Defending Jacob(23)

7 | Denial


Logiudice was half right: by this point I did suspect Jacob, but not of murder. The scenario Logiudice was trying to sell to the grand jury—that, because of my family history and because of the knife, I immediately knew Jacob was a psychopath and covered for him—was pure bullshit. I don’t blame Logiudice for overselling the case that way. Juries are hard of hearing by nature, the more so in this case where circumstances essentially forced them to stick their fingers in their ears. Logiudice had no choice but to shout. But the fact is, nothing so dramatic had happened. The suggestion that Jacob might be a murderer was just crazy; I did not seriously consider it. What I thought, rather, was that something was up. Jacob knew more than he was telling. Lord knows, that was unsettling enough. Suspicion, once it started to corkscrew itself into my thoughts, made me experience everything twice: as questing prosecutor and as anxious father, one after the truth, the other terrified of it. And if I did not exactly confess all that to the grand jury, well, I knew enough to oversell my case too.

The day I discovered the knife, Jacob got home from school around two-thirty. From the kitchen, Laurie and I listened to him clatter into the front hall and back-heel the door shut, then slip off his backpack and coat in the mudroom. We exchanged nervous glances as, like sonar operators, we interpreted these sounds.

“Jacob,” Laurie called, “can you come in here, please?”

There was a moment’s stillness, a catch, before he said, “Okay.”

Laurie made a positive face to reassure me.

Jacob shambled into the kitchen apprehensively. From my perspective, looking up at him, it struck me how big he had gotten, this man-sized boy.

“Dad. What are you doing home?”

“There’s something we need to talk about, Jake.”

He came in a little farther and saw the knife on the table between us. With the blade folded into the handle, the knife had lost its menace. It was just a tool.

I said, in as neutral a tone as I could manage, “You want to tell us what this is?”

“Um, a knife?”

“Don’t fool around, Jacob.”

“Sit down, Jacob,” his mother encouraged. “Sit down.”

He sat. “You looked through my room?”

“I did, not your mother.”

“You searched it?”

“Yup.”

“Ever heard of privacy?”

“Jacob,” Laurie said, “your father was worried about you.” He rolled his eyes.

Laurie continued, “We’re both worried. Why don’t you just tell us what this is all about.”

“Jacob, you put me in a difficult position, you know. Half the state police are looking for this knife.”

“For this knife?”

“Not this knife; a knife. You know what I mean. For a knife like this. I just don’t understand what a kid like you is doing with a knife like this. Why do you need it, Jake?”

“I don’t need it. It’s just something I got.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“You got it but you don’t know why?”

“It’s just, I don’t know, something I did. For no reason. It doesn’t mean anything. Why does everything have to mean something?”

“Then why did you hide it?”

“Probably because I knew you’d freak out.”

“Well, you got that right, at least. Why do you need a knife?”

“I just told you, I don’t need it. I just thought it was kinda cool. I liked it. I just wanted it.”

“Are you having problems with other kids?”

“No.”

“Is there someone you’re afraid of?”

“No. Like I said, I just saw it and I thought it was cool so I bought it.” He shrugged.

“Where?”

“This army-navy store in town. They’re not hard to find.”

“Is there a record of the sale? Did you use a credit card?”

“No, cash.”

My eyes narrowed.

“It’s not that unusual, Jesus, Dad. People do use cash, you know.”

“What do you do with it?”

“Nothing. I just look at it, hold it, see how it feels.”

“Do you carry it with you?”

“No. Not usually.”

“But sometimes?”

“No. Well, rarely.”

“Do you bring it to school?”

“No. Except once. I showed it to some kids.”

“Who?”

“Derek, Dylan. Couple others maybe.”

“Why?”

“ ’Cause I thought it was cool. It was like, Hey, check this out.”

“Have you ever used it for anything?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, whatever you’d use a knife for: to cut.”

“You mean have I ever stabbed anyone with it in Cold Spring Park?”

“No, I mean, have you ever used it at all?”

“No, never. Of course not.”

“So you just got it and stuck it in your drawer?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”