O hesitated. D.D. looked at her. “What?”
“You have any experience with kids?”
“Worked a case where a four-year-old was the prime witness.”
“Look, you may be older and wiser,” O drawled, “but I’m sex crimes, and unfortunately, most of my cases involve questioning kids. So take it from me, you can’t screw this up. You lead the witness here, and that contamination will carry. Then the entire interview will be tossed, and we’ll have no grounds for arresting our prime suspect, Charlene blah blah Grant. You gotta be smart.”
“Then I’ll leave the stupid questions at home.”
O still didn’t seem happy, but she turned away from the alley, returning in the direction of the flashing cruiser lights. The little boy and his mother were huddled in the back of the first patrol car. The door was open, probably to make them feel less like prisoners. But it also let in the chill, and both the boy and his mother were shivering. The mom held a cardboard cup of steaming beverage, probably coffee, but she wasn’t drinking it. Just holding it, as if willing the warmth to make a difference.
The little boy didn’t look up when they approached. He was leaning against his mother’s side, his tiny form nearly lost in an oversized black winter coat, hat, scarf, and mittens. D.D. had an impression of dark eyes and a pale pinched face, then he turned away from her.
The mother had her left arm around her son. She had the same pale features and haunted expression as the boy. But her jaw was set, her lips thinned into a resolute line.
“Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren,” D.D. said to introduce herself. It sounded as if they’d already met O.
“Jennifer Germaine.” The woman nodded, as she didn’t have a free hand to offer. She nudged her son, but he didn’t look up. “My son, Jesse,” she said after another moment.
“How are you doing, Jesse?” D.D. asked.
The boy didn’t answer.
“Fair enough,” she agreed. “I’m not having the best night either.”
He turned slightly, stared at her with a wary expression.
“I’m supposed to be having dinner with my mother. She came all the way from Florida to see me. But I had to leave. She’s not very happy with me. It doesn’t feel good, to have my mom not very happy with me.”
Jesse’s lower lip trembled.
“But I also know she understands,” D.D. continued. “It’s the cool thing about moms. They always love us, huh?”
Jennifer’s arm tightened around her son. He pressed himself harder against her side.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice coming out hoarse and raspy. Maybe from crying now, or screaming earlier.
“Why are you sorry?” D.D. asked, keeping her voice conversational.
“I was a bad boy.”
“Why do you say that?” Open-ended questions. That was the deal with kids—can’t imply, can’t lead, can only ask open-ended questions.
“Stranger Danger. Don’t talk to strangers online. Don’t meet strangers. Don’t go away with strangers. My mommy told me. I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
The little boy started to cry. His mother stroked his hair, then leaned over his head, murmuring low words of comfort.
“Thank you for returning to the library tonight,” D.D. said.
The boy looked up slightly.
“That was quick thinking. You had to find your way back through the city streets, which I personally find very confusing at night. But you did. You found your mother, you notified the police. Very brave of you. Have you ever walked the city alone, Jesse?”
The boy shook his head.
“Then kudos. You kept a cool head. Bet your mom’s pretty proud of you for that.”
Jennifer nodded against the top of her son’s head.
“I need you to be brave for me now, Jesse. Just a little bit longer, okay? Just relax, snuggled up next to your mom, and think about a couple of things for me.”
The little boy nodded, just slightly.