One of the officers, the stocky one who wore a name tag that said “Jones,” asked Jared if he knew the dead man inside. Jared shook his head. The image of the bloated, bloody body came back to him, and even though he stood outside, the rotten smell lingered in his nostrils. He wished for something pleasant to sniff—a bunch of flowers or a peppermint patty or a wet dog. Anything.
“You broke into the house because you thought your girlfriend was in danger?” the older cop asked him. His name tag said “Bradford,” and he sounded a little suspicious. Jared understood what the whole thing looked like. He’d already confessed to the crime of breaking into the house. But considering what he’d found and how shitty the house was to begin with, he hoped they’d cut him some slack.
“I thought she was dead,” Jared said, trying not to sound pathetic. “She still might be.”
Another car approached, and the three of them watched it pull over to the curb. Jared knew who it was. He’d called his mom as soon as he contacted the police and she said she would be right over. She popped out of the car, her face worried. Jared knew she’d be freaked, but then again, what parent wouldn’t be? Her son had called her up and said he’d just found a dead body in a house in a bad neighborhood a few months after her best friend disappeared. Yeah, she could be freaked out if she wanted.
“Are you okay?” she asked when she came up to them. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and then she pulled him close into a hug.
Even though the two cops watched, Jared didn’t mind. The hug felt good, warm, and safe. It made him feel like a little kid again.
“You’re his mom,” Jones said.
“I am. He called me.”
“Do you know the people who live here?”
“No, I don’t. Well, wait, I knew the girl who lived here. I met her a couple of times.”
“This is your son’s girlfriend? The girl who might be the victim of a custodial kidnapping?”
“I guess that’s what you call it,” his mom said, sounding a little impatient.
“And your name is Jenna Barton, right?” Bradford asked.
Jared saw the look cross his mom’s face, the tired one that always showed up when she was recognized simply because of her connection to Celia. It was as if some power drained from his mother every time that came up.
“Yes,” she said, her voice short. “I know Detective Poole very well.”
“But you don’t have any reason to believe the two things are related, do you?” Jones asked. “The dead body in there and . . .” For a moment, it seemed he wouldn’t even finish the thought, but then he said, “Mrs. Walters’s case.”
His mom answered right away, her voice assured and confident. “No, I don’t think so. Do you?”
The cops didn’t offer any opinion. Over the past few months of watching them up close, he’d learned they usually didn’t. They said as little as possible that might obligate them to something later. They liked to ask questions and then sit back and let the other person, the noncop, talk. Then they’d ask another question and another.
The notion that the two things were related—Celia’s disappearance and Tabitha’s—had never crossed Jared’s mind until Jones brought it up. And once he did, the idea wedged in Jared’s brain like a large splinter.
Could they be? And Holly Crenshaw as well?
“Do you mind if I take him home?” his mom asked, her hands still resting on Jared’s shoulders, even though he was taller than his mom by a few inches. It was one of those protective gestures parents like to make. It said to the world, This one is mine, and you better believe you’re going to have to go through me first. “It’s cold. He doesn’t have a coat, and he’s been through something awful.”
“Mom,” Jared said. She seemed to be laying it on pretty thick, making him sound like a baby. But he did want to go home, to get out of the cold and away from the stench of the dead man inside. If he ever could fully get away from it. His mom ignored him and waited for the cops to say something.
“Are you going right home?” Bradford asked. “Because a detective will want to speak to you. Tonight.”
“Believe me,” his mom said, her voice sounding tired, “they all know where I live.”
Bradford nodded and Jared’s mom didn’t break contact with him until he sat down inside the car.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Early the next morning Detective Poole came by, looking tired and worn. She wore a navy pantsuit, the jacket wrinkled, and her hair seemed frazzled and unkempt, as if she’d ridden to their house with the windows down in her car, despite the cold temperatures. When Jenna offered her coffee, she accepted it as if it were manna from heaven.
The three of them sat at the kitchen table. Detective Poole started with a rundown of everything Jared knew about Tabitha and her dad. But before she started asking questions, Jared said, “Her real name is Natalie, isn’t it?”
Naomi nodded. “It looks that way.”
“Maybe we should call her that. I need to get used to that, I guess, and I think someone would like to be called by their real name.”