I don’t know what he means, and I don’t like the way he says this woman either. My arms cross instinctively on my chest, and I try to hide my annoyance. “What’s the problem?”
“Her son is the only one that might know what happened to Annabelle, so we need a statement from him. It’s challenging enough figuring out a way to communicate with him when he doesn’t really talk. That’s our first hurdle, but we can’t even get close enough to try because she hovers constantly. Never leaves his side. I mean never. She barely lets go of his hand. You should see it. We’ve had some of our best guys take a stab at him, but anytime Mason gets uncomfortable or agitated in the least, she shuts it down immediately. She gets so upset the minute he does. It’s like she has to stop it. We can’t get anywhere near him, and we need someone who can.” He gives me another pointed look, like I’m supposed to be following him, but I’m still clueless. “Ms. Walker, this isn’t a good situation. We’ve got to know if there’s a murderer on the loose. The community deserves that. You’ve seen what it’s like with everybody.” He motions over his shoulder to the people outside the dirty windows who he swore to serve and protect. “People are terrified. My phone’s ringing off the hook. It’s been that way since it happened. The entire town’s breathing down my neck to give them something. They want an arrest, and this kid could help me do that. He could help this entire city feel safe again.”
I nod my understanding. I wouldn’t want to be in his position. Not in a place where crime statistics are measured in stolen bicycles.
“I’m just going to be honest with you—we need someone who stands a chance at getting Genevieve to calm down enough to let us talk to the kid. She can’t handle it when that boy is uncomfortable. You’d think the whole world was ending. She needs someone to hold her hand so she can let go of his.” He shakes his head, irritated with her protectiveness. “I’ve got four kids of my own, and sheltering them doesn’t do them any favors, you know? Do you have any?”
“Just one.” I understand his frustration, but I sympathize with wanting to shield your kid from pain. I fall on the helicopter-parenting side of the spectrum myself when it comes to my daughter, Harper.
“Good, then you know that sometimes you gotta just let kids be upset. And you also know that kids really start squirming when they think answering your questions might land them in even more trouble. I know autistic kids—”
“Kids with autism,” I interrupt instinctively.
“Huh?”
“The child isn’t their diagnosis. It’s people-first language. You don’t say ‘cancer kids,’ do you?”
“Got it,” he says, and I hope he does. “Anyway, I don’t know much, but au—kids with autism”—he smiles at me as he catches himself—“are still just kids, and kids don’t like getting in trouble, so they’ll do anything to avoid it. Mason’s no different in that way, and he just needs to be pushed a bit. I’m not saying he needs to be pushed hard, but he needs a nudge, and we’ve got to have a person in there who can do that without pushing too hard. Someone that knows and understands where that line is so we don’t cross it. My colleagues and I have been trying to figure out a way to do that, and we’ve come up with a pretty good plan. That’s where you come in.” He pauses, building up the moment. “You ever heard of a person called a CASA before?”
“Not that I can remember.”
“It stands for court-appointed special advocate. Some states call it guardian ad litem. Basically, they’re people appointed by the court to serve the needs and as the voice of the child. They’re assigned in all child welfare cases when there’s been any kind of abuse. I—”
“Mason’s being abused?” I jump in. Nobody’s made that accusation yet. At least not that I’ve heard or read anywhere.
“No,” he says, shaking his head to emphasize the point. “I just mean those are instances when a CASA is automatically assigned, but sometimes, they can be assigned in other circumstances if a judge deems it necessary, and this is one of those times where we could take the position that one is needed. It’s easy to arrange with the courts, and we can file an emergency petition to do it, so we’d be able to move it through even faster. Nobody’s going to give us any grief on pushing things through with this case, you know what I mean?”
This time I do. But I’m still not understanding my role.
“Once that person has been assigned, they have legal permission for alone time with the child. In fact, that’s the entire point—alone time with the child so the child can talk about whatever is bothering them. Now, we could go through the bureau and find a specialist with kids, but that’s going to take time, and it’s likely they won’t have the kind of expertise this case is going to require. Not anywhere close to what you do.” He leans back in his chair and rubs his belly like he’s pregnant. “I’m just going to level with you, Ms. Walker. You know Genevieve. She knows you, and she needs someone she can trust. You trust people you know.”
“Just because we know each other doesn’t mean we’re friends.” We should be friends, best friends, really, since we have so much in common—having children with autism spectrum disorder, being single moms, growing up in the South—but we’re not. We’ve met on three different occasions, and each time, she never remembers who I am. She’s always had a prettier story and wanted nothing to do with getting to know mine. I don’t take it personally. She’s like that with everyone who doesn’t live in Camden Estates.
“She’ll trust you more than she’ll trust a stranger.”
“It sounds a little sneaky.”
“It is a little sneaky.” He doesn’t bother to lie.
“I don’t think I can do that.” There are so many reasons why I can’t.
“Look.” He splays his hands open on the desk like he’s laying down his cards at the casino. “We all know the likelihood of this being someone local is pretty high given where it happened, and we’re hoping this turns out to be a simple accident.” He shrugs. “Things happen. Unexpected things. We just gotta find out what.”
“Still. I just don’t know if I can.”
“Don’t you see? You’d be doing this town a huge favor. You’d be helping them put their terror to rest.” His eyes bore into me. “You don’t have to give me your answer tonight. Just think about it, okay?”
TWO
CASEY WALKER
“So what are you going to do?” my dad asks as he carries Harper to my car parked in his driveway. She’s dead asleep in his arms and will probably stay knocked out on the drive home, but the minute I lay her in bed, you can bet she’ll spring awake like it’s time for breakfast. It’ll be another hour before I’ll get her to go back to sleep.
I open the back door and help him slip her into her booster seat, buckling her in tight. Her head lolls to the side. Coffee-colored curls fall over her face. I tuck her stuffed bunny, Charles, underneath her arm, then turn to face my dad. “I have no idea.”