But you’re here. Why?”
“Because there’s something you can do for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Help me find my father’s killer.”
Stunned, James studied the boy, noting his fury and pain. “Killer?”
Kevin nodded once, sharply. “The cops say it was an accident. I know better.”
A group of trick-or-treaters approached. James divided the remainder of his candy among them, tossing a handful into each bag.
“Cool!” a couple of them said before running off. “Thanks!”
James stood. “Let’s go inside,” he said to Kevin.
After a moment Kevin stood, too. James saw his own DNA in the boy, not like looking in a mirror, but as if Kevin had stepped out of James’s high school yearbook. Did Kevin see it? Did it make him uncomfortable? James and Paul had shared some similarities, but not like this.
He turned off the porch light to discourage more trick-or-treaters, then watched Kevin look around his house, wondering what he thought of it. Sometimes the echoing quiet overwhelmed James.
“You live here alone?” Kevin asked, his hands shoved in his pockets again.
“Yes.” He gestured toward the living room.
“Got any kids?”
Just you. “No.”
“How come?”
“Until last year I worked as a bounty hunter. I wasn’t home much. Didn’t seem fair to a family to be gone so much.”
He hesitated a few seconds. “My dad was gone a lot, too.”
“What did he do?”
“Stuntman.”
James sat in an overstuffed chair, deciding he would seem less intimidating sitting down. Kevin moved slowly around the room, stopping to look at an item, then moving on.
“Hollywood type?” James asked.
“Yeah.”
“Seems like his death would’ve made news.”
Kevin picked up a piece of yellow quartz that sat on the mantel and examined it. “It did.”
“Maybe I was out of the country. Where’d you live?”
“In Southern California, in the Valley. Near Sylmar. We had a small ranch.”
“With horses?”
“Yeah. Can’t be an all-around stuntman if you can’t ride.” His tone of voice implied that James was being stupid for asking.
“I suppose not. You ride?”
“Of course.”
Of course. “Your mom, too?”
Kevin faced him squarely. “Will you help me?”
So, no more chitchat. Kevin didn’t care about James beyond what he could do for him, but it was enough for now. “Tell me what you know.”
The boy drew himself up. Obviously, even a year later, he had trouble talking about the accident.
“Dad was riding his bike down the canyon road. It was raining. He and the bike went over the side.”
“Why do you think it was intentional?”
“My dad was careful. Supercareful. He checked every stunt ten times. And he knew every inch of that road. No way that could’ve happened. No way.”
“Even though it was raining?”
“He would’ve been supercautious.”
The determination in his voice was convincing. “Yet the police think otherwise.”
“The police didn’t know my dad.” He planted his feet and crossed his arms. “Look, if you don’t want to help me, just say so.”
“Had he been acting differently, Kevin? Do you have something concrete to go on?”
“Yes. Different. I don’t know how to describe it. Just different.”
“In what way?”
He closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Not there. I know that doesn’t make sense. He was there, around, but he wasn’t there. Like he was distracted all the time.”
“Did you talk to him about it?”
“Sort of. I asked him if something was wrong, but he said no. He was just tired.”
“You didn’t believe him?”
Kevin shook his head. “I let it go, because I thought I would just give him some time. He told me everything. I figured he’d tell me this, too.”
Not everything, apparently. Layered over the boy’s obvious grief was belligerence, probably to hide how much he hurt. James’s decision was easy. He would help Kevin—because if he didn’t, Kevin would probably disappear from his life as quickly as he’d come into it, but also because James needed to help Kevin end his pain, or find a way to live with it, if he could. If Kevin would let him.
James also understood Kevin’s urgency for justice.
“I’ll investigate it,” James told him.
“You don’t sound like you believe me.”
“I believe you knew your dad better than anyone, except your mom, probably. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“Are you good?”
“Yes.”
Kevin stared at him. Wariness dulled his eyes, and he looked ready to flee at any moment. Finally he moved his shoulders, more an involuntary gesture of relief than an adolescent I-don’t-care shrug. James figured he cared a whole lot.
“I’ll need a little more information,” James said, standing. “Let me get a pad of paper. Can I get you something to eat or drink while I’m up?”
“Not hungry.”
The doorbell rang. James ignored it, assuming it was trick-or-treaters. He grabbed a pad from his office, convinced Kevin to sit down, then James wrote down more details—exactly where and when the accident occurred. Which police agencies were involved. More exact descriptions of Paul’s out-of-character behavior.
“I can start with this,” James said. “Give me a couple of days to do some preliminary digging. Do you want me to call you?”
Kevin swallowed hard then nodded.
