The radiator beneath the window clanked and went quiet.

Liam checked the brass clasp on his briefcase again, even though it was already shut.

“Then why would he push a mop for twenty-two years?”

Liam folded his hands together.

“His wife, Ruth, died in the fall of 2002.

He told me he couldn’t sit in an office with her picture and no work in front of him.

So he asked the board for the custodian’s job instead.” He let that settle.

“They assumed he was grieving.