“Yes, ma’am. I grew up in Horton Ravine. My family lived on Via Ynez until I went off to college. I lived a couple of other places, but now I’m back.”

“You still have family here?”

His hesitation was one of those nearly imperceptible blips that in dicates internal editing. “My parents are gone. I have two older brothers, both married with two kids each, and an older sister who’s divorced. We’re not on good terms. We haven’t been for years.”

I let that pass without comment, being better acquainted with family estrangement than I cared to admit. “How do you know Cheney Phillips?”

“I don’t. I went into the police department, asking to speak to a detective, and he happened to be free. When I told him my situation, he said you might be able to help.”

“Well, let’s hope so,” I said. “Cheney’s a good guy. I’ve known him for years.” I shut my mouth then and let a silence descend, a stratagem with remarkable powers to make the other guy talk.

Sutton touched the knot in his tie. “I know you’re busy, so I’ll get to the point. I hope you’ll bear with me. The story might sound weird.”

“Weird stories are the best kind, so fire away,” I said.

He looked at the floor as he spoke, making eye contact now and then to see if I was following. “I don’t know if you saw this, but a couple of weeks ago, there was an article in the newspaper about famous kidnappings: Marion Parker, the twelve-year-old girl who was abducted in 1927; the Lindbergh baby in ’thirty-two; another kid, named Etan Patz. Ordinarily, I don’t read things like that, but what caught my attention was the case here in town…”

“You’re talking about Mary Claire Fitzhugh-1967.”

“You remember her?”

“Sure. I’d just graduated from high school. Little four-year-old girl taken from her parents’ home in Horton Ravine. The Fitzhughs agreed to pay the ransom, but the money was never picked up and the child was never seen again.”

“Exactly. The thing is, when I saw the name Mary Claire Fitzhugh, I had this flash-something I hadn’t thought about for years.” He clasped his hands together and squeezed them between his knees. “When I was a little kid, I was playing in the woods and I came across these two guys digging a hole. I remember seeing a bundle on the ground a few feet away. At the time, I didn’t understand what I was looking at, but now I believe it was Mary Claire’s body and they were burying her.”

I said, “You actually saw the child?”

He shook his head. “She was wrapped in a blanket, so I couldn’t see her face or anything else.”

I studied him with interest. “What makes you think it was Mary Claire? That’s a big leap.”

“Because I went back and checked the old newspaper accounts and the dates line up.”

“What dates?”

“Oh, sorry. I should have mentioned this before. She was kidnapped on July 19, which was a Wednesday. I saw the guys on Friday, July 21, 1967… my birthday, the year I turned six. That’s how I made the association. I think she was already dead by then and they were getting rid of the body.”

“And this was where?”

“Horton Ravine. I don’t know the exact location. My mother had errands to run that day so she dropped me off at some kid’s house. I don’t remember his name. I guess his mom had agreed to look after me while she was gone. Turns out the other kid woke up with a fever and sore throat. Chicken pox was going around and his mom didn’t want me exposed in case that’s what it was, so she made him stay in his room while I hung around downstairs. I got bored and asked if I could go outside. She said I could as long as I didn’t leave the property. I remember finding this tree with branches that hung down to make a little room, so I played there for a while, pretending I was a bandit in a cool hideout. I heard voices and when I peeped through the leaves, I saw the two guys walk by with shovels and stuff and I followed them.”

“What time of day?”

“Must have been late morning because after I came in again, the kid’s mother fed me lunch-a plain lettuce and tomato sandwich, no bacon, and it was made with Miracle Whip. Our family didn’t eat Miracle Whip. My mother wouldn’t have it in the house. She said it was disgusting compared to real homemade mayonnaise.”

“Your mother made mayonnaise?”

“The cook did.”

“Ah.”

“Anyway, Mom always said it was rude to complain, so I ate what I could and left the rest on my plate. The kid’s mom hadn’t even cut the crusts off the bread.”

“There’s a shock,” I said. “I’m impressed your memory’s so clear.”

“Not clear enough or I wouldn’t be here. I’m pretty sure the two guys I saw were the ones who abducted Mary Claire, but I have no idea where I was. I know I’d never been to the house before and I never went there again.”

“Any chance one of your siblings would remember who the kid was?”

“I guess it’s possible. Unfortunately, we don’t get along. We haven’t spoken in years.”

“So you said.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to repeat myself. The point is, I can’t call them up out of a clear blue sky. Even if I did, I doubt they’d talk to me.”

“But I could ask, couldn’t I? That would be the obvious first move if you’re serious about this.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want them involved, especially my sister, Dee. She’s difficult. You don’t want to mess with her.”

“All right. We’ll scratch that for now. Maybe the kid’s mother was being paid to babysit.”

“That wasn’t my impression. More like she was doing Mom a favor.”

“What about your classmates? Maybe she left you with one of the other moms, like a playdate.”

Sutton blinked twice. “That’s a possibility I hadn’t thought of. I’ve kept in touch with the other two Michaels, Boorman and Trautwein, but that’s the extent of it. I didn’t like anybody else in my kindergarten class and they didn’t like me.”

“It doesn’t matter if you liked them or not. We’re trying to identify the boy.”

“I don’t remember anyone else.”

“It should be easy enough to come up with a list. You must have had class photos. You could go back to the school library and check the ’67 yearbook.”

“I don’t want to go back to Climp. I hate the idea.”

“It’s just a suggestion. So far, we’re brainstorming,” I said. “Tell me about the two guys. How old would you say?”

“I’m not sure. Older than my brothers, who were ten and twelve at the time, but not as old as my dad.”

“Did they see you?”

“Not then. I decided to spy on them, but where they ended up was too far away and I couldn’t see what they were doing. I sneaked up on them, crawling through the bushes and crouching behind a big oak. It was hot and they were sweating so they’d taken off their shirts. I guess I wasn’t as quiet as I thought because one of them spotted me and they both jumped. They stopped what they were doing and asked what I wanted.”

“You actually talked to them?”

“Oh, sure. Absolutely. We had this whole conversation. I thought they were pirates and I was all excited about meeting them.”

“Pirates?”

“My mother was reading me Peter Pan at bedtime, and I loved the illustrations. The pirates wore bandanas tied around their heads, which is what the two guys had done.”

“Beards? Earrings? Eye patches?”

That netted me a smile, but not much of one. He shook his head. “It was the bandanas that reminded me of pirates. I told them I knew that because of Peter Pan.”

“What’d you talk about?”

“First, I asked ’em if they were pirates for real and they told me they were. The one guy talked more than the other and when I asked what they were doing, he said they were digging for buried treasure…”

As Sutton spoke, I could see him regressing to the little boy he’d been, earnest and easily impressed. He leaned forward in his chair. “I asked if the treasure was gold doubloons, but they said they didn’t know because they hadn’t found it yet. I asked to see the treasure map and they said they couldn’t show me because they were sworn to secrecy. I’d seen the bundle on the ground, over by this tree, and when I asked about it, the first guy said it was a bedroll in case they got tired. I offered to help dig, but he told me the job was only for grown-ups and little kids weren’t allowed. And then the other one spoke up and asked where I lived. I told them I lived in a white house, but not on this street, that I was visiting. The first guy asked what my name was. I told him and the other one spoke up again and said he thought he heard someone calling me so I better go, which is what I did. The whole exchange couldn’t have taken more than three minutes.”