I can’t believe I fell for Detective Layne and Ms. Walker’s plan. They’ve been plotting against me all along. How could I have been so stupid? I really believed we could be on the same team. I was so naive.
Of course they think Mason did it. He’s so huge that he looks like he could snap someone’s neck without even trying or easily bash a grown person’s body against a rock. But that’s only on the outside. He’s my sweet, cuddly teddy bear on the inside. I should’ve made them see him differently, but it’s too late for all that now. It’s too late for anything. They’ve got it in their heads that I’m hurting him, and there’s no going back.
Or maybe they just want to get him away from me long enough to make him talk. The idea makes me laugh. Mason isn’t Mason without me. That’s the thing. His fourth-grade teacher even said so.
“He only lights up like that when you’re around,” she commented after the Gobbler’s Feast on Thanksgiving.
I tried to pretend it wasn’t that big of a deal, but I beamed. I’m his stable base. His due north. How is he going to get through this night without me? How am I going to get through it without him?
That Monster is out there, and he’s not done. I found another card on my windshield at Walmart after I went off on Casey. That’s who she is to me now. No more Ms. Walker. None of that. She’s lost all my respect. I shove my anger down as it tries to rise. I don’t have time for that. I’ll take care of it later. Right now, it’s only this.
I twirl the business card in my fingers. William Jones Landscape and Design, just like before. Same number. Same design. Same message scrawled on the back.
What does he want?
I’ve known what I was supposed to do since the moment I found the first card on my windshield. I’ve just been too afraid, but he’s not going to stop until I talk to him, so I might as well get it over with. I grab my phone from on top of the counter. My fingers shake as I tap *67 followed by the number on the card. A knot of anxiety balls in my stomach. Part of me hopes I’m wrong. Someone picks up.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to call.” The voice strips every thought from my head.
TWENTY-ONE
CASEY WALKER
I let Detective Layne in without saying a word. He insisted on finishing our phone conversation face-to-face, even though I wanted to end it and take a break from the case for the rest of the night. I lead him into the kitchen, where the pot of coffee is ready and waiting for us. He starts talking before we’ve finished pouring our cups.
“Look, your expertise has been so valuable. You helped push this case to the next level, and we wouldn’t be where we are right now if it weren’t for you. I want to make sure you know that and how grateful we are for you. I just want to make sure we’re good, because I would hate for you to not keep moving forward with us on this case.” He threads his fingers together around his mug and gives me apologetic eyes.
I wrinkle my face at him. “Did you send me to test Mason so that you could file a report?” It’s not that I necessarily disagree with the report—I don’t want Mason in a home he’s being abused in either—I just don’t like being left in the dark about what’s happening or how I’m being used.
“No, ma’am, I did not. That’s not even what we went in there looking for. Remember? You were the one that brought up the weird stuff going on with his tests. I don’t know anything about that. That was all you. Besides, there was no way I could’ve predicted there were bruises on his arms, and even if I did, there was no guarantee you’d see them.” He loosens his collar. Rolls his neck.
I study him closely, trying to pull facts from all the way back to graduate school on how to tell if someone is lying. It’s been so long I can’t remember. He seems genuine and real, but he looks the same way when he looks at Genevieve, too, and I’ve seen the way he spins half truths with her. They probably teach lying in detective school in the same way they teach psychologists to spot deception.
“After I told you about the bruises, did you know you were going to go to family services and push for them to file a report?” I try to penetrate him with my gaze. It works.
A sheepish expression fills his features like the one Harper gets when I’ve caught her getting into the candy stash in the pantry. “I’m not going to lie. I was thrilled when you found bruises on his arms. I know how terrible that sounds, but we’ve needed to get that boy away from his mama from day one, and this finally gave us an opportunity to do that. Those two being apart is the best thing that’s happened to this case.” He folds his hands in front of him.
“I just don’t know why you’d do something like that without telling me, especially when my family could be threatened.”
He reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “Look, Ms. Walker, I am really sorry about that. I am. I had no clue she’d react that way to y’all and definitely never thought for a minute she’d go after you while you were with your daughter.” He peers into my eyes. My hand feels awkward in his. “I won’t let something like that happen again. You have my word.”
I slowly pull my hand out from underneath his and nod my acknowledgment. He takes a long drink from his coffee, then shifts back into control and investigative mode. “She’s working too hard to protect him, Ms. Walker. She always has been. You don’t work that hard for no reason. We need to see who he really is. We can’t do that with her around. And you said so yourself—he’s got a lot more issues than he lets on. The kid’s been in the psychiatric ward more than once. Did you forget that?”
“No, but what you don’t understand is kids like Mason depend on their routines to keep them grounded. They have a rigid adherence to their schedule. Everything has to be done a certain way and in a specific order every day. You’re not going to get any idea of who he really is when he’s in such an unfamiliar environment. You’re going to see him melt down. He’ll be at his worst.”