“Why does he do that?” Detective Layne interrupts my memory.
“All kids do it in the beginning of their language development, and it disappears as they age, but that’s not what happens in kids with ASD. It can become their primary form of language. Other times it only happens when they’re upset or anxious as a way to soothe themselves. That’s definitely the case with Mason. He does it regularly, but anytime he got anxious, there was a dramatic increase.”
“And the tests. Back to the tests.” He motions to the papers spread out in front of me on the table. I brought some of Mason’s protocols so he could easily walk through them with me.
“Like I said, it was fascinating. He tried to follow the same response patterns from his previous testing situations, but that was impossible when things were so different. He was fine until I veered from the standardized protocol and didn’t follow the typical path. He was completely thrown off, and his anxiety increased dramatically.” His rocking grew more pronounced, like a steady current moving through his body. He smacked his thigh so hard once that I had to stop him. “It shouldn’t have been so distressing, but he was aware things weren’t going how they usually did and that he was ‘failing,’ even though he wasn’t. He just was in uncharted territory and didn’t know how to answer. He got lots of things right that he never should’ve been able to answer if all his other tests were accurate.”
He shakes his head. “Wow, so he’s faking it?”
“I’m not sure he’s intentionally faking anything or how much awareness he has as to what’s going on. But I do know one thing—someone trained him to take those tests and look a certain way on them. That’s one thing I’m sure of.” Everything else is questionable, but I’m confident he was coached and not just once, multiple times. He couldn’t have performed like he did otherwise. “And I’m almost certain it had to be Genevieve.”
“What makes you say that?” he asks as he flips through the testing protocols again.
“Because it’s ongoing. Maybe John could’ve been in on it from the beginning, but other than his first evaluation, the rest of them happened after he passed away.”
“But you said that he repeats things from other people that happened years ago, right? Like his preschool teacher’s voice? That was more than ten years ago. Couldn’t the same thing be happening here?” He cocks his head to the side and raises his eyebrows at me. “Is it possible that the way to answer and respond on the test in a certain way is just cemented in his head from the first time he took it?”
“Theoretically, it could be, but I think that’s highly unlikely. The level of sophistication required to perform consistently on the tests like he did is just too high. You’d have to remember so many different things and manipulate so many different variables, all within a timed context. Juggling all of that would be really tough to do. I have no idea how anyone could keep all of it straight. I’m an expert, and I couldn’t do it unless I spent hours practicing and rehearsing my responses.”
“Don’t lots of people with autism have that thing where they’re geniuses at stuff or remembering weird facts? You know what I’m talking about? The ones where they have crazy memory about things like dates and numbers or being able to play the piano like a pro without any kind of training?” He leans forward across the table.
“It’s called savant syndrome,” I explain. And he’s right. About 10 percent of people with autism demonstrate the ability, but it’s usually with music or art. Sometimes with the memorization of facts, but those typically center around dates or very specific interests. I’ve never heard of a single case that remotely resembles anything like this.
“That’s it!” He snaps his fingers and points at me. “Could he be demonstrating that? You already said that he does an amazing job imitating and mimicking other people.”
“I guess so.” I twirl my mug around twice on the table but don’t pick it up. I’ve been so focused on proving someone trained him to take the tests that I haven’t considered any of the other possibilities that might explain his behavior. “Except if that’s the case and he really is that impaired, then it raises another glaring question—Why did Genevieve wait so long to have him evaluated?”
“I’m not following you. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Genevieve didn’t have Mason evaluated until he was six years old. That’s really late to bring your child to the pediatrician if he actually has the level of impairment that the tests suggest. The early warning signs are pretty easy to spot in toddlers and only grow more pronounced the older they get, especially when you have a child as severe as Mason supposedly is or was.” I stumble over my words. I’m always so careful with them because I never want to offend anyone, but I have no idea how to refer to him now. “Anyway, there are so many things that would’ve been there for Genevieve to notice and pick up on.” I use my fingers to rattle each one off. “Language delays. Speech delays. Not responding to his name being called. No imaginative play. Strange mannerisms. Not being able to hold joint attention. All those things and a million other things.”