“Little boy boat no float.”
My heart sank. I’d been hoping for further disclosure. Was it code for something or just gibberish that he’d put together?
“Tell me more about the little boy,” I probed. He repeated the same line. This time when he was finished, he snuck a quick peek at me to see my reaction, and I was sure he was trying to tell me something. That his words meant something. “I don’t understand. Help me understand.”
“Please. Help. Me.”
I turn my attention back to Detective Layne. “He didn’t just ask for help once. He said it twice. I don’t care if it’s not a perfect confession; it’s something, and even if you don’t believe it, I’m sure Genevieve is hurting him. We need to do something to protect him.”
“We don’t need to do anything. Mason won’t be going home for a long time.”
“What?” I balk, forcing myself to focus on the road while he speaks. The last thing I need is to get into a car accident on my way home.
“Depends on whether the district attorney charges him as an adult or a juvenile, but no matter what, he’s going away for some time. I suspect they’ll let him slide as a juvenile because of the circumstances, but that’ll still follow him until he’s twenty-four.” He couldn’t sound more pleased.
Nothing he’s saying registers. “What are you talking about?”
“Genevieve just left the station. She came down to give a statement about Mason.” He breathes out long and slow from his nose. “She says he did it—Mason killed Annabelle. Says she’s been trying to protect him this entire time just like we always suspected. She said that it had gone on too long and she couldn’t live with a guilty conscience . . .”
His words fall off into empty space. That can’t be.
“She’s lying.”
Another deep exhale. “I know this case has been hard on you, Casey, and you haven’t wanted that boy to be responsible since the very beginning. I get that. But everything she says lines up with what we’ve been saying all along. You should’ve seen her when she was giving her statement. She was devastated, absolutely crushed.”
“That’s because she’s a sociopath, I’m telling you, Detective. You have to listen to me. People always think the scariest thing about sociopaths is that they don’t feel any empathy. That’s not it at all. The scariest thing about sociopaths is that they feel no empathy but are so good at pretending they do. That’s what makes them so dangerous, and she’s dangerous. How can you ignore that? Mason just told us he needs help.”
“Again, without knowing specifically who or what he’s talking about, it’s not enough.”
“But it has to be her.” I can’t let it go, just like I didn’t let it go after Mason made the disclosure. I pummeled him with follow-up questions after he asked for help a second time, but it wasn’t long until he retreated into himself and just started asking for water, refusing to answer anything else. It’s what kids usually do after they disclose abuse. Mothers hurting their kids makes me furious, and I know I’m right about this. “We haven’t even discussed that someone’s been giving Mason that Lipitor on purpose, and it’s got to be her. She’s feeding it to him on top of a really serious cocktail of other medications. Basically, she’s got him on enough drugs to tranquilize a horse, and he’s fourteen. No wonder he can’t function.”
“Those are a lot of wild accusations without anything to back them up.”
“Anything to back them up? It’s all there. We know she’s a liar. Her story has changed constantly throughout this entire ordeal, and whenever she gets caught, she just creates a different story. She trained him how to look intellectually disabled. She probably trained him to look like he has autism, too, in whatever way she did that. All the while she was keeping him high on who knows what medications.”
“Again, Ms. Walker, all those things might be true, but you don’t have any actual evidence to support them, and without that, it’s only information. Really sad information.” He clears his throat. “And let’s just say you did come up with evidence to support those things—she faked all his disabilities; she’s been making him sick and keeping him sick—it doesn’t mean she’s a murderer. She could be a really bad parent and a terrible person without being a murderer. Lots of people are.”
I shake my head. “I’m not saying she’s a murderer. I’m just saying that it might not be him. It could be someone else. You’ve never looked at anyone else. You—”
“Ms. Walker, stop. Just stop. It’s over.”
THIRTY-TWO
GENEVIEVE HILL
The stage lights strategically shine into my face, highlighting my best features. I fold my hands together on my lap. My feet are crossed at the ankles. Renetta’s assistant adjusts my microphone for a second time. Casey thought I needed her assessment of Mason to get the media’s attention, but I never needed her. I could’ve gone to them anytime I wanted, and they would’ve jumped at the opportunity to interview me. Just like Renetta did when I called her last night.
She sits across from me in full makeup with beautiful movie-star lips that she swears are natural, but we all know she’s lying. She’s wearing jeans with a nice blue blouse tucked inside and unbuttoned low enough to show her cleavage and the cross around her neck.
“Okay, are you ready?” she asks, and I give her the nod. There’s no going back now. She signals to the cameras behind me, and they start rolling. “I’m here today with Mrs. Genevieve Hill for her first exclusive interview since the mayor’s wife, Annabelle Chapman, was found dead at Hurricane Creek. Her son, Mason, has been officially labeled a person of interest in this case.” She turns to me. The camera follows her. “Can you tell us what brings you here today?”
“Certainly.” I nod and do my best to look brave. My chair is set at a friendly angle toward her. A small circular table in front of us. I take a huge cleansing breath and begin. “I just know y’all are going to hear really conflicting information about my son in the upcoming days, and since he can’t talk, it’s my obligation as his mother to tell you his side of the story.” My voice wavers. Be strong. I can do this. “My son is a good boy. He is. I want you to know that.” I’m peering straight through Renetta and into the camera’s eye. “He was born with developmental disabilities and cognitive impairments that he can’t help. He didn’t ask for them. He didn’t do anything to get them. They’re not his fault. You hear me? They’re not his fault.”
Renetta reaches over and places her hand on my knee before I spiral too much. “We understand that, Mrs. Hill, we do.”
“Thank you, Renetta. That means a lot.” My lower lip quivers. I take a slow, deep breath, unsure I can do this, but I have to. No one terrorizes me. This is the only way out. “I’m a single mom, and Mason’s mostly grown up without a daddy. Things haven’t been easy for us, but I’ve done the best I could. That’s gotten harder the older Mason gets. He’s got all these hormones racing around inside him, and sometimes they make him a little aggressive. Not much. Just a little, but he can’t help it. That’s what happens to most boys this age. Mason’s no different. But he doesn’t think like boys his age, and he doesn’t understand things like they do either. Most of what he learns comes from copying other people. He’s a great mimicker. The best. You should hear all the voices he can do.” I’m going off on a tangent. I need to stay focused. Come on. This is too important to screw up. “I just want people to see Mason like the young boy that he is, and not the grown man that he looks like.”