Page 14 of The Lie Maker

“That’s okay. Think I’ll just sit here a minute, get an Uber home in a bit.”

Earl nodded, gave me half a wave, and headed back for his car.

Seven

When Lana arrived at the Star newsroom the following morning she checked in with the Metro editor to confirm that she was to do a more in-depth follow-up on Willard Bentley. The morning edition had carried the news that the esteemed retired judge had gone missing, and there were further updates for the online edition, mostly about how the police were continuing their search, but what the Star needed was a more thorough retrospective on the man’s career. In all likelihood, a proper obituary on one of the city’s more notable citizens.

Lana started with the police to find out whether there was anything new. There wasn’t. Then she went to the paper’s digital library and looked up stories that mentioned him, which led her to make a list of other prominent Bostonians who had crossed paths with the judge at one time or another. Other judges, politicians, lawyers who had tangled with him but who had nothing but respect, just the same.

Her story was heavy with big names, but what it still needed was comments from average folks who knew him, as well as family members. It was at that point that she decided to head to Beacon Hill and start knocking on doors.

It wasn’t long before she connected with Bentley’s next-door neighbor, Sylvia Kingston.

“He was the most lovely man,” she told Lana after inviting her into the house. “Oh, my, I shouldn’t speak that way. I’m still hoping against hope that they’ll find him. Maybe he’s just lost, or... But he really is the most lovely man. Very low key, unassuming. You’d never know, talking to him on the street, that he’d been such a big deal at one time. We moved in eight years ago, around the time he retired, I think. He’d just presided over that case about the two brothers who planted a bomb outside the Paul Revere house, the one they disarmed just before it blew up? You remember that?”

“I do.”

“Mr.Bentley went through a rough patch there, after his wife died. Was very down, but he came out of it, I think. They were going to go on this big trip, and then she got sick. It’s so sad.”

“According to the police, you’re the last person known to have seen him.”

“He was coming out of his place, with Oliver? His dog? His daughter gave him the dog after his wife died, and he grumbled about it at first, having a pet to look after, but he sure loves that dog. I was heading to the gym when he was coming out.”

“How did he seem to you?”

“He was fine.”

“Not confused, or unwell in any way?”

Sylvia shook her head. “I don’t understand how he could just vanish. They found Oliver. If the judge fell or hit his head or something, you’d think they would have found him by now. Do you know who’s looking after the dog?”

“I don’t.”

“If you find out, would you let me know? I mean, if they’ve sent him to the pound or something, we’d take him in until he’s found or whatever.”

“Sure, I can do that.”

Willard Bentley’s daughter, Katie Ward, was having a difficult time pulling herself together.

“I’m sorry,” Katie said. “I keep waiting to hear something, anything, but there’s nothing.”

Lana, sitting in the living room of the woman’s Mission Hill home, said, “I’m sure the police will let you know the moment they know anything.”

On the couch with Katie, his head resting on her lap, was a snoozing Oliver.

“Your father’s neighbor will be relieved to hear Oliver is with you,” Lana said. “She offered to look after him if no one else was.”

Katie stroked the dog’s head. “My husband and I gave him Oliver after Mom died. He thought it was a stupid idea at first, but then they formed this kind of bond, you know? They just love each other to death.”

She winced, realizing she could have chosen her words more carefully.

“I’ve talked to so many people this morning who are praying that he’s found soon and that he’s okay,” Lana said. “He’s so respected.”

Katie bit her lip and looked away. “It’s been more than eighteen hours now. I don’t understand why he hasn’t turned up.”

“Have you noticed any... cognitive issues with your father lately? Confusion?”

Katie shook her head wearily. “I don’t... think so. I mean, he’s more forgetful now. He has a hard time pulling up people’s names. At our last lunch a month or two ago, we got talking about some TV shows that we’d been binge-watching, and he had the hardest time trying to remember the titles. But we’re all like that once in a while, aren’t we?”