East Lake, Tuesday
20 September, 6:17 a.m.
“What time did you get home last night?”
“I don’t know,” Jason answered.
“About?” Johnny stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. Jason was sitting on the edge of the sofa watching TV, a toaster waffle in one hand, the TV remote in the other. Dog Corleone lay by Jason’s feet, his eyes on Jason’s waffle.
“I don’t know,” Jason repeated. “Three maybe.”
“Where were you?” There was no warmth in Johnny’s voice. He’d gotten up at four, again at five, to see if Jason was home. He had not checked when he’d risen at five-fifty.
“A lot of us gathered at the site.” Jason did not take his eyes from the screen. The volume was low; to Johnny, barely audible. “Then we kept vigil at St. Luke’s…”
“In Lakeport?!” Johnny’s tone hardened furth
