestured to Martha with her beer—“Zoo, Noah, Caleb, and of course, this asshole is Dave.” Krissy knew Billy was already familiar with her friends—they’d all known each other their entire lives—but despite this, he was still little more than a stranger to them.
“Sorry,” Billy said, a little frown forming between his eyes. “Zoo?”
“Oh. We call Katy ‘Zoo’ because of her last name. Zook.”
“Oh. But Noah’s Noah?”
Krissy laughed. “We just do it when it fits. It’s a nickname, Billy, don’t overthink it. Anyway, what about you? What should we call you?”
Beside her, Dave squinted, making a show of studying Billy’s face. “I think Jacobs is a Jacobs, don’t you, Kris?” His eyes slid to hers. “Good work, by the way. You got the fucking king of Wakarusa to deface the field of Northlake High.”
Dave reached over to tousle Krissy’s hair, and she ducked away from his hand with a shriek, dropping the arm that had been around Billy’s neck. “Deface the field?” she said, giving Dave a look.
He grinned. “Surprise.”
Krissy rolled her eyes. “So clever.” But she said it teasingly. What did she care about this shithole school?
“So,” Caleb said, bending over to pull something out of a plastic bag. “I brought spray paint.”
“Nah,” Dave said. “Spray paint’s no good. It washes off too easy.” He reached down into another shopping bag by his feet and pulled out an industrial-sized plastic bottle. “Weed killer. That way they basically have to regrow the whole field.”
Martha clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god, Dave, that’s fucking amazing.”
Beside her, Krissy noticed Billy push his hand deeper into his pocket.
“What’re you guys gonna write?” Martha asked.
Dave waggled his eyebrows. “We’re not gonna write anything. We’re gonna draw.”
“Cock and balls,” Caleb said helpfully.
Everybody laughed, and Krissy watched as Billy made himself laugh too. She had the urge to reach out and squeeze his hand, tell him everything was going to be all right.
“Dave,” Caleb said. “You wanna start?”
“And rob you guys of all the fun?” Dave grinned, extending the bottle of weed killer to Caleb, but then he paused, turned. Locking eyes with Billy, he said, “What d’ya think, Jacobs, you wanna do the honors?”
“Oh.” Billy laughed, clearly trying to play off his discomfort. “Nah, that’s okay. Thanks, though.”