“They cared more about those Popsicles than they did the dang game.” She giggles again. She was a mess yesterday, but she’s put herself back together today. Her brown hair is pulled into a loose ponytail with curled strands strategically framing her face, and she’s in full makeup even though she had no idea we were stopping by.
He chuckles, then gives a deep sigh like he’s really enjoying her company and doesn’t want to spoil it. “I sure wish all this wasn’t the reason for us meeting together.” He takes out his handkerchief again. Another forehead swipe. Definitely nerves. Why’s being in Genevieve’s house got him so flustered?
“Like I told you,” she says, finally pulling her hand away from the detective’s knee and folding her hands together on her lap. “Anything I can do to help find this guy and get him off the streets. We can’t let something like this happen again. We just can’t. You’ve got to stop him.”
“Good, good,” he says, bobbing his head up and down. “Because we’re hoping you can take us through what happened one more time and we can focus on some angles we haven’t looked at before.”
She sits up even straighter. Legs crossed in front of her. Hands perched on her knees. “Do you need to record this?”
“No, that’s fine.” He waves her off with his hand. “Go ahead.”
“Okay. Sure.” She lets out a giggle. “I’m sorry. I just get so nervous every time I have to talk about it.”
“Don’t worry about your nerves. Take all the time you need,” I encourage her.
She shoots me an appreciative glance. “Me and Mason walk the river at eight four mornings a week. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and either Saturday or Sunday. It depends on what we have going on for the weekend. We have lots of activities on the weekends since I like keeping us busy.” She bounces her legs while she recounts the details. “Anyway, last Monday we were down there for our usual walk. It was such a gloomy day. The sun wasn’t out, so it was chilly, and there were barely any mosquitoes. I wanted to go down by the water and see if I could catch a few dragonflies.” She grows more confident as she speaks, reciting what happened that day with the flavor of a story she’s already told many times. “I know people get all upset these days about not putting any kind of creatures in captivity, but I just love catching them, and this is the only time of year where you can get roseate skimmers. I’ve been doing it ever since I was a little girl with my granny. Anyway, Mason wants nothing to do with bugs. He hates them, so he headed off for a walk by himself.” For the first time since we sat down, she gives me her full attention. “Mason doesn’t like being around people. It’s the perfect place for him to be by himself. He doesn’t have to worry about fitting in or anyone thinking he’s weird. It’s our happy place. Do you ever take your daughter?”
“Sometimes,” I say, but it’s not often. Open spaces make Harper nervous. She prefers being inside. The walls contain her.
“It’s like we’re totally free. He can just be himself while we’re down there. They deserve a chance to be themselves without worrying about other people judging them, you know?” She looks at me imploringly.
“I totally understand the value of having those spaces.” It’s the reason I send Harper to camp every year. It’s torturous for me, but she loves being around other kids like her. Even though she goes to a residential private school, it’s not just kids with autism spectrum disorders. There are kids with all kinds of different issues and behavior problems mingling in one room. At camp it’s just kids with ASD.
Genevieve’s eyes soften and melt into mine—her loneliness and isolation mirrored perfectly—recognizing she’s met another mother who gets her experience. I hope she’ll trust me enough to tell the truth.
“What happened next?” Detective Layne asks, and she shifts her attention back to him.
“All of a sudden, I heard Mason let out this terrible sound. I’d say scream, but you can’t call what came out of his mouth a scream. I don’t even know what to call it. I’ve never heard anything like that before. Not ever.” She shudders. “And then I ran. I didn’t think about anything. Just dropped my stuff and took off. All I remember is screaming at the top of my lungs. I kept yelling his name. Then screaming for help, because I knew before I even got around that corner that something was wrong. Something was real wrong. I just—”
“Can I stop you there for a second?” Detective Layne pulls a Dr. Phil move on her that stops her in her tracks.
“Sure,” she responds slowly, caught off guard by his intrusion.
“You say you let Mason go off by himself?”
She nods.
“And you’ve said before that that’s something he does on a regular basis when you’re down at the creek. Is that correct?” His tone of voice has shifted that quick.
“Yes.” She stiffens and shifts back in her chair.
“Here’s the thing, Genevieve: the more I think about you being down at that creek with Mason and letting him go running off by himself, the more I’m beginning to wonder if that would be something that a parent like you would do with a kid like Mason.” He rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger like he’s really thinking hard about it.
Her face instantly hardens. “Mason’s a kid just like everyone else, and he deserves the same rights as everyone else. Just because he has a disorder doesn’t mean he can’t go for a walk by himself. He’s perfectly capable of doing things by himself.”
“I get that. I do, and I agree. It’s just that in this particular situation, it doesn’t seem like the safest or most responsible parenting choice to make.”
“You have a lot of nerve, Detective Layne.” Her lips are tight with fury. She gives him a venomous stare. “I would never presume to tell you whether or not your child should go for a walk by the creek by themselves. Never.”
“You would if his child had the mental age of a four-year-old.” I don’t know where the boldness comes from. I just let the bomb fall out of my mouth and explode in the living room.
She whips her head to look at me. “What did you say?”
“Mason functions cognitively and in his daily life at the level of a four-year-old,” I say softly, my boldness dissipating by the second like air being let out of a balloon.
Her eyes are lit. “And just how would you know that?”
Heat rises in my chest. Travels to my ears. I steal a sideways glance at Detective Layne. I assumed she knew I’d seen the file with the reports. Was it supposed to be a secret?
“Don’t look at him. Look at me,” she says, snapping her fingers. “How do you know that?”
Detective Layne looks unmoved. “I showed her the reports you gave me.”
“You showed her the reports?” Betrayal clouds her expression. She must’ve believed no one else would see them. He probably should’ve told her he was sharing them with me. I wouldn’t want anyone reading Harper’s medical reports without my consent.
“You know me; I don’t understand any of this stuff.” He gives a nonchalant shrug like he’s just a big goof, but I’m beginning to wonder if most of that isn’t an act. He didn’t get to the head of the department because he was dumb. “I don’t know the fancy medical terminology and all the words the doctors use when they’re talking about things. I looked at that huge file and couldn’t understand half of what it said. I’m trying to help you and your son, Genevieve.” He shifts to the end of the chair and leans forward, stretching his body toward hers. “I can’t help you or him if I don’t know everything there is to know about him. That’s all I’ve been trying to do.” He nods in my direction. “Ms. Walker knows all about autism and kids, so I pulled her in to help. We need someone to navigate and explain the tricky issues with your son, and wouldn’t you rather it be someone local than someone from the outside that we don’t know anything about? Not to mention they wouldn’t know nothing about us or how this town functions?”