The Neighbor

morning. So this was it.

The downstairs sergeant notified them that Jason and his daughter had arrived. Marianne headed down immediately to hustle them upstairs before Ree became too overwhelmed by the full police headquarters experience. Some kids were enthralled by men and women in uniform. A lot, however, were just plain intimidated. Talking to a stranger was tough enough without Ree starting the process scared witless.

D.D. and Miller heard footsteps in the hall. Both turned expectantly toward the door and, despite her best intentions, D.D. felt nervous. Questioning a kid was twenty times worse than facing the news media or a new deputy superintendent, any day of the week. She didn’t care about reporters or, most of the time, a new supervisor. On the other hand, she always felt bad for the kids.

First time she’d ever interrogated a child, the eleven-year-old girl had asked them if they wanted to see her menu; then she’d proceeded to pull from her back pocket a tiny scrap of paper, folded into an impossibly small square. It was a menu of sex acts, prepared by the girl’s stepfather: Hand Job quarter, Oral Sex fifty cents, Fucking one dollar The girl had taken twenty bucks from her stepdad’s wallet. This was his way of letting her repay the loan. Except last time she’d performed a “service,” he had refused to pay, and that had made her mad enough to come to the police. Oh, the sad stories that had been told in this room…

The footsteps stopped outside the door. D.D. heard Marianne talking.

“Clarissa, have you ever been in a magic room before?”

No answer, so D.D. assumed that Ree was shaking her head.

“Well, I’m going to take you into a special room now. It has a pretty rug, two chairs, maybe some toys you’d like to check out. But it’s also a very special room with special rules. I’ll tell you all about it, okay, but first, you gotta say goodbye to your daddy. He’s going to wait for you in this room right here, so he’ll be close by if you need him, but this magic room, it’s just for you and me.”

Still no answer.

“Say, what’s the name of this fellow right here? Oh, I’m sorry, this gal. Lil’ Bunny? I should’ve guessed she was a girl, look at that pink dress. Well, Lil’ Bunny, do you like big pink flowers, because you look to me like the kind of rabbit that might enjoy a really large pink flower. I’m talking huge. Kind of flower you have to see to believe. Really? Well, come on, I’ll show you. And I’ll explain to you a little bit about magic.”

The door opened. Jason Jones entered the room. Clarissa’s father walked stiffly, as if he was moving on autopilot. The shuttered expression was back on his face, that one where D.D. couldn’t decide if he was a complete psychopath or the most stoic man she’d ever met. He closed the heavy door behind him, then looked at D.D. and Miller a bit warily. D.D. twisted around the permission slip she’d already printed out, and slid it across the table toward him, producing a black ink pen.

“This forms shows you’ve given consent for a certified forensic interviewer to question your child on behalf of the BPD.”

Jason gave her a look as if he was surprised his permission really mattered. But he signed the form without a word, returning it to her before taking up position on the wall farthest from the observation window. He leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze went to the window, through which they could now see Marianne and Ree entering the interrogation room. Ree was clutching a tattered-looking brown bunny for dear life, its long floppy ears obscuring her hands.

Marianne closed the door. She moved to the middle of the room, but rather than taking a seat in one of the little red folding chairs, she sat cross-legged on the edge of the pink rug. She ran her hand over it a few times, as if inviting the girl to take a seat.

D.D. picked up the mic, and stated for Marianne’s sake, “Consent form has been signed. You may begin.”

Marianne nodded slightly, her fingers brushing over the receiver nestled inside her ear. “What do you think?” she stated out loud to Clarissa Jones, gesturing to the pink rug. “Is this a pretty flower? It looks like a sunflower to me, except I don’t think sunflowers come in pink.”

“It’s a daisy,” Ree said in a small voice. “My mommy grows them.”

“A daisy? Of course! You know a lot about flowers.”

Ree remained standing, clutching her well-worn rabbit. Her fingers had found one of its ears and were rubbing it rhythmically. The unconscious movement pained D.D. She used to do that as a kid. Had a stuffed dog. Wore its ears right off its threadbare head.

“So, as I told you downstairs, my name is Marianne Jackson,” the specialist was saying brightly. “My job is to talk to children. That’s what I do. I talk to little boys and little girls. And just so you know, Ree, it’s not as easy as you think.”

For the first time, Ree responded, her forehead crinkling into a tiny frown. “Why not?”

“For one thing, there are special rules for talking to boys and girls. Did you know that?”

Ree edged closer, shook her head. Her toe touched the pink flower. She seemed to study the rug.

“Well, as I mentioned outside, this is a magic room, and there are four rules for talking in a magic room.” Marianne held up four fingers, ticking off. “One, we only talk about what really happened. Not what might have happened, but what really happened.”

Ree frowned again, moved a tiny bit closer.

“Do you understand the difference between the truth and a lie, Clarissa?” Marianne reached into the toy basket, came up with a stuffed dog. “If I say this is a cat, is that a truth or a lie?”

“A lie,” Ree said automatically. “That’s a dog.”

“Very good! So that’s rule number one. We only talk about the truth, okay?”

Ree nodded. She seemed to get tired of standing, taking a seat just beyond the flower rug, her bunny now on her lap.

“The second rule,” Marianne was saying, “is that if I ask you a question and you don’t know the answer, you just say you don’t know. Does that make sense?”

Ree nodded.

“How old am I, Clarissa?”

“Ninety-five,” Ree said.

Marianne smiled, a bit ruefully. “Now, Clarissa, do you know how old I am? Have you asked or has anyone told you?”

Ree shook her head.

“So really, you don’t know how old I am. And what are you supposed to say if you don’t know something?”

“I don’t know,” Ree filled in obediently.

“Good girl. Where do I live?”

Ree opened her mouth, then seemed to catch herself. “I don’t know!” she exclaimed, a trace of triumph this time.

Marianne grinned. “I can tell you’re very good in school. Are you an excellent student?”

“I’m very pre-pre-cushush,” Ree said proudly. “Everyone says so.”

“Precocious? I fully agree and I’m very proud of you. Okay rule number three. If you don’t remember something, it’s okay to say you don’t remember. So how old were you when you first walked?”

“I’ve been walking since I was born,” Ree started, then caught herself as she remembered rule number three. She let go of her stuffed bunny and clapped her hands gleefully. “I DON’T REMEMBER!” she shrieked with delight. “I. Don’t. Remember.”

“You are the best pupil I’ve ever had,” Marianne said, still sitting cross-legged on the rug. She held up her four fingers. “All right, star student-last rule. Do you know what rule four is?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Ree shouted happily.

“You are so good. So, rule four, if you don’t understand something I say or ask, it’s okay to say you don’t understand. Capisce?”

“Capisce!” Ree yelled right back. “That means ‘I understand’ in Italian! I know Italian. Mrs. Suzie’s been teaching us Italian.”

For a moment, Marianne blinked her eyes. Apparently, even in a forensic interviewer’s world, there was precocious, and then there was precocious. Frankly, D.D. was having a hard time keeping a straight face. She slid a glance in Jason’s direction, but he had the same blank look on his face. Light switch, she thought again. He was in the room, but shut off.