‘He was a white guy,’ John said. ‘And he was wearing this warm-up suit – the kind the Celtics wear. Had a Celtics hat too. A baseball cap. He was old. He kind of looked like someone’s grandfather but his face was, like, weird.’
‘Weird how?’
‘He didn’t have any wrinkles. His skin was, like, all smoothed back. It reminded me of Mrs Milstein – she was our neighbour when we were living in Toronto. She got a facelift and her skin was real tight and kind of shiny. My mom said Mrs Milstein had gotten a facelift. This Celtics guy had the same kind of face, and his hands… they weren’t right. They looked like they belonged on someone else. They were all wrinkled and hairy, and I saw these big veins sticking out on them. They reminded me of the hands I saw on the really old guys at nursing homes.’
‘When did you get a close-up look at this man’s hands?’
‘When he was…’ He swallowed again. ‘He made me get up from the sofa and sit on one of the kitchen chairs. That’s when I saw the other guy. He was standing in the kitchen. He pointed a nine-millimetre at me while the Celtics guy taped me down to the chair.’
‘You recognized his gun?’
‘I watch a lot of cop shows.
‘You’re doing a great job, John. This is really helpful. Tell me about the man standing in the kitchen.’
‘He was wearing a suit – not a warm-up suit, I mean the kind a banker or lawyer would wear. He wasn’t wearing a tie, though. He was a white guy and kind of… not fat but he had a gut on him. I remember he kept checking his watch.’
‘Was he wearing gloves?’
John nodded. ‘Blue ones, the kind the forensics people wear on TV.’
‘Do you remember what colour his shirt was?’
‘White.’
The body she’d seen in the woods had had a white shirt and blue latex gloves.
‘Did these men talk to you?’
‘The Celtics guy did,’ John said. ‘He said he just wanted to take a look around the house and he couldn’t do that while keeping an eye on me. ‘Relax, champ, this will all be over before you know it,’ is what he said. Then he put tape across my eyes and patted me on the shoulder. He didn’t talk to me after that.’
‘Do you remember hearing anything? Did you hear their names? What they said to each other?’
‘I didn’t hear their names. They swore a lot. They started searching through the kitchen, ripping open the drawers and throwing out plates. All I kept hearing were things smashing against the floor.’
‘What were they looking for?’
‘I don’t know. I thought… I was pretty sure I heard a phone ringing and then the smashing stopped. I know the garage door opened, I remember hearing it. That’s when everything got real quiet. Then they grabbed my mother.’
He swallowed again, his shiny eyes growing wide with fear as his mind started replaying what had happened to his mother.
Darby moved him away from it. ‘Why did you ask to speak to my father?’
He didn’t answer. He looked down at the tissues balled in his fist, his eyes darting back and forth as if he had dropped the answers to the question.
She leaned closer. ‘You can trust me, John.’
He reached for the tape recorder and shut it off.
11
Darby waited for the boy to speak, afraid that if she pressed him, he’d shut down.
Two minutes later he did. He wouldn’t look at her.
‘I promised my mother. I promised her I’d tell the truth only to Thomas McCormick.’
‘The truth about what?’
‘About my grandparents,’ he said. ‘About why they were killed.’
She waited.
‘I know who did it,’ he said. ‘I know their names.’
‘Look at me, John.’
When he did, she said, ‘You’re not alone in this any more. Whatever it is that happened, I can help you. You can trust me.’
‘Sean.’
‘Is that the name of one of the men who murdered your grandparents?’
‘No. That’s my real name. Nobody is supposed to know. Only your father knows. My mother –’
He stopped talking, snapping his attention to the voices shouting outside his room. He looked frightened.
The door opened. The boy jumped, hitting the back of his head against the wall.
A searing anger lifted Darby off the bed. She got to her feet as the lights were turned on.
Pine and the patrolman crowded the doorway. They seemed out of breath. They were speaking to her but she didn’t hear them, her attention locked on the man standing near the foot of the bed. He wore a crisp tan suit and a floral tie, his short black hair damp with the rain.
A Federal agent. The smug expression on his face gave it away, even before he flashed the tin.
‘I’m Special Agent Phillips,’ he said in a calm and somewhat effeminate voice. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room, Dr McCormick. I’m officially taking over this investigation.’
Darby pushed the Fed away from the bed and got in his face. ‘He’s not going anywhere.’
‘I beg to differ. His mother is a fugitive. They’ve crossed state lines, which makes this a Federal investigation. And you should know better than to question him without an adult present.’
‘He’s not a suspect, you idiot.’
Phillips looked at the boy. ‘I’m taking you to the Albany field office in New York. We’ll place you –’
‘I’m going to give you a choice,’ Darby said. ‘You can walk out of here standing, or you can be thrown out of here.’
Pine stepped forward, clearing his throat. ‘He’s got a fugitive warrant, Darby.’
‘I don’t have time for this,’ Phillips said, and pushed her to one side.
Mistake.
She grabbed his wrist, twisting his hand behind his back. She grabbed the back of his shirt collar, dragged him across the floor and shoved him face first against the wall.
The Fed yelped in pain. She didn’t let go. She applied more pressure to his arm, wanting to snap it. Instead, she leaned in close to him and said, ‘You don’t listen too well, do you?’
She pulled him away from the wall, dragged him to the door and threw him into the corridor. He fell against the floor, gritting his teeth and sweat popping out on his forehead as he glared up at her.
‘Keep your ass out of here,’ she said.
What she saw in his eyes she had seen in too many men – an insecure boy trapped in a man’s body. A guy like Phillips would lay in wait, nursing his wounded ego and pride. He’d take his embarrassment and then channel it into his only real talent: finding
‘Calm down,’ Pine said behind her. ‘Nobody here wants to hurt you.’
Darby turned and saw Patrolman Rodman reaching for his sidearm.
The boy was holding a gun – a small .38 revolver, aimed at Pine.
