Page 72 of The Advocate’s Ultimatum

JP gave it a few minutes, letting the pattern settle. Some kids passed. Some stayed on the sidewalk. A couple crossed early, well before they needed to.

Field didn’t call out or move. He just watched.

When the flow thinned, JP stepped out of the truck and walked up the block. Field noticed him before he reached the yard.

“Good afternoon,” JP said.

Field didn’t stand. His eyes stayed steady. “Afternoon.”

JP stopped at the edge of the walkway. “Charles Field?”

“That’s right.”

JP held out a business card. Field looked at it, then at JP, then took it.

“JP Torn,” Field read. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking into something that happened here a while back,” JP said. “A girl named Hannah Caldwell.”

Field’s eyes sparked. “I remember.”

“I figured you might.”

Field gestured toward the empty chair across from him. “You can come up.”

JP stepped onto the porch and sat down. From that position, he could see exactly what Field saw, the full stretch of sidewalk in both directions, the approach from the school, and the corner where kids decided whether to stay on one side of the street or cross early.

“Were you here when it happened?” JP asked.

“I was.”

“What do you remember?”

Field looked out at the street, like he was setting it in his mind before speaking. “That day is etched in my memory. I racked my brain to try to remember if I saw something that I didn’t realize at first, something that might help. But I had nothing. I didn’t see that little girl that day. I saw her friends though, the older kids that walked with her. Hannah wasn’t with them, but everyone already knew that.” He sighed. “And I recall the many days after. The whole neighborhood was out looking for her.”

“Did you go?”

“I did. I had a few skills from my career that I thought might help. But it wasn’t enough.”

JP thought he was sincere, or he was a really good liar. “Do you watch the kids every day?

Field did not take offense. “I do.”

“Why?”

Field rested his hands on his knees. “Because of who used to live next door.”

JP followed his gaze to a neighboring house.

“Nigel Gates,” Field added.

“What about him?”

“He had an interest in children.” Field’s voice was deadpan.

“You mean a suspicion.”

“No,” Field said. “I mean a pattern.”