The detectives are making notes as fast as their pens can scratch.
“But you didn’t tell me. You said he went to a special sleepover school.”
“Peyton and I decided not to share this, together. We didn’t want you to worry that you might go through the same thing someday.” Darby slides a comforting hand over Scarlett’s, and she can’t help but pull away, still too hurt, too confused, to want to be touched.
With another sigh, Darby turns to the cops. “I want this to be very clear,” she says, voice strong. “There is a terrible stigma associated with mental illness. If—if—Peyton is behind these crimes, I want it known Peyton needed exactly zero intervention after we discovered the problem was not organic but was being caused by his medications. This isn’t a well-documented syndrome, but you’ll find that the literature available is both fascinating and compelling. I even agreed to let the doctors use Peyton’s case for teaching, helping doctors and pediatricians recognize the signs of medication-induced schizoaffective disorder, so more children aren’t misdiagnosed and forever labeled. I would be happy to share the names of his treating doctors, who will confirm what I’ve just told you.”
The detective nods, his head bobbing in time with Scarlett’s heartbeats. “This is very interesting information, Ms. Flynn. We appreciate your honesty. Those names would be a great help. We’ll certainly want to talk to his doctors.”
“Fine. I’ll get them for you.”
“And you’re sure you don’t know where Peyton might be now?”
“I don’t. He apparently has dropped out of school and didn’t tell me that. He told his sister that he was going camping this weekend. Scarlett?”
Scarlett is too shocked not to answer. “He said he was heading to the Blue Ridge with friends. He went a few weeks ago, too, but this time they would be out of touch. His phone wouldn’t be working.” Her voice is flat. She notices Darby is trying—and failing—to hold it together. She scoots closer to her mom on the couch, puts an arm around her. “This has to be a mistake. Peyton couldn’t do this. I know my brother.”
Freak. Your brother is a freak.
The female detective looks at her phone. Someone’s been texting her for the past few minutes; the phone has been vibrating frantically in the woman’s pocket.
“Osley,” she says, and he breaks eye contact with Scarlett to glance at his partner.
“Channel Four is teasing an interview about to go live. Park Bender is going to talk to Erica Pearl. It’s on the station’s app, and it’s all over social media.”
“Park Bender?” Darby asks.
The cops exchange a brief glance, and the woman nods. “It seems Peyton has been in contact with both him and his wife. That’s how we got the sketch. He broke into Mrs. Bender’s work yesterday. She confronted him, and he left,” Osley says.
“But Peyton is camping in the Blue Ridge,” Scarlett says. If she says it enough, maybe it will be true.
The detective shakes his head. “He’s not. I’m sorry, both of you. I know this is hard to wrap your heads around. But as of yesterday, we know for a fact Peyton was right here in Nashville, driving a van he purchased in August for $500 from a man in Hermitage. We have both the van’s license plates and the details of the transaction. There is currently a BOLO for the van.”
“BOLO?” Scarlett asks.
“It’s a term we use for other police to ‘be on the lookout’ for a van matching the description. Has Peyton ever shown you his van, Scarlett?”
“No. Of course not. He doesn’t own a van, he drives an Accord. This is just too weird. Wait. I know something that might help. There was…there was a man, yesterday. Sitting at the corner of the street. He came to the end of the driveway and was watching me go into the house. He creeped me out.”
“Do you know what kind of car?”
“It was one of those quiet ones, electric. A red BMW hybrid. Chastain’s father has one, but it’s silver.”
The cops look at each other again.
“Do you know who it was?” Scarlett asks.
“I think we have an idea, yes. Park Bender drives a red hybrid BMW.”
Scarlett watches her mom, waiting for her reaction. She needs to tell her about the Facebook posts and comments, but she doesn’t want to do it in front of the cops.
“Who is this Bender person? Why is he hanging around my kid, and why is he sitting down with Erica Pearl? Is he going to accuse my son of something?” Darby asks.
It’s the woman who responds. “This is going to come out, so we might as well deal with it now. Park Bender is Peyton’s biological father. Scarlett’s, too. He is their donor.”
Silence. Darby’s hand goes over her mouth, but Scarlett says, “No, you’re wrong. Peyton is my half-brother. Not a full sibling.”
“I’m afraid that’s not true.”
Darby shakes her head in disbelief. “There’s been a mistake. Scarlett is right. They don’t have the same donor. I should know, considering. They had to send me a completely different donor because Peyton’s was tapped out. They limit the number…or they’re supposed to. But the man I chose for Scarlett—I have all the information. He’s different.”
“Well, Ms. Flynn, this case gets curiouser and curiouser, because the DNA we retrieved in Beverly Cooke’s car, the DNA that matches your son, also has a patriarchal link to Mr. Bender. He is your son’s father, there’s no question about it. We can back this up with some testing of our own, but it seems Winterborn lied to you, ma’am.”
“This is impossible. You’re saying Peyton and Scarlett are full siblings?”
“That seems to be the case.”
Her mother turns to her. “Scarlett. You told me Peyton declined to be a part of the group, that he wouldn’t give you DNA. Is that true?”
“Yes. Originally, he said he didn’t want to know. He didn’t care about having a father. Then he agreed, but I don’t think he did it. Maybe it was just…maybe he knew it would get him in trouble.”
“I can’t believe this,” Darby says, leaning back into the couch and covering her face with her hands.
It’s the woman who asks, “Scarlett? May we test your DNA to confirm Peyton is your full-blooded sibling? It will help us to know if we’ve made a mistake or not.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary—” Darby starts, but Scarlett raises her chin. “Yes. Of course.” To her mom, who is looking utterly betrayed, “Mom, we have to. We can’t help him if we don’t know the whole truth.”
“Interview’s starting,” Osley says. “We should go.”
“Wait, that’s my father the reporter is talking to, right?” Scarlett says. “Mom, can we watch?”
“I think we should all watch,” Moore says under her breath, shifting from foot to foot. Even with the shock and craziness of the past hour, Scarlett finds the woman interesting. They’ve been studying body language in psychology, and this woman is so contained, but there is something simmering beneath the surface that seems ready to explode.