Off the Deep End (27)

Mark was just shaking his head like he didn’t understand half of what Detective Hawkins had said either. “But I don’t get it. I thought that all the local parks were under surveillance?”

“They were—still are.”

“So, someone just waltzed in there undetected by all your officers and left a box?”

“Yes, I wish we had cameras in all the trees so we could have eyeballs on every area of the park at all times, but unfortunately, that’s just not possible. We also couldn’t question everyone that came into the park or even search them for that matter. All we could do was monitor any activity that looked suspicious. Whatever happened, they slipped in undetected by us or anyone else.”

“But I thought they were patrolling the park.” Mark repeated himself despite the explanation Detective Hawkins had just given.

It didn’t seem to bother Detective Hawkins at all. He didn’t skip a beat. “We’re hopeful someone in the park might have seen or heard something. Maybe someone noticed something out of the ordinary.”

None of his words penetrated Mark. He looked like he wanted to yell at him, and he worked hard to control his voice. “Isn’t that what the police were already supposed to be doing? I thought that was the whole point of them being out there.”

“I’m sorry, Mark. I know this is difficult information to hear and not the outcome we would like, but remember, ultimately, it’s not what we’d hoped for, but it’s what we expected.” He shifted his gaze to me. “Do you have any questions? I want to be here for the two of you and to answer all your questions, but I really want to get out to Plummer’s Park. I’d like to get to work as soon as possible interviewing people and canvassing the area for any potential leads. Anything I can answer before I go?”

I shook my head. He tilted his head to the side as if to say, Are you sure? I always had questions.

But not today. Not now.

All I wanted to do was sit down. None of this was what I wanted to hear. The buzzing wouldn’t stop in my ears. I reached behind me for the banister to steady myself. This didn’t mean anything. There were still other possibilities. We still had six days. Six days was a lot. A lot could happen in six days.





CASE #72946

PATIENT: JULIET (JULES) HART

Dr. Stephens slides his way through the door and back into the room, double-checking to make sure the door is secured behind him before taking a seat in his usual spot at the table. He stepped out ten minutes ago to take a phone call. He’s never done that before, so it must be important. He crosses his legs, and I want to tell him that it’s okay to just sit in the chair in a comfortable position like a regular person, that he doesn’t have to try so hard all the time, but I hold myself back. I do a lot of holding back in here.

“That was Detective Hawkins on the phone,” he says, jumping back into things immediately. It’s a very abrupt transition.

“Am I supposed to know who that is?” I’ve assumed he wasn’t working alone, but we’ve never actually discussed that or talked about anyone related to the case. Not even the extent of his involvement.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I guess not. You probably wouldn’t know who that is, would you?” He’s clearly caught off guard and a bit shaken. He must be under enormous pressure. “Detective Hawkins is the lead detective on the Isaac Greer case.”

“Oh, yes.” I nod with a smile teasing the corner of my lips. “That is why we’re here, I suppose.” It’s easy to slip into therapy-land with him and forget what brought us together in the first place. He’s just so much fun to play with.

“They’ve had a major development in the case.” That’s all he says, and then he stops. His long, drawn-out pauses are annoying. I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s testing me. Seeing how I react to the little bits of information that he gives me. Seeing whether if he leaves it ambiguous enough, I’ll unintentionally reveal something.

“I hope it works out for them,” I say, holding back the urge to smile. It’s the last thing he expects me to say. I was supposed to ask what happened. He blinks a few times. Shifts in his seat. He keeps trying to rearrange his face, but he can’t decide which expression he wants to go with, and it’s really tough not to laugh.

Finally, he speaks. “Yes, yes, I hope it works out for them too.” He clears his throat like he’s suddenly nervous to talk to me. Am I really that intimidating? I can’t be. It’s so sweet that he’s so nervous, though. “The thing is that it’s not looking like it’s going to head in that direction.”

“Oh no.” I fake surprise and sadness. I give it to him. I can’t help it. He works so hard; he deserves it. “What happened?”

“Are you familiar with the cases of the two boys who were murdered—Brady and Josh?”

Does he think I’ve been living under a rock? He’s not good at this part. Transitions can be tough. You only really get good at those by experience.

“Yes, I’m familiar,” I say. I could say so much more, but I hold back. I’ll let him think he’s leading the way.

“In both of those instances, the boys’ clothes they were wearing on the night they disappeared showed up at a park eight days after they were kidnapped,” he explains like everyone doesn’t already know every minute detail about the cases, but then I quickly remember that I live with people who have no idea what’s happening right now. They don’t know that we have a serial killer stalking adolescent boys. Some of them don’t know what day it is. Does Dr. Stephens think I’m that sick? That far removed from what’s happening in society like them? God, I hope not. He cracks his knuckles. “Well, earlier today, Isaac’s clothes were found in a cardboard box at Plummer’s Park just like those boys’.”