“Theoretically, it could be, but I think that’s highly unlikely. The level of sophistication required to perform consistently on the tests like he did is just too high. You’d have to remember so many different things and manipulate so many different variables, all within a timed context. Juggling all of that would be really tough to do. I have no idea how anyone could keep all of it straight. I’m an expert, and I couldn’t do it unless I spent hours practicing and rehearsing my responses.”
“Don’t lots of people with autism have that thing where they’re geniuses at stuff or remembering weird facts? You know what I’m talking about? The ones where they have crazy memory about things like dates and numbers or being able to play the piano like a pro without any kind of training?” He leans forward across the table.
“It’s called savant syndrome,” I explain. And he’s right. About 10 percent of people with autism demonstrate the ability, but it’s usually with music or art. Sometimes with the memorization of facts, but those typically center around dates or very specific interests. I’ve never heard of a single case that remotely resembles anything like this.
“That’s it!” He snaps his fingers and points at me. “Could he be demonstrating that? You already said that he does an amazing job imitating and mimicking other people.”
“I guess so.” I twirl my mug around twice on the table but don’t pick it up. I’ve been so focused on proving someone trained him to take the tests that I haven’t considered any of the other possibilities that might explain his behavior. “Except if that’s the case and he really is that impaired, then it raises another glaring question—Why did Genevieve wait so long to have him evaluated?”
“I’m not following you. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Genevieve didn’t have Mason evaluated until he was six years old. That’s really late to bring your child to the pediatrician if he actually has the level of impairment that the tests suggest. The early warning signs are pretty easy to spot in toddlers and only grow more pronounced the older they get, especially when you have a child as severe as Mason supposedly is or was.” I stumble over my words. I’m always so careful with them because I never want to offend anyone, but I have no idea how to refer to him now. “Anyway, there are so many things that would’ve been there for Genevieve to notice and pick up on.” I use my fingers to rattle each one off. “Language delays. Speech delays. Not responding to his name being called. No imaginative play. Strange mannerisms. Not being able to hold joint attention. All those things and a million other things.”
He sticks his hand up to stop me. “You’re going to have to slow all that down for me.”
“From what I’ve seen, Mason still has almost no functional language, so delays were likely there from the beginning. He would’ve missed all those developmental milestones along the way like babbling and making sounds to test out his voice. Parents notice when their children aren’t talking or showing signs of language. That would’ve been obvious even if nothing else was. And play? He doesn’t have any idea how to engage in imaginative play or use toys. He lines them up or groups them together. Everyone knows kids play, so when Mason wasn’t playing with toys, that should’ve been another red flag that something was wrong.” Harper has never known how to play either. Her favorite thing to do with her toys has always been to pick them apart piece by piece and then put their pieces in little piles. “Moms notice those things, especially when they have other kids to compare to and especially when they’re as involved as Genevieve is. But she waited to bring him in until he was six. Why did she wait so long?”
“That’s a good question,” he says, and I can tell from the way he says it that it’s not something he’s considered before. I can practically see the wheels spinning in his head. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know.” I came into this conversation convinced I’d found one of the most important pieces of the case, but I’m more confused than ever, and there are still more puzzling parts of the equation. “Was Mason examined by a doctor after the assault?” I don’t know what the standard procedures or practices are on any of this, and I spent my entire drive debating whether I should have this conversation with him, but ultimately, I decided to let him know what I found in case it’s evidence that helps inform the case.
“No.” He shakes his head, puzzled. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t want to make a big deal out of something that isn’t, but I noticed bruises on Mason’s forearms. I saw them when he pushed up his sleeves.”
“Did they look fresh?” he asks.
“Some of them did.”
We took a break between tests, and I gave him something to drink. He pushed up his sleeves and gripped the cup with both hands before raising it to his mouth. That’s when I saw the blue splotches mixed in with the deep purples all over his forearms. There were fading yellow marks down by one wrist. It made me wonder if that was why he wore the clunky watch on his other arm. Was he hiding something underneath?
“Were there a lot?” His face goes flat, impossible to read. Does he do that on purpose?
“His left arm was pretty covered.” That’s why they were so easy to spot. But I hesitated saying anything because Harper’s body has plenty of old and faded bruises too. It goes with the territory of having hypermobility issues and not feeling pain like most people. She was born with a congenital insensitivity. I didn’t realize the severity until she was eighteen months old and smacked herself so hard on the hardwood floors that she knocked herself out. The egg that grew on her forehead fascinated her instead of bothered her. She pushed into it like it was nothing. Didn’t even flinch. I wonder if Mason is the same way? “I didn’t know if I should say anything to you about it, and I’m still on the fence about whether it means anything based on some of Mason’s issues. He has problems with muscle control and pain, so he probably unintentionally hurts himself all the time. He also engages in self-injurious behavior when he’s anxious. They could all be related to those things, but I just kept thinking, What if he got them from some kind of altercation with the person who murdered Annabelle?” The fact that they were on his arms like that was the most alarming part. They didn’t look like flat, round bruises put there because he bumped into something without noticing. They were a strange pattern. Almost like fingerprints, as if someone might have grabbed him.
“I’m so glad you said something. The bruises could definitely indicate some form of struggle. Maybe from another attacker . . . maybe from fighting Annabelle . . . although there were no signs of a struggle on her.” He thinks out loud, staring past me like I’m not sitting across from him.
I swallow hard. It never occurred to me that the bruises could indicate a struggle between Mason and Annabelle, that the information could be used to cast doubt on his innocence rather than the other way around.
“We wanted to do a thorough forensic evaluation that day, but there was no way we were getting near him. They were both like a pair of feral cats. I’m thinking I need to see about getting one done by our pediatrician.” He strokes his chin. “We did get the clothes he was wearing, though. The forensic report on those should be back any day.”