“Good morning, ma’am. Detectives Warner and Lynch. We were hoping we could speak with Elliot. Are you his mother by chance?”
The woman made her shooting hand visible and put it in the pocket of her apron.
“I am. Is this about the hoo-hah Saturday night?”
“It is. We have reason to believe your son witnessed the crime and called 911.”
The woman amusedly wrinkled her brow.
“You are more than welcome to talk to him, but, like I told the two fellows in uniform on Saturday, none of us left the house that night.”
Lynch spoke up.
“You were in your son’s presence all evening?”
“No, but I know he didn’t make any calls from the house, and he doesn’t have a cell phone. He also knows what happens if he lies.”
Warner’s blood pressure jumped. She’d spent time in Social Services and could never let a comment like that slide.
“Is that so? What happens when he lies?”
The woman’s expression instantly went from pleasant to placid, as though the Prozac had just kicked in.
“He goes to hell, of course.”
Lynch looked over his shoulder toward Elliot, whose eyes were riveted to the conversation, even though he couldn’t hear a word of it. He turned back to the boy’s mother.
“It was nice meeting you, ma’am. We won’t be long.”
The woman had every right to be part of the interview, but Lynch thought it best not to offer. She went back into the house. The two detectives shared a chuckle and walked at a friendly pace towards Elliot. Lynch spoke.
“Whatcha doin’ there, buddy?”
Elliot’s voice shook. What words he was able muster came out in a scared whisper.
“Getting Daphne ready for show.”
“Oh! The cow’s name is Daphne?”
Elliot nodded. Lynch continued.
“What’s the poker for?”
The boy looked at the hooked rod in his own hand as though he’d forgotten he was holding it. His voice became steadier and his posture more at ease as he backed into his comfort zone.
“It’s a show stick. It’s for positioning her legs. See?”
He used the hook to move Daphne’s ankles a bit. Danged if the slight change didn’t somehow make the animal look more regal. Elliot spoke again.
“You have to position them for judging just like a dog at a dog show.”
The boy had an endearing quality, despite what Lynch and Warner had found in the field. The next question was Carrie’s.
“We saw you scratching Daphne’s back with that thing. What does that do?”
Elliot was smiling now.
“It’s called loining. It makes the cow pose with a straighter back. Watch.”
He demonstrated. Lynch continued.
“What did you see on Saturday, Elliot?”
Daphne twitched as animals do what they sense apprehension. The shake returned to Elliot’s voice.
“Nothing. What do you mean?”
Lynch put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Warner stepped away. This was definitely a conversation that needed to be had between two fellas.
“Elliot, if it makes you feel better, you’re not in any legal trouble. But I’d be remiss in my duties as a cop and a man if I didn’t…uh…”
Ernie should be doing this.
“…That stuff isn’t cool. It’s intrusive and causes problems later in life. It dehumanizes people, especially women, and can lead to erectile dysfunction.”
Dear God, Ernie should be doing this.
Elliot put down the show stick in defeat and took a seat on a nearby hay bale. Lynch went to lean on the fence, but Elliot quickly reacted.
“Don’t do that.”
Lynch jumped, realizing that he had just been saved from electrocution.
I hope Carrie didn’t see that.
She did.
With effort, he used his foot to nudge a second bale beside Elliot’s and plopped down upon it. It was the boy’s turn to speak.
“How did you know?”
Lynch chose his words carefully.
“Honestly? We found your spot in the field, and the trail to it, and the binoculars…and the towel.”
Elliot pinched his eyes shut in embarrassment. Unfortunately, it was Carrie who found the towel and unscientifically surmised what was one it. Lynch spared the poor kid the details.
“We also know you called the police on a phone that your mother doesn’t know about.”
Elliot pulled his beet-red face away from his hands and cleared his throat.
“The girl with the colored hair likes to get naked sometimes. Not every time but…look, my mom…”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell your mom. I’ve said my piece on the matter, but you can help me out if you can tell me exactly what you saw on Saturday.”
Elliot didn’t hesitate. He recounted what he could remember in explicit detail, confirming just about everything Warner and Crime Scene had guessed. The gold that Lynch thought he struck, however, lost its luster as the boy started to describe the attackers.
“…orange…two of them had ol’ wooden things, but the third used an aluminum softball bat, and it was orange. I couldn’t see their faces, though. They had camouflage masks.”
WTF?
Lynch’s heart sank into his stomach and then worked into his lower intestines as Elliot answered question after question with crappy answer after crappy answer:
Yes, the assailants kept their masks on the whole time.
No, they never spoke.
Yes, every member of the UJ arrived when and how they said they did.
No, no one came or left otherwise.
“…until the girl in her underwear started screaming. I don’t know what happened after that. I ran.”
Lynch clenched his teeth and stabbed a period onto his last note before pocketing his notepad.
“Thanks buddy. The girl with the colored hair owes you a great deal. That’ll give you a little redemption.”
Elliot shifted on his hay bale as if his overalls were suddenly uncomfortable.
“Really? Cool!”
Lynch mussed the boy’s hair and gave him a little punch. He hoped he wasn’t pouring it on too thick.
An orange bat…well, it’s something, considering everything else has gone to shit.
Elliot Strausser was tapped. It was time to go. Lynch shook hands with him and walked over to Warner. She could tell the interview had yielded nothing, but she asked anyway.
“So, a step forward or a step backward?”
“About three steps backward. Every
