going to give the media plenty to report. So we need some results now. People are getting spooked out there and we need an answer for them.’
Chapter Sixty-Two
Denise appeared outside her apartment block and Harper felt a surge of admiration. She was dressed for work, wearing a black suit with a white shirt, and looked every bit the young, ambitious, go-getting star she had been a few months earlier.
She got in the car beside Harper.
‘You ready for this? We need something from the children.’
‘Sure, I’m ready. At least we managed to get an interview with the psych team. I had my doubts.’
‘Lafayette got the Chief of Detectives behind us.’
‘The brass are beginning to believe us then?’ said Denise.
Harper nodded. ‘Reluctantly. The boy scrawled 88 all over his coloring book. He saw something. They can’t ignore that.’
‘Or heard something,’ said Denise.
‘Right. We only have one shot, though.’
‘I understand.’
‘You think you can argue your way in?’
‘What do you think, Tom?’
Harper smiled and started the drive across town to the children’s hospital. The kids were in a secure ward with police protection.
Despite several attempts to get to talk to the children, the psych team had refused on the grounds that the welfare of the children was paramount. The police needed someone who could convince the psych team to give them access to the children. Levene was a specialist, not a cop, but even so, it had taken some persuasion to set up the initial meeting, and there was no guarantee that the psychologist would allow them to actually meet the children.
As they went up to the seventh floor Denise straightened her jacket.
‘You look good,’ said Harper. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘You notice how I look?’ said Denise.
‘I notice. You’ve chosen pink nail varnish,’ he said. ‘I guess you’ve chosen a gentle color for the children. You usually wear a stronger color — crimson. The pink’s a little soft for you.’
Denise looked across at a now smirking Harper. They waited for half an hour before they were summoned into the room to see the children’s social workers. Denise pushed Harper out of the way. ‘Okay, now it’s my world, Tom. Let me do this alone.’
He took a seat, as directed by Denise, outside the room.
The psychologists sat in front of a big empty polished table, all with notebooks and case-files open and ready. Denise introduced herself, shook each hand and opened her own notebook.
‘This case is our number one priority at the moment,’ said the consultant child psychologist. ‘There are indications of extreme psychological trauma, which has unfortunately increased over time. Your friends at the NYPD don’t do subtle. Our staff have been given a hard time.’
‘No, they don’t do subtle,’ said Denise. ‘That’s why I’m here.’
‘Listen, I’ll cut to the chase,’ said the consultant. ‘Our recommendation is that we do not allow any questioning until we can see how these children are coping. They have suffered and will suffer even more trauma if we allow further access to them. They need time to recover.’
‘I agree with you,’ said Denise. ‘I understand what you are saying — and I don’t mean to be rude, but there’s an important principle here that I would like you to acknowledge.’
The consultant looked up, his expression indicating surprise but a grudging respect for Denise.
‘Your concern is for the welfare of these two children,’ said Denise. ‘And you’re right: an experienced detective will naturally exert psychological pressure during an interview. Two big guys in suits are scary. Guilt is scary. These children are suffering fear and guilt — that’s not the way to ease their pain. I entirely understand that you would not want them interviewed. In fact, normally I would support it, Doctor. There is nothing more important than the welfare of these two children.’
‘Thank you, Dr Levene.’
‘But here’s my point,’ Denise continued. ‘These two children, we believe, have lost their mother. What I want to offer, Doctor, is a chance for them to close this primary trauma, not shy away from it. I want them to understand who killed their mother and why, then you can work on the secondary trauma, their fears. They have seen irrational violence. We need to show them that a man, who was very sick, and very wrong, did this thing and is now locked up. Until we can tell them this story, they will not heal.’
Denise stopped and held the psychologist’s gaze. When she saw the movement in his throat, the tiny muscle twitch in his eye, she knew she had him.
‘So, Doctor, for the welfare of the children, I am suggesting that we need to know how their mother died and who killed her. If we find these two simple facts, we can begin to piece their world back together.’
She saw the consultant swallow.
‘First, though, you will need to know what I am asking for. I need three sessions, each lasting thirty minutes. I will ask them a single question about the event. I won’t repeat it. I’ve written the question here for you.’ Denise handed the piece of paper to the consultant. He read it, nodded, then passed it around the table. He waited, looked at each set of eyes.
‘Okay, Dr Levene. I’ll give you the three sessions, but no one else speaks to the children.’
‘No one but me.’ She reached out her hand and the consultant shook it. He held it a moment too long, just as she’d expected.
Chapter Sixty-Three
The room was a small ugly square. It had the lack of generosity and aesthetics of every municipal building. Denise had asked for the three sessions to be held in a single morning. It wasn’t ideal. It would have been better to hold them on consecutive days, but time was too important.
The first two sessions had gone reasonably well. The kids didn’t utter a word, but the odd nod and their facial expressions showed Denise that they were paying attention.
The third session was the important one. Harper sat at the back, watching, with his sketchpad open. Denise talked about her own mother. The kids didn’t seem to care.
Denise knew she didn’t have long to get a connection with them. She took her question out and smiled at the two kids. ‘We’ve got to go now, unless there’s something more you want to tell us?’ She searched their faces. They had no idea what to say or why.
She toyed with the question in front of her. She turned it in her hand, let the time slip by. Finally, she looked up.
‘Is there anything you can tell us about what happened in the alley that might help us catch the man who hurt your mother?’
She waited. The boy’s face seemed to show thought. His eyes moved around. The girl didn’t even look up. She hadn’t once held Denise’s gaze.
Nothing. Two minutes passed. They had all said that the boy knew something. He gave out more clues with
