Under Her Care(6)

I tilt my head to the side. “I thought he was nonverbal?” That’s how the media refers to him. “Does he speak?”

“Not really. Genevieve says he likes to draw. We were hoping you might be able to get him to draw something. She also says he uses picture cards. Maybe you could use those too?”

“Maybe.” Hopefully, he uses some assistive technology, but I’ll just have to meet him and go from there. I tuck my notebook back in my bag and pull my calendar up on my phone. “The next two days are booked solid, but I might be able to clear my morning on Wednesday. Does that work?”

“How about now?”

“Now?” I balk, snapping back in my chair.

He shrugs. “Sure. Why not? You’re here. They’re here.”

“They’re here right now?” My eyes scan the walls like I’ll be able to see through them and into the other rooms in the building where they might be sitting.

He nods. “They should be in the conference room with Gunner as we speak.”

My head swirls. “I mean . . . I really think that I need more time. I have to prepare some things. I want to read the police report. I should—”

“Nonsense,” he interrupts me, dismissing my protests with his hand. “You’ll be fine.” He gets up and moves around his desk with a big smile on his face while worry squeezes my chest. “Let’s you and me go have a talk with them.”





THREE


GENEVIEVE HILL



The door opens, and I leap to my feet, throwing myself at Detective Layne, resisting the urge to grab his shoulders and shake him. “What’s happening? Did you find something new? Please tell me you got him. Is that why you called us in? Where’s Richard?”

Detective Layne raises his hand to stop me. “We don’t have any new developments in the case. We just wanted to go over your statement another time and see if we might be able to get some confirmation from Mason about it too.” He’s winded from the short walk down the hallway. A pitcher of water with Styrofoam cups sits in the center of the table, and he makes a beeline for it. A woman follows behind him. She stands awkwardly with her arms folded on her chest while she waits for him to fill a cup. She looks too small to be a cop. There’s something vaguely familiar about her, but I can’t place her. Who is she?

I sit back down in my seat and instinctively pull Mason next to me. His body rocks rhythmically against mine. “What are you doing here?”

I trust no one right now. I can’t. It’s not smart.

She shrinks, taken aback, but Detective Layne doesn’t give her a chance to respond before he jumps in. “I think the two of y’all already know each other, but just in case you don’t, Genevieve, this is Ms. Casey Walker. Ms. Walker is the best of the best when it comes to working with kids with autism spectrum disorder.” Detective Layne slams the cup down like it’s a shot on the table. He gestures toward me. “And Casey, this is Mrs. Genevieve Hill. She’s the best of the best when it comes to taking care of her son, Mason.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ms. Walker says softly. Her hair is pulled into a low ponytail, and she tucks the loose strands behind her ears nervously. I don’t have time for small talk. I’ll worry about her later. I want my lawyer.

“Where’s Richard? I thought you said he was coming? He’s supposed to be coming.” The hysteria rises in my voice. I need to calm down. Just calm down, Genevieve. Getting upset has a terrible effect on Mason. He responds to all my stress. Deep breaths. God is in control. Everything is going to be okay.

“I don’t know what’s taking him so long. He should be here by now,” Detective Layne says in a super calm voice that only infuriates me more. A woman was brutally murdered in broad daylight just steps away from me and my son, and they’re not doing anything to keep us safe. Nothing. The Tuscaloosa Police Department should be doing everything in its power to protect us, but they won’t even put a squad car on our street. Thankfully, Camden Estates was more helpful than the police. They promised to dedicate a squad car entirely to our block for the next week at least. It doesn’t matter, though. I still didn’t sleep last night.

A murderer is out there, and he knows our faces.

“Okay, well, can you see what’s taking him so long? I keep calling him and I’ve texted a bunch of times, too, but he’s not responding. Maybe he will if he sees that it’s you.” I’m so irritated with Richard. His hourly rate is way too high for him to ignore me like this.

“Tell you what.” Detective Layne turns to Ms. Walker and points to the chair next to me. “Why don’t you take a seat while I go make a quick call to Richard?”

He turns on his heel and heads out the door before I can protest him leaving me alone with this strange woman. The door clicks shut behind Detective Layne, making Mason jump. He’s been like that since the murder. The smallest noise sends him flying. Last night a garbage can lid banged shut, and he hid underneath the sofa in the living room for two hours. I didn’t even try to get him out. Just crawled right under there with him. He was shaking uncontrollably. His shirt drenched like he’d jumped in a pool. He wasn’t the only one. I couldn’t stop sweating either.

Ms. Walker takes a seat a few chairs down. She’s watching Mason but pretending like she’s not. I’m used to it. That’s what everyone does when they notice something about him just isn’t quite right. It’s okay. It’s part of my job as a mother to educate people about his disabilities, and it gives me great purpose. But not today.