“He didn’t know he needed to.”
He said nothing in response, just pushed his feet and rolled back. He got up and moved to a desk behind a low wall and conferred with someone there. A moment passed. He took his time walking back to me. He exited the booth and started walking down the hall. “Come this way.” I followed him to a small windowless room. He motioned to a chair. “The detective will join you in minute.”
I looked around the office. Gray hulking metal desk, a bank of filing cabinets against the wall. There was nothing of note, no personal touches other than a framed photo of a kid in a baseball uniform, holding a bat. I rehearsed what I would say, playing it over in my head to look for any gaps. This fuckup with Tyler had thrown me. I was drumming my hand against my thigh, quick staccato slaps; I made a fist to stop myself.
Someone stepped into the room, already talking.
“Don’t get up.” He stood over me, looming in a gray suit. “Daniel Laurence. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
I nodded. “Mark Lausson.”
He sat and leaned back behind his desk, spilling into the space behind him.
“What brings you in tonight, Mr. Lausson? Or is it Dr. Lausson? My colleague says you’re from Sawyer?”
“Yes, I teach there. Either is fine.”
“We don’t deal with the school very much. They have their own police force now. I guess the parents figure they’re paying enough.”
“I guess so.”
“But they do us the courtesy of calling us in for the bigger matters.”
“That’s why I’m here. About the missing student. Addison Mitchell.”
Laurence bobbed his head, once, twice, like he was thinking it over.
“I understand you came in asking for me by name?”
“That’s right. I got your card from Addison’s roommate.”
Laurence tipped forward. He flipped through a small notebook. He landed on a page and scanned it, or seemed to, humming to himself.
“Got it,” he said. “Tyler Cunningham. Soccer player, right?”
“Yes. He’s on the team.”
“Tyler suggested you come in?”
“Not exactly. No.”
“Alright. What then?”
I took a breath. This was it, it was the right next move—we had no better choice. “Tyler told you he went home to North Carolina to see his parents. That he left the ski trip early for that.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, it isn’t true.”
“No?” Laurence paused, but I could tell it was not my turn to speak. He flipped around in the notebook and looked up at me. “Where was he then?”
“Tyler came right back to Sawyer.”
“But that’s not what he told his friends.”
“I know. He lied.”
“Why would he do that?”
