She nods.
“And you’ve said before that that’s something he does on a regular basis when you’re down at the creek. Is that correct?” His tone of voice has shifted that quick.
“Yes.” She stiffens and shifts back in her chair.
“Here’s the thing, Genevieve: the more I think about you being down at that creek with Mason and letting him go running off by himself, the more I’m beginning to wonder if that would be something that a parent like you would do with a kid like Mason.” He rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger like he’s really thinking hard about it.
Her face instantly hardens. “Mason’s a kid just like everyone else, and he deserves the same rights as everyone else. Just because he has a disorder doesn’t mean he can’t go for a walk by himself. He’s perfectly capable of doing things by himself.”
“I get that. I do, and I agree. It’s just that in this particular situation, it doesn’t seem like the safest or most responsible parenting choice to make.”
“You have a lot of nerve, Detective Layne.” Her lips are tight with fury. She gives him a venomous stare. “I would never presume to tell you whether or not your child should go for a walk by the creek by themselves. Never.”
“You would if his child had the mental age of a four-year-old.” I don’t know where the boldness comes from. I just let the bomb fall out of my mouth and explode in the living room.
She whips her head to look at me. “What did you say?”
“Mason functions cognitively and in his daily life at the level of a four-year-old,” I say softly, my boldness dissipating by the second like air being let out of a balloon.
Her eyes are lit. “And just how would you know that?”
Heat rises in my chest. Travels to my ears. I steal a sideways glance at Detective Layne. I assumed she knew I’d seen the file with the reports. Was it supposed to be a secret?
“Don’t look at him. Look at me,” she says, snapping her fingers. “How do you know that?”
Detective Layne looks unmoved. “I showed her the reports you gave me.”
“You showed her the reports?” Betrayal clouds her expression. She must’ve believed no one else would see them. He probably should’ve told her he was sharing them with me. I wouldn’t want anyone reading Harper’s medical reports without my consent.
“You know me; I don’t understand any of this stuff.” He gives a nonchalant shrug like he’s just a big goof, but I’m beginning to wonder if most of that isn’t an act. He didn’t get to the head of the department because he was dumb. “I don’t know the fancy medical terminology and all the words the doctors use when they’re talking about things. I looked at that huge file and couldn’t understand half of what it said. I’m trying to help you and your son, Genevieve.” He shifts to the end of the chair and leans forward, stretching his body toward hers. “I can’t help you or him if I don’t know everything there is to know about him. That’s all I’ve been trying to do.” He nods in my direction. “Ms. Walker knows all about autism and kids, so I pulled her in to help. We need someone to navigate and explain the tricky issues with your son, and wouldn’t you rather it be someone local than someone from the outside that we don’t know anything about? Not to mention they wouldn’t know nothing about us or how this town functions?”
Her forehead lines with stress, but he’s apparently gotten to her with his syrupy words about staying local. People around here act like outsiders are from other planets instead of other places.
“Genevieve, something awful happened out there, and the only thing I want to do is figure out what, because I gotta know who I need to protect. That’s my job. I gotta protect this town. These people.” He makes a sweeping motion in front of him. “I gotta know exactly what happened out there, and I’m starting to think maybe things didn’t happen the way you said they did.”
“So now you’re calling me a liar?” She jumps to her feet, hands on her hips. “I’m the victim here.” She points above her. “He’s the victim here too. Did you forget that?”
Detective Layne rises slowly and reaches out like he’s trying to call a truce. “I understand that, Mrs. Hill. I do. And I’m going to do whatever is in my power to make that right, but I can’t be unsure about any of the details, and right now, I’m not feeling very sure.” He takes a step toward her. Just one. Then stops. He puts both hands up. “Was Mason on a walk by himself that day? Is that what happened?”
“I already told you what happened,” she cries, still clinging to her story.
“Genevieve.” He says it like it’s its own definitive statement.
“He was walking by himself. I told you that.”
“Genevieve.” Slower this time.
“He does walk by himself. Sometimes . . . he does. And he knows not to go down by the creek alone. I’ve taught him that—stay on the bank. Don’t go past the rocks.” She uses her mom voice to say it. Her face is flushed. “I always wanted him to know exactly what to do if we ever got separated. Where to go. I’m always trying to keep him safe. Out of trouble. I—”
“Did Mason get away from you that day?” I interrupt.
Recognition flashes through her eyes, and she knows she’s caught. She tries to arrange her face, but it’s too late.
“Did Mason get away from you that day?” Detective Layne presses, doubling down.
She flips her hair over her shoulder and juts her right hip out. “Okay, fine, whatever. Does it really matter if he took off for a walk because I let him or if he took off for a walk when he wasn’t supposed to?”