How is one to take such a line? Nothing was ever good enough for my baby because he was the light of my life, the seed of my soul, my very heart? Or, nothing was ever good enough for my baby because he was a greedy little bastard who always wanted more more more? It seemed Mrs. Greeley had intended to say the former, but her posture, the rasp of her voice, the upward curl of her upper lip betrayed her.

“Nothing was ever good enough for my baby,” said Mrs. Greeley and I felt her resentment like a twitch in my back.

What was it that got to me, because being in the Greeley house surely got to me. Was it the fine furnishings with sags in the seats and grease stains on the armrests, with rings like trophies on the wooden surfaces, furnishings that bespoke with utter clarity of a fall from grace? Was it the fine layer of dust over everything that declared the Greeleys had given up even the appearance of trying? Or was it the woman sitting across from me with arms crossed and legs crossed, wishing we would just stop talking about her missing son and go away so she could have another drink? Oh yes, I could sense it in her, the crushing need for a drink, a need that was no doubt far more her lifelong companion than her husband. It was in the way she held her head so carefully, as if at the wrong angle it might slip off, the way her eyes slid from left to right, the way she made my scalp tingle. I could read the signs, my mother had taught me well.

“I did everything I could for him,” said Mrs. Greeley. She was a tall, thin woman, dressed in slacks and a silk shirt. She had a face like a desiccated apple and her voice had a Katharine Hepburn shake to it. The cigarette was held in front of her so that the smoke acted as a gauzy shield. “I tried so hard. And for him to just disappear like he did, it broke my heart.” She took a moment to draw a bit more nicotine from her cigarette and to dwell a bit longer in her past. Her face twisted for a moment into a cast of pure bitterness, and then she brightened falsely. “Do either of you have children?”

“Not yet,” I said, shaking my head.

“And you, such a lovely young girl. Are you married?”

“No,” said Kimberly.

“Heavens, what are you waiting for? But then you won’t yet understand about children. They can be so hard to handle when they need so much. Tommy didn’t just want, he needed, if you understand.”

“Tell us about his childhood,” I said. “Was it a happy one?”

“Oh my, yes. As happy as it could be, considering. Mr. Greeley suffered along with most of the town at the economic downturn. We had to sacrifice more than you could imagine to send Tommy to Cardinal Spellman. We gave up the club, then the house. When we moved here, I was in tears, but Mr. Greeley simply said, ‘Shut up, it’s still Moraine.’ But Cardinal Spellman was a fine school, far better than Brockton High with its element. You said you were a lawyer, Mr. Carl?”

“That’s right.”

“Tommy was studying to be a lawyer. At the University of Pennsylvania. Is that where you went?”

“I didn’t get in there.”

“How sad for you. But only the best for Tommy, we used to say. Tommy would have ended on the Supreme Court, or in the Senate, he had that way about him. I suppose such promise is always more difficult to handle, but I did what I could with him. Made my sacrifices.”

The word “sacrifices” was said softly, but still it screeched in my ears. I pictured little Tommy Greeley sitting on his living room floor, watching his mother, her grip tight on her glass, as she berated him over and again about all her sacrifices.

“Did he have many friends?” I asked.

“Oh my, yes. He was very popular at Cardinal Spellman. And that friend of his at Penn, Jackson somebody, with the Polish name. They were very close. Jackson. Never Jack. But we didn’t meet too many of his college friends. He was forever visiting with their families on holidays. We hoped, always, that he would come home but I understood. The invitations were just so inviting. And there was the girlfriend.”

“Sylvia Steinberg?”

“That’s it, yes. Steinberg. For that he went to the Ivy League?”

I swallowed and let that pass.

“How about here, in Brockton,” said Kimberly. “Anyone he chilled with when home for a visit?”

“Chilled, like in a freezer?”

“Anyone here he kept in touch with,” I said.

“Jimmy Sullivan. That’s one friendship I tried to break up when they were still in middle school.”

“Why?”

“Oh, the Sullivan boy might have been quite the little celebrity – I think that was what attracted Tommy to him in the first place – but he was always in and out of trouble and he loved nothing better than dragging Tommy along with him.”

“Is he still around.”

“He works at a sub shop on the north side, I think. Which just goes to show, doesn’t it?” She gave me the address.

I glanced at Kimberly and then said, “What about Eddie Dean?”

“Who?”

“A friend of Tommy’s when they were young?”

“I don’t recognize that name. But it’s so hard to keep them all straight.”

“It would have been when they were still just tykes,” said Kimberly.

“There was a little blond boy he played with, a sweet boy, quiet, followed Tommy around like a puppy, but he moved. To California, I think. You said you had some news about my son?”

“Yes,” I said. “I wanted you to know that the police have reopened the investigation into Tommy’s disappearance. I received information of a confidential nature that has caused them to take another look.”

Her face startled smooth. “Can you tell me what you learned?”

“No, I’m sorry,” I said. “It is privileged.”

“He’s my son.”

“I know that Mrs. Greeley and I’m sorry. But anything you can add might be very helpful to the reopened investigation.”

“I told the police what I knew then, which was very little. Just that he hadn’t called in so long and wasn’t answering his phone. He was very busy in Philadelphia, didn’t have much time for us. But I understood, a mother understands these things. Law school was very trying. He was working so hard. It took all his time and concentration to be at the top of his class.”

“Who told you he was at the top of his class?”

“Tommy did, of course. Tommy was always at the top of his class.”

“Okay,” I said. “And you knew nothing about any business ventures he was in?”

“Not really, but he was doing quite well. He always had a nice car, nice clothes. He said he had made money in something to do with publishing.”

“Do you have any idea what happened to your son, Mrs. Greeley?”

“Of course I do. He died,” she said. “What else could have happened? He’s dead. My son is dead. Dead.” Her voice drifted off as she said the last word, and as her voice drifted so did her gaze, toward the small dining area. “Mr. Greeley went down there looking for him. Didn’t find a sign one way or another, but twenty years of nothing is proof enough.”

“I suppose so,” I said. “So after his disappearance you never heard from him in any way?”

“No,” she said. “Never.” But even as she said it her eyes slid again toward the dining area. It was a small dingy alcove, overwhelmed by a dark table, high-backed chairs, a large dark sideboard with a china hutch above it. The hutch doors were ornately carved, with glass panels to show off the dishes. But there weren’t dishes in there, there was something else I couldn’t quite make out.

“Is Mr. Greeley around, we’d like to talk to him too?”

“He’s at the golf course.” Her nose twitched. “The city course. Every day,” she said with a hard smile.

“Is he a good golfer?” said Kimberly, with a bounce of solicitous excitement in her voice.

“No,” she said.

“You don’t happen to have a picture of Tommy, do you?” I said. “Something we could take with us?”

“I might,” she said, smashing out her cigarette and standing unsteadily. “In the other room. I’ll be right back.”