Greyford moved slower on Sundays. Vince noticed it the moment he stepped outside. Even the air felt thicker, like it had decided to linger. Church bells rang somewhere beyond the trees, dull and distant, not loud enough to command attention. More like a reminder that time was passing whether you wanted it to or not.
He hadn't slept much.
Not because of nightmares. Those came later, when the mind finally gave in. This was different. It was the kind of half-sleep where thoughts kept circling, bumping into each other, refusing to settle. Faces. Names. Small inconsistencies that didn't yet form a shape.
He walked instead.
The town square was nearly empty. A few cars parked at angles that suggested familiarity rather than urgency. Someone sweeping the front of a shop, slow and methodical. Mrs. Hill's bakery was closed, the windows dark, but the faint smell of yesterday's bread still clung to the sidewalk. Rose Hill always baked too much. No one complained.
Vince stopped without meaning to.
He told himself he was just thinking.
What he was actually doing was avoiding his notebook.
Inside it were things he hadn't decided what to do with yet. Statements that lined up too cleanly. Gaps that no one seemed curious about filling. And one detail he had heard twice now, from two different people, in almost the same phrasing.
*He wasn't around much after that.*
After what, exactly, no one ever said.
He moved on.
At the edge of town, near the old service road, Harold Penn's garage sat quiet. The doors were open but the place was empty, the tools hanging where they always did. Harold worked odd hours. Everyone knew that. It was part of his charm, according to Rose Hill. Part of his trouble, according to Chief Mercer.
Vince leaned against the fence, listening.
Nothing.
Then a sound - metal settling, maybe, or wind moving through loose parts. He waited for footsteps that didn't come. The moment passed. He told himself it meant nothing and made a note to check back later.
He didn't write it down.
That was the mistake. Not the first one, but the one that mattered.
Later that afternoon, Marilyn came by the station. She didn't announce herself. She never did. She stood just inside the doorway until someone noticed, like she wasn't sure she had the right to take up space.
Vince saw her first.
"Hey," he said, standing. "You okay?"
She nodded too quickly. "I just wanted to ask something."
Chief Mercer was in his office. The door was open. He didn't look up.
Marilyn folded her arms, then let them drop. "Did Tommy ever mention Evan Hale?"
There it was again.
Vince kept his voice neutral. "Why do you ask?"
She shrugged, but it wasn't casual. "Just a name that comes up. Or doesn't. Depends who you're talking to."
"Who did you hear it from?"
She hesitated. That hesitation had weight. "From someone who said I shouldn't repeat it."
Vince waited.
She didn't continue.
Outside, a car passed too slowly. Tires on gravel. The sound lingered longer than it should have.
"Marilyn," Vince said, "if there's something you think matters, you need to tell me."
"I don't know if it matters," she said. "That's the problem. Nobody ever knows until later."
She left after that. No goodbye. No thank you.
Vince wrote her question down. He underlined the name Evan Hale once, then crossed the line through it lightly, like he wasn't sure it deserved the attention yet.
That night, he drove past the clinic without stopping.
Claire's car was there. Lights on inside. He noticed it the way you notice a detail you don't want to examine too closely. He thought about pulling in, about asking something casual that might lead somewhere else. He didn't.
Someone else saw the car. He didn't know that yet.
At home, the quiet pressed in. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that reminded him of the city after a scene had cleared - when the noise left but the damage stayed behind. He poured a drink he didn't finish and sat at the table instead.
There was a sound outside. Footsteps, maybe. Or just a branch brushing the house.
He didn't check.
In his notebook, the page stayed mostly blank. Just fragments.
* Evan Hale - name avoided
* Tommy - last week before disappearance unclear
* Harold Penn - timing doesn't line up
He closed it.
Somewhere in town, someone was relieved.
And somewhere else, someone noticed that the detective from the city was starting to hesitate.