Locust Lane(25)

“He said he didn’t know,” Michel said.

Procopio looked at him, with his anger. But it was Gates who spoke.

“I think it’s best if you don’t interrupt, Mr. Mahoun.” She turned back to the boy. “Can you tell us what time you got home? Specifically.”

He shook his head. Gates turned to Michel once again.

“Can you help us out with that one?”

“I can speak now?” Michel said, instantly regretting the words.

“Yes, please,” Gates said, ignoring the sarcasm.

His first impulse was to tell the truth. Just before four a.m. But Christopher knew the time and he wasn’t telling them. Michel needed to know why before he said a word.

“No, I’m sorry. It was late.”

“I’m curious about one thing, though,” Gates said. “You didn’t text her after you left.”

“What?”

“You texted her a lot. But you didn’t after you left.”

“I thought she was asleep,” Christopher said, feebly.

Gates stared at him without reacting. It suddenly struck Michel that this was a mistake. He shouldn’t be letting them question his son without a lawyer.

“Christopher, look at me.” His son turned to him. “Do not say another word. Do you understand me? I’m going to find someone to help us and until I do you must remain silent. Tell me you understand me.”

Christopher nodded.

“Not a good move, Dad,” Procopio said.

“We’d like to go now,” Michel said.

Neither detective responded. The door opened and a tall, uniformed man with silver hair entered. He did not look at Michel and his son. He nodded at Gates, then took up a position against the wall, his arms folded. He finally looked at Christopher. His expression was not reassuring.

“Okay,” Gates said. “Christopher, I want you to listen to me, because this is important. Is there anything more you want to tell us about what happened between you and Eden last night? Anything at all?”

“No!”

“Did you guys have a fight? Did you shove her? It could have just been one of those things. Something you didn’t even mean to do.”

“No,” he said, his voice plaintive now.

“Enough,” Michel said. “My son needs a lawyer.”

Everyone watched Christopher. But he was obeying his father now.

“So here’s what’s going to happen next,” Gates said finally. “We’re going to put something called a forty-eight-hour hold on you. Which means that you’re going to be staying here with us for the time being.”

“No! Dad…”

“Wait,” Michel said.

“The reason we’re doing this is we believe you have vital information about what happened to Eden that you aren’t sharing with us. We need you here with us until you’re ready to do that.”

“I don’t understand,” Michel said. “Is he under arrest?”

“Technically, yes, he’s in our custody. But he’s not being charged with a crime at this point.”

“Then let him come home with me. I’ll make sure he doesn’t go out.”

“Mr. Mahoun, we’re going to need you to leave now.”

“I want to stay.”

“Sir, we’re really going to need you to leave.”

Procopio said this. Michel felt his anger rise, but he knew that conflict with this man would only hurt Christopher. He looked at his son, who wouldn’t meet his eye.

“You’ll be home soon.”

Christopher nodded, suddenly a million miles away. It was as if he was locked inside his own head even more securely than inside this building.

“Mr. Mahoun?”



* * *



There were more people gathered outside now. There were vans with antennae protruding from their roofs. The questions were more aggressive as Michel came through the doors. They understood now that he was involved. He passed them without a word and drove quickly out of the parking lot. It wasn’t until he was on Centre that he realized he had no idea where he was going. He pulled to the side of the road, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. The thought of his son locked up was like a hand on his throat. He rolled down the window but that didn’t help.

He needed to find a lawyer. He had two of them. The first was for immigration; the second dealt with the restaurant. Neither would do for this. Sofia. She’d had a boyfriend. David. He’d been a prosecutor in Boston but was in private practice now. Supposedly a big deal. He’d come to Papillon a few times. A little arrogant, but friendly and obviously smart as hell. She would be at the restaurant now, prepping dinner, dealing with the chaos caused by Michel’s sudden departure. She’d been texting and calling ever since he left. Her latest message had come just a few minutes ago: Okay now I’m getting worried. You have no idea, Michel thought as he put his car in gear and drove to the only place in the world that made sense for him to be now.





PATRICK


The pain in his leg woke him. Otherwise, there was no telling how long he might have slept. Last night, he’d wound up finishing the liter of Suntory he’d been working on for the last couple of days. He’d greeted the dawn with a can of Ruby Grapefruit hard seltzer that had left a metallic aftertaste in his mouth. After that came an oblivion that was blessedly free of voices, dreams, anything at all.