Presumption of Guilt by Archer Mayor Page A

attendees. “Stopped drinking and doing drugs. Don’t know if it’ll stick this time, but I’m tryin’. Means more money in the bank. I got a job at the Cumbie in West B. You want sugar or something?”
    Willy chose not to further stress the man’s resources. “I’m good.”
    Near the bed was a small table with one chair. Mitchell sat on the edge of the bed and indicated the chair. “Have a seat.”
    Willy did so, asking, “Did you miss your dad?”
    Mitchell let his large, blunt, workingman’s hands dangle between his knees. “Been a long time.”
    â€œStill. It can be hard having a ghost as a father.”
    Mitchell looked up at him. “You, too?”
    Willy considered that. He had been born in New York City, and sometimes wished more of his family had been ghosts—instead of what they were. “Something like that,” was all he said.
    â€œI did miss him,” Mitchell recalled. “I look back now, I realize he filled my life when I was a kid. I’d sit in school, looking forward to getting home and seeing him after work.” He spread his hands apart, as if detailing the length of a large fish, and added, “He was like a huge presence—more of a feeling than a man.” He paused before saying, “Course, that’s just how I remember it. He was probably just a dad, and I was a bratty kid.”
    â€œBut he went into thin air,” Willy suggested. “Like a puff of smoke.”
    Mitchell was studying the floor and nodded several times. “Yeah—he did.”
    â€œYou remember that happening?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œTell me.”
    Again, Mitchell was quiet, either drifting again, or gathering his thoughts. “It wasn’t like a puff of smoke, like you said.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œThere was a sort of buildup. My folks fighting. That was hard. Julie and I would talk about it. Or I guess she would ask me and I would try to answer. But we were small. I didn’t really understand, and I felt I was supposed to make her feel better, if I could.”
    â€œWhat were they fighting about?” Willy asked, pulling him back. He was a cop, after all—not a shrink.
    Mitchell seemed to get the message. “Right,” he said. “Well, my dad moved out, if that tells you anything.”
    â€œYou think there was another woman?”
    Mitchell shrugged. “There musta been, but that’s not what I picked up. What I got was that my dad was unhappy, and I felt I was probably the reason. You know how kids do. I wasn’t doing great in school, and I was nowhere near the athlete he’d been, and I was useless helping him with chores. I mean, I know now that they were most likely on the outs ’cause of their own baggage. But back then? I felt caught. Nobody was happy anymore, including Julie, and I couldn’t fix it.”
    Willy tried again. “Children sometimes overhear what their parents are fighting about. How ’bout you?”
    He nodded. “There was one night. She yelled at him. She never did that—she’s pretty buttoned down. Julie gets that from her. But she yelled that he smelled. I couldn’t figure it out. ‘I can smell it on you,’ or something like that. I can guess what she meant now, but I never knew for sure.”
    Willy changed his approach. “Let’s look at the broader picture. Who do you remember of their friends?”
    Mitchell’s face cleared somewhat. “BB was the one we saw the most. He was over all the time, like an uncle.”
    â€œHow did he act?”
    â€œFun. He played with us and horsed around, and made my mom laugh. He used to tickle her, which amazed me, ’cause she wasn’t big on being touched.”
    â€œYou think he was maybe doing more than tickling?” Willy risked asking.
    But Mitchell just laughed shortly. “I wondered about that. After Dad disappeared, BB was