“Somebody called Peter Benchley,” Bianchi answered. “A veteran. He witnessed Shelly’s actual fall, from his window. He says she fell because something had been punching up, making the wood weak, and that checks. Forensics matched the dog to the teeth marks on your daughter’s hand.
“Benchley says he was up all night. Insomnia. He says you didn’t come out until it was already going down.”
Arlo let out a sigh. “Well, that’s good. I’m glad he was watching.”
“You can go. We’ll be in touch,” Bianchi said.
Clear-eyed now, Gertie fidgeted with her cardigan, handed it back. “How did you know to ask Peter Benchley?”
“I was on Maple Street. Rhea Schroeder named a great many witnesses. I went door to door,” Bianchi answered.
“To the whole block?” Gertie asked. “You asked the whole block about Arlo? What did you ask?”
“I spoke with the witnesses Mrs. Schroeder named. Mr. Benchley came forward on his own. So did your Atlas friends. But the Atlases hadn’t seen anything. These are the questions I asked,” Bianchi said. “It’s protocol: Can you corroborate the witnesses’ story? Do you have any new or unreported information about the incident? Has the suspect been behaving strangely? Have you ever seen him acting strangely around the child in question?”
“Oh shit,” Arlo mumbled.
“I don’t understand. I told you about Shelly. That there’s evidence of abuse. If you’re so interested in finding the truth, why aren’t you at that house right now? Why aren’t you asking the neighbors about Rhea?” Gertie asked.
Gennet spoke at last. “We’re getting full, conclusive statements regarding all parties. There’s not enough evidence for a warrant. But I have passed the information along.”
“It would be a lot easier if we found the body,” Bianchi resumed. “Most rape cases in this age category show bruising and vaginal scarring. If we find the accusation against you specious, you can always sue. Probably not in your best interest. It’s smartest to just forget about today. But I can give you the full report so you know. You’re entitled to that.”
They stood nervously, waiting for the receptionist behind the intake desk to print the report. The office was surprisingly empty. Just a few plainclothes police worked at their desks, leaving another twenty desks empty.
Gertie’s knees were weak. “I don’t think I want to know what that report says.”
But the receptionist was done by then. She handed the report to Arlo. Witnesses included Rhea Schroeder; Ella Schroeder; Nikita Kaur; Sam Singh; Linda, Dominick, Mark, and Michael Ottomanelli; Lainee Hestia; Steven Ponti; and Margie Walsh. The list of witnesses in Arlo’s defense was much shorter: Peter Benchley.
* * *
Gertie and Arlo got into their Passat. Halfway to Maple Street, he pulled over. Gertie opened the door and vomited.
Shaken, they got back in and continued home. They’d only been gone for a day, but in that time, their whole world had changed.
Sunday night on Maple Street. Cars were parked in driveways, dining room curtains opened for late-day dinner light. But they weren’t playing on the trampoline or barbequing burgers, like they ordinarily would have done on a weekend evening. No, they were inside, looking out. Gertie could see faces peeking from windows. Weirdest and most unsettling of all, they’d set up the Slip ’N Slide. It looked like they’d only recently, hastily, turned off the water and scattered. The Wildes’ entire side lawn was ruined. Just mud and viscous oil. Not a blade left of grass.
No one waved at the Wildes as they parked and started down the sidewalk. They didn’t walk away from their windows, either. They watched.
When the Wildes retrieved their children from Fred and Bethany Atlas, they expressed their deep gratitude and stanched their tears. Fred said he was still looking for a lawyer. It was tricky. People don’t like to be associated with that kind of accusation, and when they do, they charge a lot. Arlo should be prepared for photographers. This could leak to the tabloids.
“If we’re detained again, could you take the kids? Otherwise, I’m worried it’s foster care,” Gertie asked.
“Sure!” Bethany called from the couch. “We love them so much!”
Fred walked them to the door, his voice lowered. The kids walked ahead down the lawn. “She’s back in the hospital tomorrow,” he whispered. “I’ll be at work or with her. They say we’ll know right away if it works. This targeted gene therapy. A week or a month, they say.”