Good Girl Bad (18)
A detective offers Rebecca tissues and tea, studying her carefully.
Rebecca is poised, her face neutral. She doesn’t look like someone who has just lost her husband.
“I’m Detective Casey. I’m so sorry about your husband, Mrs. Giovanni. Divers are in the river now, looking for evidence.”
Neither of them mention what they’re both thinking—looking for Tabby.
“Are you sure you want to make your statement now? Do you want anyone with you, to support you? A lawyer?”
“Why would I need a lawyer?” Rebecca looks genuinely surprised, like the thought had not even crossed her mind.
“You don’t, necessarily. But this may be a homicide investigation. Some people might call a lawyer.”
Rebecca waves a hand dismissively. “I just want to get it done. I want to find Tabby. I want to feel like I’m doing something.”
“Okay. Well, thank you for coming down. I appreciate this is a very difficult time and we will do everything we can to find your daughter as soon as possible. Anything you can tell me to shed light on the events leading up to the disappearance might help. So why don’t you go over the twenty-four hours before they went missing.”
Rebecca goes over what she told Nate, with a few extra details. Beth and Sandy came for dinner on the Saturday night; they were a bit hungover on Sunday. She and Leroy bickered.
The girls were in their rooms most of the day.
She and Tabby had fought.
“What about?” Casey is watching Rebecca kindly, her eyes warm and attentive. She notes the way Rebecca’s face closes off.
“It was nothing. Just normal teenage stuff. She said something disrespectful. I shouted at her. I shouted too much. It was out of proportion. I just get sick of her lip, you know?”
Casey doesn’t know. She doesn’t have children. She doesn’t even have nieces or nephews. But she’s heard enough from friends to have an idea of what Rebecca is referring to.
“Do you fight often?”
“No. Not really. We have words maybe once a month, just normal teenage pushing boundaries stuff. If her grades are bad. If she’s disrespectful. It’s been a bit worse than usual the last few months. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”
“I see. And have there been any other changes? A boyfriend? Any other stresses? School work, or illness, or peer trouble?”
“No. She was seeing a boy—I gave the other officer his name—about six months ago, and her grades started slipping, but she ended things with him. Apparently, he was quite possessive and didn’t take the breakup well, so you should talk to him for sure. But after that, her grades picked back up, she seemed settled. Having her friends over less, but that makes sense, she was studying for her year ten finals. Although—” Rebecca trails off, her eyes distant. Wasn’t she noticing that Tabby was quieter than before?
“Yes?” Casey prompts.
“She was maybe a bit quieter than usual. Keeping to herself more. She was always popular, you know? Sporty, smart, lots of friends. And I think recently she’s been spending a lot more time alone. And then.” Rebecca hesitates again, not wanting to admit that she didn’t know about quitting Miss Ambrosia. “Well, she worked Saturdays at this café. And when I called them, they said she’d quit months ago. But she’s been pretending to me she was still going there every week.” Rebecca shrugs, not quite meeting the detective’s eyes.
“And what about Leroy? How were things with him? Between you? Did he have anyone he was fighting with?”
Rebecca hedges and avoids. Things were fine. Weren’t they? They were bloody fine.
They were mostly fine, but there was that fight, that one fight, when Tabby was so bloody crazy, and Leroy, the way he looked at her, like she was the crazy one.
The way he looked at her, but instead of coming to her, he gave her that awful, awful look, and followed Tabby to her room, and locked the bloody door.
16
When the little girl is a bit older, her mother enrolls her in swimming lessons.
“You learn, and then you can teach your sister,” she says, pushing the girl impatiently into the pool.
The water is cold, and the girl has never been in a pool before. An instructor with a friendly smile beckons her over to the group, and the girl tries to go to her, but it’s too deep, and her feet can’t touch the bottom.
Panicking, she windmills her arms furiously, the coldness knocking her breath out of her, the water terrifying, and she can’t breathe, and she starts sinking, and she doesn’t know what to do.
Then strong arms are pulling her up, the instructor’s face now worried, waving at a colleague to watch the other children, looking around for her mother, who is nowhere to be seen.
“Honey, this class is for nine-year-olds who’ve completed the other classes. Have you done the other classes?”
The girl shakes her head, feels like a failure.
“It’s my first time,” she whispers.
“Your first lesson?” The instructor sounds incredulous, but the girl shakes her head.
“My first time in a pool.”
“Where are you parents?” The instructor sounds angry now, and the girl feels even worse: she shouldn’t be here, she’s done something wrong again, she’s in the way, she’s wasting people’s time.