Three
T he kids were confused about the new code.
“Amity?” I asked at the stoplight, turning to look at Darwin, then Tatum. “You don’t know what that is?”
They both seemed unsure, like maybe I was nuts.
“Amity, as you know, means friendship,” I said, quoting Murray Hamilton from Jaws , and then waiting a moment.
“What are you talking about?” Tatum asked, squinting at me.
“ Jaws ? Have you guys never seen that movie?” From their vacant expressions, I was thinking no and informed them how horrible that was.
“Is this, like, a black-and-white movie?” Darwin wanted to know.
“What kind of name for a movie is that? Are you making this up?” Tatum was skeptical.
“I’m gonna make you guys watch it with me,” I stated, thinking, even as the words came out of my mouth, that it might traumatize her and was probably not a good idea.
“I have to study,” Darwin assured me.
“I don’t know about that,” Tatum said, crossing her arms. “Does a dog die in this movie? Because a lot of dogs die in old movies, and I am not a fan of that at all.”
And as I thought about it, yes, a dog did die. So that might be a no on Jaws .
On the way to the police station, I asked them about Griffin.
Initially, no one said a word.
“I won’t tell your dad, but I need to help him.”
Deep sigh from Tatum. “He smokes pot.”
Okay…
“He started drinking a little after Mom left,” Darwin said, “but now he drinks every day. She used to share her edibles with him, but since she left, he doesn’t have any, so now he smokes it.”
“Why did she give him edibles?”
“He can’t sleep,” Tatum explained.
“All right,” I muttered. “As soon as we get home, you guys are gonna help me get rid of all the alcohol in the house.”
“But Dad’s bourbon and Mom’s wine and?—”
“I’ll look at it, and if it’s expensive, I’ll lock it up. But other than that, it’s gone. And lemme tell you, it’s fun to pour stuff out. Do you guys know if he has any pot in his room?”
They shook their heads.
It was ridiculous. Like I wouldn’t find it. “I hope, in time, you’ll learn to trust me.”
“I trust you,” Tatum imparted. “I just don’t know. He doesn’t let anyone in his room since Mom left.”
“I wouldn’t go in there without a hazmat suit and a penicillin shot,” Darwin said flatly.
At the stoplight, I turned to him.
“Wait ’til you see his room.” Darwin shuddered.
“It’s bad,” Tatum confirmed. “I think there might be bugs.”
“And worse,” Darwin added. “ Mold. ”
“I’ll check it out,” I promised instead of passing any kind of judgment.
“But don’t forget to wear some protective gear like they do for crime-scene cleanup,” Tatum cautioned. “Maybe a respirator.”
“You have to do something about the documentaries, Nash,” Darwin told me. “She’s outta control.”
I glanced at Tatum, who shook her head and gave me a dismissive wave. “Everything’s fine. Don’t listen to him, he’s crazy.”
They were both funny, and I hadn’t expected that.
I had the kids wait in the car, and I called Shaw on my way in.
“Nash,” he answered on the third ring. “Where are you?”
“Washington. Didn’t you read your goddamn email this morning?” Unlike the kids, him I could yell and swear at. I didn’t have to think before I spoke.
“Not on a Sunday,” he groused.
“I need you to activate the guardianship waiver so I can get this kid out of police custody.”
It took him a second to process. “What?”
“Kid. In custody. Need waiver.”
“Fuck off.”
“I need it now. Owen would’ve already had this done, and I wouldn’t have had to explain the why.”
“Shit,” he muttered. “What’s he in jail for?”
“Not in jail,” I corrected him. “In police custody.”
“You know what I—what’s he in custody for?”
“Public intoxication.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Why would I be kidding?”
“How old is this kid?”
“Sixteen.”
“What the hell, and why’re you all pissy?”
“Oh, I dunno, maybe because a kid I’m supposed to be watching is in police custody?”
“Yeah, but he’s sixteen. How bad could it be?”
“I have no idea, but either he’s in a cell and the cops are gonna be assholes about letting him out, or he’s in someone’s office, sawing logs.”
“That’s insane.”
“Can you hurry, please? I’m at the fuckin’ door.”
“I—wait, on my schedule this job doesn’t start until tomorrow.”
“Which has what to do with what I’m asking you?” I grumbled.
“Yeah, I…okay. Just let me get to the—here.”
Here? “What the hell are you?—”
“Hello?” It was Benji.
“Hey,” I greeted Shaw’s better half, who was also a psychiatrist, which made me think of something to ask. “Tell me, is it okay to give a sixteen-year-old an edible so he can sleep if he has insomnia?”
“No.”
“No?”
“If you’re asking for my professional opinion, then no.”
“And if I’m asking for my friend’s opinion?”
“I would say it depends on the sixteen-year-old, but I would always prefer to see a child treated with cognitive behavioral therapy for insomnia.”
