Since She Went Away(62)
“I am. He called me.”
“Do you know the people who live here?”
“No, I don’t. Well, wait, I knew the girl who lived here. I met her a couple of times.”
“This is your son’s girlfriend? The girl who might be the victim of a custodial kidnapping?”
“I guess that’s what you call it,” his mom said, sounding a little impatient.
“And your name is Jenna Barton, right?” Bradford asked.
Jared saw the look cross his mom’s face, the tired one that always showed up when she was recognized simply because of her connection to Celia. It was as if some power drained from his mother every time that came up.
“Yes,” she said, her voice short. “I know Detective Poole very well.”
“But you don’t have any reason to believe the two things are related, do you?” Jones asked. “The dead body in there and . . .” For a moment, it seemed he wouldn’t even finish the thought, but then he said, “Mrs. Walters’s case.”
His mom answered right away, her voice assured and confident. “No, I don’t think so. Do you?”
The cops didn’t offer any opinion. Over the past few months of watching them up close, he’d learned they usually didn’t. They said as little as possible that might obligate them to something later. They liked to ask questions and then sit back and let the other person, the noncop, talk. Then they’d ask another question and another.
The notion that the two things were related—Celia’s disappearance and Tabitha’s—had never crossed Jared’s mind until Jones brought it up. And once he did, the idea wedged in Jared’s brain like a large splinter.
Could they be? And Holly Crenshaw as well?
“Do you mind if I take him home?” his mom asked, her hands still resting on Jared’s shoulders, even though he was taller than his mom by a few inches. It was one of those protective gestures parents like to make. It said to the world, This one is mine, and you better believe you’re going to have to go through me first. “It’s cold. He doesn’t have a coat, and he’s been through something awful.”
“Mom,” Jared said. She seemed to be laying it on pretty thick, making him sound like a baby. But he did want to go home, to get out of the cold and away from the stench of the dead man inside. If he ever could fully get away from it. His mom ignored him and waited for the cops to say something.
“Are you going right home?” Bradford asked. “Because a detective will want to speak to you. Tonight.”
“Believe me,” his mom said, her voice sounding tired, “they all know where I live.”
Bradford nodded and Jared’s mom didn’t break contact with him until he sat down inside the car.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Early the next morning Detective Poole came by, looking tired and worn. She wore a navy pantsuit, the jacket wrinkled, and her hair seemed frazzled and unkempt, as if she’d ridden to their house with the windows down in her car, despite the cold temperatures. When Jenna offered her coffee, she accepted it as if it were manna from heaven.
The three of them sat at the kitchen table. Detective Poole started with a rundown of everything Jared knew about Tabitha and her dad. But before she started asking questions, Jared said, “Her real name is Natalie, isn’t it?”
Naomi nodded. “It looks that way.”
“Maybe we should call her that. I need to get used to that, I guess, and I think someone would like to be called by their real name.”
“Fair enough,” Naomi said.
Jared told the detective the little he knew about them. Natalie said her parents were separated, her father strict. She said she came from Florida. Jared admitted that he had never really met her dad, never set foot inside the house until he broke in.
“I’m sorry about that,” Jared said to the detective. “But I was scared. I thought Tabitha—Natalie—might be in there. Hurt. Or worse.”
Naomi gave him a reassuring pat on his hand. “I don’t think anyone’s going to be pressing charges over a broken window.”
“It’s not the only window I broke on that house. Did you see the kitchen window was all taped up?”
“We did,” Naomi said. “Did you try to get in that way first?”
Jared looked at Jenna and then over at the detective. He told her he’d broken the window one night when he saw Natalie’s dad kissing her on the lips in the kitchen.
“I lost my shit,” he said. “I got so angry. And jealous. I couldn’t stop myself.”
“Is that why you asked me about fathers kissing daughters?” Jenna asked.
“Sure. It seemed weird, but I didn’t know. You and I never kiss, not that way. But I don’t know about fathers and daughters.”
Jenna pulled her sweater tighter around her body. “Your instincts were probably right. Is it possible this girl was being abused by her father?” Jenna asked Naomi.
Naomi kept her face a blank mask, revealing nothing. “We’re looking into everything.” She turned to Jared again. “Is that all of it? Any other relevant details? Anything at all?”
“That lock on the bedroom door,” Jared said. “Do you think he kept her in there?”