Before I can respond, Mae says, “Back to my original question, even if you believe my niece did this for attention, that doesn’t explain why Jesse and Tiffany would get involved.”
“I’m told Jasser Mandal was friends with your niece before the North Hampton incident. Skye is an attractive young woman, and I’m sure it would be possible for her to renew that friendship.”
I gape at him. “You’re saying I —?”
“As for Tiffany Gold, she would be involved in it for the same reason as your niece.” He reaches into a folder by his elbow and takes out a sheaf of pages. They’re the ones someone put in my locker. The ones about the shooting.
I keep my mouth shut, in case he’s come by them some other way, but he sets them in front of Mae and says, “These were found in your niece’s locker.”
“Your warrant didn’t cover that,” Mae says.
“Lockers are school property and may be searched at any time. Mr. Vaughn did so earlier today, after suspending your niece. When we contacted him on this matter, he brought these over.”
“What are they?” Mae asks.
I start to answer, but the detective begins going through the stack, explaining. I see articles and typed notes and —
“Hey, is that the police report?” I say.
He slaps the folder shut and looks at Mae. “Your niece has been investigating the incident at North Hampton. Trying to clear her brother’s name.”
“What?” she says.
“No,” I say. “Those pages were put into my locker. They’re part of this whole thing.”
“This conspiracy,” the detective says. “Against you.”
I look him in the eye. “I have never used that word. It’s not a conspiracy. It’s an escalation of bullying.”
“So you’re telling me that the person who is blaming you for these incidents is the same one who’s trying to say your brother didn’t collude with Harley Stewart and Isaac Wickham?”
“Maybe my persecutor wanted me to start claiming Luka was innocent. Turn people against me that way. But I knew better than to even read that stuff.”
“You’re telling me you haven’t read any of this?” He taps the folder.
“I didn’t dare,” I say. “Claiming that my brother wasn’t guilty only raises hopes I can’t afford to have. Of course I don’t want him to be guilty, but I know he was.”
“He was,” the detective says, and his voice softens, just a little. “I do understand how hard that is to hear. But Luka had a gun. Multiple witnesses saw him holding it. He was fully involved. We had a very credible source who verified that.”
“Harley,” I say.
“The terms of Harley Stewart’s plea bargain do not allow me to discuss his statement, but Luka was not an idle bystander who happened to find a gun.”
“I know that,” I say, my voice low. “The shooters were his friends. Luka had a gun. Therefore, Luka was involved.” I point at the folder. “I don’t know what’s in there, but my only guess is that someone wanted me proclaiming Luka’s innocence to discredit me. To turn others against me. But you can analyze that for fingerprints. I unfolded the pages, saw what they were, shoved them into my locker and left them there. The only reason I didn’t throw them out was because I was afraid if someone found me with them, I’d get blamed, just like I am now.”
I look at him. “I didn’t do any of this. But if you think I did, then I’m okay with that, because it means you’ll investigate, which is more than Mr. Vaughn cared to do. Whatever you decide, though, please look for Tiffany. She’s in danger.” I put my hand over the bandage on my arm. “She’s definitely in danger.”
Skye
We find Jesse’s parents in the hall. Dr. Mandal hugs me and says Jesse is just in the restroom, and he’ll want to see me before we leave. Then she turns to Mae.
“I trust this has convinced you that your niece isn’t orchestrating her own persecution?” she says.
Mae’s gaze shoots my way, giving me a guilty look.
Dr. Mandal says, “No, Skye would never complain to me about you. She talked to Jasser, who relayed it to me when I made the mistake of presuming you were supporting your niece.”
“I was confused. I spoke without thinking —”
“There’s nothing to think. It’s about trusting your niece enough to hear her out and then make a decision.” Before Mae can respond, Dr. Mandal turns to me. “I’d like you to come by the hospital tomorrow morning so I can check your arm. Jasser will bring you. I won’t expect him to go to school under the circumstances.”
“I can bring her,” Mae says.
“Jasser will.”
“No, really, I —”
Dr. Mandal cuts her off with a slow, appraising look. “Do you have a problem with my son?”
Mae flushes. “No, of course not.”
“Good. Then he’ll bring Skye. I’ll leave my car with the pass for him. Jasser?” she says as he approaches. “You’ll bring Skye to the hospital in the morning.”
“Sure.”
“You two can make arrangements. We’ll head on outside. Ms. Benassi? I’d like to speak to you.”
I can tell Mae really doesn’t want to hear anything more from Dr. Mandal, but she nods and follows them as I say goodbye to Jesse.
We’re almost to the condo before Mae speaks.
“I’m taking some time off work,” she says. “You’re right – I’ve been neglecting you.”
“I never said —”
“If I’m going to be your guardian, I have to act like it. You need me right now. So I’m staying home.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” I chose my words with care, but she still flinches.
I try again. “I don’t need you to stay with me.” The time for that was back when Gran had her stroke. “We can do something this weekend, if you’d like, but I’d really rather not interfere with your schedule.”
“You aren’t —”
“Just go to work, okay? Please.”
I spend my night fixated on that folder from the police station. I see the flash of the report on the shooting. Then I see the detective quickly closing the folder. I remember his expression when I said I hadn’t read the pages. It looked like relief.
What’s in those pages? I had them for days and never even realized it, and that’s good because my fingerprints aren’t all over it, but I wish I’d looked. I desperately wished I’d looked.
I’ve always trusted the official investigation in the shooting. The police had no reason to cover up anything. If nobody questioned the findings, then their conclusions must be correct.
But someone did question. Someone sent me those pages.
Yes… someone hoping I’d wave it around as proof of my brother’s innocence, further damning myself in the process.
My persecutor didn’t send me those pages to be helpful.
They are lies. Falsified reports. That’s why the detective slapped the folder shut. The last thing the police need is a dead boy’s sister claiming she saw a police report proving his innocence… leaving the department scrambling to prove it was doctored.
I still wish I’d looked.
Really? Do I want to see doctored police files? Plant false doubt in my head?
Too late. It’s already planted.
Even when I finally fall asleep, my brain stays fixed on the file. On everything that could be in it.
In my dreams, I read that there was no gun in Luka’s hand. He lifted his hands while holding his cell phone to call and tell me he was okay, and the police mistook it for a gun and shot him.
I wake from that dream, and I know it’s not true. Luka had a gun. No one has ever disputed that.
Then I fall asleep again and dream that he did have a gun. That he shot kids. That he killed Jamil. That he was the worst of the shooters, and afterward, there was confusion, an error in the lab mistakenly showing that the bullets came from Isaac’s gun.
I wake, and I know that’s not true either. Again, there were witnesses who saw Isaac shoot Jamil and others.
When morning comes, I know there’s only one way to put my mind at ease. Learn all the details of the shooting. Understand exactly what happened, as best it can ever be understood.