“Because?”
“Because they need to learn to change their negative thoughts about sleep so they can rest without any kind of lifelong crutch.”
“Explain how you have negative feelings about sleep.”
“Sorry, not about sleep, but thoughts that keep you awake.”
I would have thought it all started with his mother leaving, but she’d been giving him edibles before she left, so the sleep thing was ongoing.
Maybe his parents had been fighting for a while before she entered WITSEC and Griffin had heard them.
Worst-case scenario, Griffin had heard about the affair, as well as whatever else, and had been worried for a very long time, internalizing everything.
“He needs to learn to turn off his brain,” Benji clarified, bringing me out of my thoughts.
That made more sense.
“Shaw says your waiver is now live.”
“Ask him if he would please forward it to the Eena PD.”
Benji was silent a moment. “He says yes, it’s there.”
“Okay, thanks, I’ll talk to?—”
“Wait,” he rushed out. “Listen, before jumping directly to cognitive behavioral therapy, there are things you can try.”
“Like what?”
“Like does he have a regular sleep schedule? That needs to be regulated so it’s the same seven days a week.”
“Is that fair on the weekends?”
“If he truly has insomnia, then yes. It’s very important. Also, it sounds ridiculous because it would seem to be simple common sense, but a relaxing routine before bed is paramount. For example, reading knocks me out, so you could have him try that. But no phone, no screens at all.”
“He’s sixteen, Benji.”
“I don’t care if he’s sixteen. The phone is off at ten or eleven. And the room needs to be dark and quiet and at the perfect temperature for him. Think of the three bears, not too hot, not too cold, just chef’s kiss right.”
“I’m thinking you don’t know many teenagers.”
“I know a lot, actually. I used to treat many. The point is, you’re not a friend, you’re a?—”
“Guardian.”
“That’s right. You have to be the hammer first. Then once the rules are established, you can be nice.”
“I’m not gonna be here long enough for that.”
“Then it’s your way or nothing.”
“Yeah.”
“And no caffeinated beverages at dinner, and he doesn’t drink alcohol, does he?”
“He does.”
“Well, that’s not helping.”
“’Course not.”
“Get him working out, physical activities, have him run with you.”
“How do you know I run?”
“All of Jared’s fixers are in amazing shape, because you have to be. But you swim too, so have him do that if he prefers.”
“Just not close to when he has to go to bed.”
“Correct.”
“Okay.”
“If none of that works, let me know, and I’ll find you a good psychiatrist close to where you are.”
“Thanks,” I murmured.
“Hey,” Shaw muttered, having taken the phone back. “The hell do you need a guardianship waiver for? Isn’t the father there?”
“Nope.”
“No?” He sounded surprised. “Where the hell is he?”
“In someplace called Blake or Blaze, Washington, I think. His kid didn’t know.”
“The fuck is that? How do his kids not know where he is?”
“One kid. His youngest. I didn’t ask the others. And anyway, I think he’s having a bit of trouble at the moment.”
He grunted.
“Don’t be an ass.”
“Whatever. As usual, you’re being really nice. I would kill this guy.”
“You need to hear the whole story before you do that.”
“Fine. G’head. What’s the whole story?”
“No, I meant, I would need to learn that before I act.”
“I’m pissed, and I’m not even there.”
“Deep breaths,” I teased him.
“Hold on, lemme?—”
“No, I gotta go in and get this kid.”
“Wait—here it is. It’s Blaise , Washington. Blaise. And it looks like it’s right there on the border with Canada.”
“Okay. I appreciate it.”
“Have you tried calling him?”
Only six times at this point. Between my conversations with the kids, I’d been calling. “I have, but I suspect he doesn’t have a satellite phone and must be out of range. Plus, for all he knows, he left a competent adult to check in on the kids.”
“Check in? Just check in?”
He was getting worked up. “Can you stop saying that?”
“Who is the person?”
“Someone named Shelly.”
“You’re makin’ this shit up.”
“She’s supposed to be a friend of the mother.”
“The mother who left her kids?”
“Again, without living in her skin, you don’t know what went down.”
“How did you get like this?”
“Through years of doing exactly what you’re doing now and getting my ass handed to me because I was quick to judge, didn’t listen, and didn’t ask any questions.”
Long sigh from him. “I forget sometimes that you’re a grown-up.”
I chuckled. “Do me a favor and hold down the fort until I get back, will ya?”
“Of course, and I’ll do some digging on this Shelly and get back to you.”
“Thank you,” I said, and hung up.
It was then time to step inside to see what condition Luke Duchesne’s oldest was in. I hoped the kid’s luck was better than mine.
The Eena police station was small. There was a hallway, an office, and a counter. When I reached it, a man sitting at the desk asked how he could help me. The nameplate on the desk said April Bell, and since he didn’t look like an April, I was thinking their receptionist was off on Sundays.