A Slice of Blueberry Pie Broke Eight Years of My Son’s Silence

Frank took me straight back to his den, where two filing cabinets stood next to a low desk.

I laid my handwritten timeline on his blotter beside the rubbing of the brass key I’d made on a scrap of library paper.

Frank rubbed the scar on his left knuckles and looked down at the outline of the key marked four zero eight.

“I can get into the county basement,” Frank said.

“The desk sergeant was a rookie under me twenty years back.”

“What’s it going to cost me?” I asked.