“We’re going to need you and your daughetr to come down to the station.”
***
At the station, they brought us water in paper cups and sat us in a small room with a humming light. I told them everything I could remember.
“Joe worked nights at the motel,” I said. “Cleaning, front desk, whatever they needed. He came home one autumn evening wearing that suit and said it had been given to him.”
“And you never questioned that?”
“I trusted my husband, Officer.”
“Your daughter works for his sister?”
“And he wore it often?”
“No. Just holidays and picnics. He was buried in his blue one because the black felt like his special suit.”
The officer wrote something down. His pen moved slowly.
“You mentioned a coworker. Bob.” He stared at me.
“They worked the night shift together for years,” I said. “Bob retired a little before Joe passed away. He still lives across town. My daughter mows his sister’s lawn on Sundays.”
The officer’s pen stopped. “Your daughter works for his sister?”
“For almost a year now. She paid her in cash. Twenty dollars at a time for her prom dress.”
I thought back to the driveway, to the two men sitting in the dark.
The officer glanced at his partner. Something passed between them.
“Ma’am, did Joe and Bob ever speak about that night the suit came home?”
I thought back to the driveway, to the two men sitting in the dark.
“They sat in the truck for an hour before Joe came inside. I never asked about what. Joe just said Bob worried too much.”
The officer set his pen down and folded his hands on the table. “Mrs. Clinton’s brother went missing seven years ago. Last seen wearing a black suit with orange maple leaves stitched on the lapel. We never found him. We never found his belongings either.” He looked at Norma, then at me. “Until tonight.”
“Joe didn’t know,” I said. “My husband would never have put that jacket on his back if he’d known a man was missing inside it.”
The kindness Joe had left behind, tangled in the silence he could never shake.
***
The next morning, two officers and I sat across from Bob in his small living room. His hands trembled around a coffee mug he never lifted.
“Seven years ago,” Bob began confessing. “A man checked in for two days, then left in a hurry. Took his phone, left his bag. Joe and I found it. Just clothes inside. We were scared of being fired for snooping, so we kept a few pieces and turned the rest in.”
“Joe took the suit?” one of the officers interrupted.
