“What about Savannah? Was she a bad sleeper?” Detective Layne grabs a handkerchief from his pocket and swipes it across the beads of sweat on his forehead. It’s not stuffy in here. Maybe he’s nervous. Should I be worried too?
“Savannah? Oh my, no.” Genevieve smiles and shakes her head, batting her eyes at him while she lets out a giggle. “That girl could sleep for days.”
“How’s she doing at Ole Miss?”
“She’s doing well. Really good. She seems to be adjusting just fine, but she’s got a real heavy load with classes and all the other stuff she has going on, so it can be a bit tough finding the time to talk to her. You know how it is, I’m sure. How’s Margaret getting on at . . . I’m sorry, I forgot where she went to college.” She reaches out and pats his knee.
Detective Layne coughs uncomfortably. “No, no, that’s fine. Can’t expect you to remember where she’s going to school when you’ve got so much stuff going on yourself. She’s at Shelton State Community College for now. She’s gonna get some of her general classes out of the way first, you know, then transfer to a four-year university. Much cheaper. They take the same classes anyway, so what does it matter?” Detective Layne turns to me. “Savannah and Margaret went to school together at Northridge. Margaret’s a year ahead of Savannah.” He shifts his focus back to Genevieve. “Seems just like yesterday when we were playing T-ball over at Bowers Park and trying to keep them all out of the Popsicles until the end of the game.”
“They cared more about those Popsicles than they did the dang game.” She giggles again. She was a mess yesterday, but she’s put herself back together today. Her brown hair is pulled into a loose ponytail with curled strands strategically framing her face, and she’s in full makeup even though she had no idea we were stopping by.
He chuckles, then gives a deep sigh like he’s really enjoying her company and doesn’t want to spoil it. “I sure wish all this wasn’t the reason for us meeting together.” He takes out his handkerchief again. Another forehead swipe. Definitely nerves. Why’s being in Genevieve’s house got him so flustered?
“Like I told you,” she says, finally pulling her hand away from the detective’s knee and folding her hands together on her lap. “Anything I can do to help find this guy and get him off the streets. We can’t let something like this happen again. We just can’t. You’ve got to stop him.”
“Good, good,” he says, bobbing his head up and down. “Because we’re hoping you can take us through what happened one more time and we can focus on some angles we haven’t looked at before.”
She sits up even straighter. Legs crossed in front of her. Hands perched on her knees. “Do you need to record this?”
“No, that’s fine.” He waves her off with his hand. “Go ahead.”
“Okay. Sure.” She lets out a giggle. “I’m sorry. I just get so nervous every time I have to talk about it.”
“Don’t worry about your nerves. Take all the time you need,” I encourage her.
She shoots me an appreciative glance. “Me and Mason walk the river at eight four mornings a week. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and either Saturday or Sunday. It depends on what we have going on for the weekend. We have lots of activities on the weekends since I like keeping us busy.” She bounces her legs while she recounts the details. “Anyway, last Monday we were down there for our usual walk. It was such a gloomy day. The sun wasn’t out, so it was chilly, and there were barely any mosquitoes. I wanted to go down by the water and see if I could catch a few dragonflies.” She grows more confident as she speaks, reciting what happened that day with the flavor of a story she’s already told many times. “I know people get all upset these days about not putting any kind of creatures in captivity, but I just love catching them, and this is the only time of year where you can get roseate skimmers. I’ve been doing it ever since I was a little girl with my granny. Anyway, Mason wants nothing to do with bugs. He hates them, so he headed off for a walk by himself.” For the first time since we sat down, she gives me her full attention. “Mason doesn’t like being around people. It’s the perfect place for him to be by himself. He doesn’t have to worry about fitting in or anyone thinking he’s weird. It’s our happy place. Do you ever take your daughter?”
“Sometimes,” I say, but it’s not often. Open spaces make Harper nervous. She prefers being inside. The walls contain her.
“It’s like we’re totally free. He can just be himself while we’re down there. They deserve a chance to be themselves without worrying about other people judging them, you know?” She looks at me imploringly.
“I totally understand the value of having those spaces.” It’s the reason I send Harper to camp every year. It’s torturous for me, but she loves being around other kids like her. Even though she goes to a residential private school, it’s not just kids with autism spectrum disorders. There are kids with all kinds of different issues and behavior problems mingling in one room. At camp it’s just kids with ASD.
Genevieve’s eyes soften and melt into mine—her loneliness and isolation mirrored perfectly—recognizing she’s met another mother who gets her experience. I hope she’ll trust me enough to tell the truth.
“What happened next?” Detective Layne asks, and she shifts her attention back to him.
“All of a sudden, I heard Mason let out this terrible sound. I’d say scream, but you can’t call what came out of his mouth a scream. I don’t even know what to call it. I’ve never heard anything like that before. Not ever.” She shudders. “And then I ran. I didn’t think about anything. Just dropped my stuff and took off. All I remember is screaming at the top of my lungs. I kept yelling his name. Then screaming for help, because I knew before I even got around that corner that something was wrong. Something was real wrong. I just—”
“Can I stop you there for a second?” Detective Layne pulls a Dr. Phil move on her that stops her in her tracks.
“Sure,” she responds slowly, caught off guard by his intrusion.
“You say you let Mason go off by himself?”