Catch Me (Detective D.D. Warren, #6)(79)

“Why are you sorry?” D.D. asked, keeping her voice conversational.

“I was a bad boy.”

“Why do you say that?” Open-ended questions. That was the deal with kids—can’t imply, can’t lead, can only ask open-ended questions.

“Stranger Danger. Don’t talk to strangers online. Don’t meet strangers. Don’t go away with strangers. My mommy told me. I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The little boy started to cry. His mother stroked his hair, then leaned over his head, murmuring low words of comfort.

“Thank you for returning to the library tonight,” D.D. said.

The boy looked up slightly.

“That was quick thinking. You had to find your way back through the city streets, which I personally find very confusing at night. But you did. You found your mother, you notified the police. Very brave of you. Have you ever walked the city alone, Jesse?”

The boy shook his head.

“Then kudos. You kept a cool head. Bet your mom’s pretty proud of you for that.”

Jennifer nodded against the top of her son’s head.

“I need you to be brave for me now, Jesse. Just a little bit longer, okay? Just relax, snuggled up next to your mom, and think about a couple of things for me.”

The little boy nodded, just slightly.

“Can you tell us what happened tonight, Jesse? In your own words. Take your time.”

Jesse didn’t start talking right away. His mother bent over again. “Jenny and Jesse against the world,” D.D. heard her whisper to him. “Remember, Jenny and Jesse against the world. Hold my hand. We can do this.”

The little boy took his mother’s hand. Then, he began to speak.

It was a pretty straightforward tale. A sixteen-year-old boy named Barry spent his afternoons gaming online as a pink poodle. He racked up points, he gained attention. He sent out e-mails to other gamers, offering friendship and help.

Jesse had taken the bait.

He’d assumed he had nothing to fear from a poodle, a meeting in a public library, and a rendezvous with a presumed girl. And so it went, right up to the second Jesse found himself standing in a back alley, too scared to run, too shocked to scream.

He couldn’t tell them much about the woman. Her arrival had startled him. Her gun had terrified him. Mostly, he remembered her eyes. Bright, bright blue eyes.

“Crazy eyes,” Jesse breathed softly. “Creepy, like blue cat eyes.” He looked up at them. “I think she’s an alien or maybe a robot or a monster. She…she hurt him. And…and I was happy.”

His gaze dropped again, and he buried himself suddenly, tightly, into his mother’s embrace.

“I’m sorry,” the little boy moaned, voice muffled against his mother’s coat. “I was bad. And there was this noise, and he’s dead. And I was bad and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Mommy, I won’t ever do it again. I promise, I promise, I promise.”

D.D. looked away. She didn’t know what hurt worse, the boy’s obvious pain, or his mother’s, as she put her other arm around him and rocked him against her, trying to soothe, clearly knowing it wasn’t enough.

“I would like to take him home,” the woman said. “It’s late.” She added as an afterthought, “He has school tomorrow.”

Then her face suddenly crumpled, as if understanding for the first time that school in the morning probably wasn’t going to happen. That tonight had been bigger than that. That this was one of those things that would take more than a good night’s sleep to recover from.

Detective O stepped forward to explain about the interview with the forensic specialist, which needed to happen sooner versus later, as children’s memories were highly pliable.

Jesse’s mom shook her head, clearly becoming as overwhelmed and shell-shocked as her son.

D.D. reached out and squeezed the woman’s hand. “Just another hour,” she said encouragingly to the woman. “Then you can both go home. And tomorrow will be better than today, and the next day will be better than that. It will get better.”

The woman looked at her. “I love him so much.”

“I know.”

“I would do anything for him. I would give my life for him. I was just looking up a school assignment. Fifteen minutes we’d be apart. We’d done it before and he’s at that age. He doesn’t always want his mother around anymore. And I want him to feel strong. I want him to feel safe.”

“I know.”

“I would do anything for him.”

“The interview will help,” D.D. assured her. “I know it sounds scary, but telling his story will allow Jesse to own it. It will become less and less something that happened to him, and more and more something he can narrate, take control over. We’ve seen it with other kids. Talking helps them. Holding it inside, not so good.”

Jenny sighed, rested her cheek on top of her son’s head. “Jenny and Jesse against the world,” she murmured.

“You’re a good mom.”

“I should’ve done more.”

“Story of a mother’s life.”

“Do you have a child?”

“Ten weeks old, already the love of my life.”

“What would you do?”