Chris held up his hands. “Good. We’re done here.”
Makani’s cheeks burned. She was already thinking about the similar conversation that she’d be forced to have with her grandmother. Somehow, she doubted Grandma Young would keep it so brief.
The coffee finished brewing, and Chris filled their mugs. No one mentioned food, because no one had an appetite. They stared at the rising vapors.
“So,” Makani said. “He’s still out there.”
Because Chris would have told them, otherwise. The table only had two chairs, so he was slumped against the counter. “Last night, a K-9 unit tracked him to the fields surrounding the school, but they lost the trail when it hit the river. Maybe if we were a bigger town—if we hadn’t needed to call up the unit from Lincoln—we would have found him before he reached water.” His head hung as if it weighed heavily upon his shoulders. “The team’s still searching, though. They’re trying to pick up his trail again somewhere along the banks.”
Makani imagined the predator slinking through the fields in his cornstalk-colored camouflage. A lion in wait.
Chris’s voice firmed. “We’ll get him soon. He can’t hide for much longer.”
Outside the windows, the fields were hushed and still.
“I know you answered a million of our questions last night,” he said, “and I know you don’t really know the guy, but what did you think about him, before all this? What was your general impression?”
Makani was surprised when she couldn’t think of a reply.
“Anything,” Chris said. “It might be useful.”
“I guess . . . nothing. He was just a nothing guy, you know? Kind of a redneck. Scrawny. I’ve never really noticed any defining or distinguishing features.” Makani tried to picture David at school. She tried to picture the version of David that wasn’t inside her house. “It’s like . . . he’s all one color. Sandy-blond hair, tannish skin. They blend together. I don’t remember his eyes. Maybe he has a weak chin?”
“Okay. But appearance aside, what kind of person was he?”
“Quiet?” She shrugged and then glanced at Ollie with a laugh. “Not as quiet as him, though.”
Ollie gave her a small but knowing smile.
His brother also cracked a smile. “What else?”
“We sat near each other in a few classes. Alphabetical order. Ware, Young. I never took much notice of him, but he seemed smart enough.”
“Can you explain why he gave you that impression?”
It was another hard question. “I guess because he always had a quick response—to jokes or whatever. And he listened and watched. Paid attention. He had a large group of friends, and I figured Rodrigo was his best friend, but maybe that’s only because they sat near me in physics, so sometimes I overheard their conversations.”
“What’d they talk about?”
“Tech stuff. Boring. I didn’t understand most of it.” Her arms folded over her stomach. “I still can’t believe that he killed his own friend. You guys are sure he’s working alone?”
“An imprint of a boot was left behind at the Moraleses’ house,” Chris said, and she nodded as if Ollie hadn’t already told her. “It’s David’s size, and his parents confirmed that he wears the brand. They’re missing from his closet. Combined with everything else we know, it seems unlikely that he’s working with a partner.”
Ollie traced his finger along the handle of his mug. “How did Rodrigo’s parents react when they learned that it was David?”
“Bev gave them the news last night.” Chris shook his head. “Said they appeared to be genuinely shocked. They told her that David had always been polite and respectful—more so than some of Rodrigo’s other friends—and that he seemed like a normal teenage boy. Hell, they’ve known him since Montessori preschool.”
“What about David’s parents?” Makani asked.
“Chief questioned them all night, and the sheriff’s guys are helping us search their property just outside of town. But they seem decent. Hard working, churchgoing. Their families go way back in Sloane County on both sides, and all the grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins still live here. Dad had a disorderly conduct charge for public urination, but that was almost twenty years ago. And, apparently, he took David deer hunting every November, which explains a few things. But it’s not unusual.”
Not unusual for here, Makani thought.
“From what I heard,” he continued, “David’s parents were blindsided.”
Ollie’s brows knitted together in doubt. He was still fiddling with the mug.
“I’m sure it’s hard for you to believe,” Chris said, a familiar wryness to his voice, “but parents don’t always know what their kids are up to.”
“Then they should ask,” Ollie said.
“They should. But sometimes kids lie.”
Ollie’s index finger stopped.
“But . . . you’re right.” Chris looked away. It was an attempt to defuse the old tension of him being a stand-in parent. Makani had only heard hints about the fights that had occurred since Chris had moved back home, but she did know it had taken them a few years to adjust to their circumstances. “Sometimes, parents are just shitty.”
“If they’re hiding anything,” Ollie said, lifting his head to extend his own peace offering, “you’ll find it.”
Arduous days required scrupulous planning. Chris announced that he would escort them to Makani’s house so she could grab some clothes and toiletries. After that, he’d go to work, and Ollie would drive her to the hospital. In the afternoon, Ollie would go to work, and she’d remain behind with her grandmother. And then when Ollie’s shift ended, he’d pick her up, and they would all converge again at the Larsson house.
The brothers offered her the first shower. She’d rinsed off her skin in the sink last night, so she declined with a secret shudder. There was no way these white boys had the right hair products. She could wait another hour until she was home.
While Ollie showered, Makani faced the reality of her phone. In addition to a slew of new texts from Darby and Alex, unexpected messages had arrived from the student-council president and from Haley’s best friend. Being president had given Katie access to her number, and Brooke had gotten it through Darby. Their texts were supportive and kind, but Makani couldn’t deal with trying to form any polite responses right now.
She listened to her voicemail instead. Her father said that he’d heard what had happened from her mother, and to give him a call sometime. There was no urgency to this request.
There was also no missed call from her mother.
Principal Stanton had left a voicemail, which was awkward, and there was another from Tamara Schuyler at the Omaha World-Herald, which was unsettling. Despite their claims, Makani knew the type of journalist who hounded a minor post-trauma wasn’t interested in that minor’s well-being.
They were only interested in the salacious story.