“Well, what the hell do you want?”
“I need to ask you about Gregory Knudsen.”
Barbara’s eyes narrowed. “Who do you work for?”
“I’m defending the person accused of killing Tom Garvey.”
She didn’t say anything. She stood there, breathing at me, looking ready to bolt from the room any second.
“You knew Tom Garvey, right?”
Nothing.
“And you knew Gregory Knudsen in high school?”
More nothing.
“I understand you had his child.”
Barbara peered at me. “Where do you get all this?”
“Does it matter? I’m trying to find Knudsen. Do you know where he is?”
She crossed her arms. “No.”
“I was told he left the state?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“No.”
“Have you heard from him since?”
She paused a few beats. “No.”
“Do you know if he’s still friends with Bruce Schaeffer?”
A longer pause. Her upper lip began to twitch. “I have no goddamned idea.”
“Have you stayed in touch with Bruce since high school?”
She didn’t answer.
“Did they know Tom Garvey then?” I said.
A ripple of some emotion ran through her expression, but I couldn’t finger it. Confusion? Doubt? “No.”
“You’re sure they didn’t know Tom Garvey?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“When did they meet him?”
“How should I know?”
“How do you know they didn’t know him then?”