“Good. Save us a few trips.” We headed for the parking lot, nodding to a few of the officers we passed on the way.
“Am I ever going to get to drive?” Fletcher asked when she saw that I already had the keys in my hand.
“Probably not.”
She grumbled something under her breath but didn’t argue as she slid into the passenger seat of my car.
For the first time this week, the sun shone in the sky, unfettered by clouds. The world was a brilliant blue above the city skyline, though the wind still had a crisp bite to it as it blew through the streets. The traffic was considerably lighter compared to yesterday afternoon, and in no time, we had crossed the River Ness to the west side of the city, away from the bustling city centre and into the quieter, residential neighbourhoods. Trees lined many of the roads, throwing shade across the rows of townhouses and the meandering sidewalks between them. We found the house we were looking for at the end of a peaceful cul-de-sac, seated beside a patch of forest. The planter under the front windowsill only had a few patches of colour left, but the bushes beside the door were still green and leafy, home to a slumbering black and white cat who awoke and skittered away as I pulled up to the curb.
Fletcher and I approached the house, and she glanced at me as we reached the door. “How good are you with kids?” I asked.
“I am not. You?”
I shook my head.
“Brilliant.”
Eight
The door opened at our knock, and a woman with streaks of grey in her brown hair peered out at us from behind the door chain. When we showed her our badges, she nodded and let us in, smiling gently. “Can I get you inspectors anything? Tea, coffee, biscuits?”
“No, thank you,” I said, returning her smile. “Are Finn’s friends still here?”
“They’re downstairs.”
The house was small and narrow but cheerfully decorated, framed pictures marching along each wall, small, colourful boots tumbled near the door. The scent of vanilla filled every room and hall, and each curtain was thrown open to let in the sunlight. The woman, Rachel Cohen, if Fletcher’s notes were anything to go by, opened the door at the end of the foyer, leading us down a tight set of stairs to a half-finished basement. The floor was cement but covered in many carpets, colourful tapestries hanging off the walls.
Three children Finn’s age played between the couch and the two armchairs before the television, though they were much quieter than playing kids should be. A pall hung over their hands, sadness in their eyes even as they laughed at the way the Jenga tower crashed to the ground. I wondered how much they understood of what was going on. Did kids have a concept of “missing?” Were they simply picking up on their parents’ emotions? Did they think Finn was like a missing toy, one that would show back up if someone picked up the right blanket?
“Kids,” Rachel called, false cheer in her voice. “These inspectors are here to talk to you about Finn. Would that be okay?”
The children looked up. One was missing both his front teeth, and his glasses were too big for his face. The tallest had pulled her hair out of its once-tight braid, and now, it fell to her waist in uneven waves, and she had tied a couple of small action figures into it. I couldn’t tell why. The third boy looked at us with eyes that belonged in an adult’s face. He stared right at me, considering me, and before I knew it, I was in a staring contest with a seven-year-old. His friend nudged him, and he blinked, distracted, and I really hoped no one had noticed our little competition because it was just as embarrassing to win against a child as it would have been to lose.
“Is Finn back?” the girl asked. If I remembered Fletcher’s notes right, her name was Rosie.
“He’s not.” I glanced at Fletcher to see if she would speak first, but she left it up to me. “But we’re working very hard to find him. We were hoping you might be able to help us.”
“We don’t know where Finn is,” Glasses Kid said. He was either Sean or Henry.
“That’s okay. We just want to ask you a few questions,” I explained. “What do you say?”
The kids all looked at each other, sharing their thoughts in the way only kids can, and then they nodded as one. I pulled Rachel aside and lowered my voice.
“Could we speak with them alone? They might tell us more that way.”
She hesitated, wrapping a hand around the pendant at her neck, but then she nodded and, with a last look at her son, walked back upstairs, closing the door behind her. Fletcher and I crossed the room and sat down on the floor beside the kids. I thought I had read somewhere that it was best to talk to children on their level. I had no idea if that was actually true.
“I’m Callum. This is Tara.” I gestured to Fletcher.
“Rosie.” Action Figure Hair.
“Sean.” Glasses Kid.
“Henry.” Old Eyes. “Are you really police inspectors?”
“We are.” I gave him my badge, and the three of them passed it around, whispering excitedly over it. I was suddenly convinced that I would never get it back.
“How long have you guys been friends with Finn?” Fletcher asked to catch their attention again as she began to rebuild the Jenga tower. I’d been sitting cross-legged for thirty seconds, and my knees were already beginning to ache.
“Forever,” Sean said. He closed my badge but didn’t give it back.
“Do you think he would run away?” I said, but the three of them shook their heads.
“Finn doesn’t like the outdoors,” Rosie explained.
“Does he ever talk about his dad?”
