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exactly, but he didn’t look like himself. I only knew who it was because I saw him walking out our door. His stump was tucked into his pocket. He was wearing this old jacket that Andy had picked up in the men’s department of the Salvation Army ages ago. It was way too big for her, but she used to think it looked pretty cool. He was wearing a ball cap, and I thought at first he’d tucked his hair up under it. I got a better look when he turned onto Gottingen Street and I realized what he’d done. He’d cut off his hair and that weaselly beard of his too. He looked practically presentable.
    I followed him. He was walking pretty fast and keeping his eyes on the sidewalk. Still, I had to be careful he didn’t see me. It wasn’t all that easy. There’s not a whole bunch of trees in our part of town. I kept about half a block behind him and had to do quite a bit of darting around. Byron might not have looked suspicious, but I sure did.
    He walked past where all the stores were and turned up this quiet little street. There was no traffic and no people to hide behind, so I had to hang back. I let him turn the corner, waited a couple of minutes and tried to catch up.
    I got to the top of the street but couldn’t see him anywhere. I didn’t know whether to go left down the street or right up the street or straight ahead into this sad-looking little church. People in old movies always have their secret meetings in churches, but somehow I couldn’t see it working for Byron. If I were the minister and I saw Byron in my church, I’d start worrying about the collection money. I’d call the police immediately.
    So I ruled out the church and decided to turn right because, well, I had to do something. I couldn’t just stand there.
    I hadn’t gone very far—maybe ten, fifteen steps—when I suddenly realized that Byron was sitting on a park bench right across the street from me. I would have seen him sooner except I’d been daydreaming. You know, imagining myself on CNN talking about how I single-handedly caught this master criminal, instead of actually trying to catch him. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so sad.
    I dove behind a parked car and just sat there shaking for a while. I was really scared that Byron had seen me and was going to come over and pound my lights out with that purple stump of his.
    I waited, but nothing happened. I decided that I was going to crawl back to the corner and make a run for home.
    It seemed like the sensible thing to do, but it was too pathetic even for me. I could just see me slithering along on my belly right when Mary MacIsaac happened by. It wouldn’t be long before everyone at school heard that not only was I mean to the mentally challenged, but I was a chicken too. That would pretty much have killed any chance I had to get a girl in this lifetime.
    I decided to stay and find out what was going on. After all, there was Andy to think about too. I peeked up through the car windshield. Byron was still there. He was sitting on a bench in this little tiny park, talking to a woman. A small dark-haired woman with a big bandage on her arm. Her back was to me, but she was moving her hands around a lot so I could tell she was talking. I could tell she was upset. Byron was doing his chick-magnet thing and patting her on the leg. She seemed to calm down a bit (the hands weren’t flying around quite as much) but then Andy showed up. The little woman practically jumped into Byron’s arms.
    As soon as she turned around, I knew exactly who she was.
    Consuela Rodriguez.

chapter
fourteen

“In camera” (Latin)
    The hearing of a case in private
    I t probably sounds funny that I remember her, because she only came into Atula’s office once last summer, and she was really quiet too. But that kind of made her stand out. Sort of like those teachers who, instead of screaming at the class to quiet down, start