Chapter 41
“I don’t know about this,” whispers Judd. He stands with his back to the storage cage in the basement of the Riverwood Police Station. His voice is hoarse, his eyes are puffy, and his skin has lost its luster.
“It’s our best shot at learning the whole story,” says Clay.
Judd presses his back into the chain-link and says, “I suppose. Better than me speculating for the rest of my life.”
“That’s the idea,” says Clay. “Trust me—this is the best way.”
Something breaks in Judd. Breaks in a good way.
Something old and rigid and unforgiving yields.
“I do trust you, Clay.” Judd lets his shoulder touch Clay’s.
Clay does not pull away. And Judd, who’s not a pragmatist like his son, who doesn’t believe human beings are just data collectors and data accessors and processors, silently thanks Teddy, or the spirit of Teddy, for helping raise Judd and Clay’s relationship out of the muck.
Thomas Becker is bound at his wrists and ankles while sitting at a metal table.
His father, Wags, has been brought down from his cell upstairs and is also bound with restraints.
Thomas’s mother, Steph, sits on one side of her son at the table.
On the other side sits Thomas’s lawyer, Caroline Roth, a septuagenarian who is officially retired but takes pro bono cases for abused women and troubled youth.
She’s called the Kevlar Lady because nothing gets past her.
Zoey sits across the table from Thomas. She wears her full uniform. Her hair is gathered tightly behind her head. She is all business. Officers Mike Wahlquist and Andy Kimmich are not present.
“Thomas,” says Zoey. “This is your last chance to tell us what happened in the early hours of last Friday morning. You may have noticed that Officers Wahlquist and Kimmich are not present. That’s because they’re taking your friends, Graham and Markey, into custody and arresting them as accessories to the murder of Teddy Hawkins.
They will no doubt be wanting to cut deals with the district attorney, so you can do yourself a favor by finally being forthright and honest about what happened. ”
“He doesn’t have to say a damn word,” says Caroline. “You haven’t even charged him yet.”
“Is this really necessary?” says Steph, squeezing one hand with the other so hard it’s turned white. “I mean, he’s just a kid.”
“He is just a kid,” says Zoey. “Which is why, Caroline, we haven’t charged Thomas yet. No one likes charging and incarcerating minors—”
“Incarcerating?” says Steph. She is on the verge of tears.
“Just be quiet,” says Wags. “The cops are putting on their show. Let ’em do their little song and dance. And Thomas, listen to your lawyer. She’s the best chance you got.”
“All good advice,” says Zoey. “We’re just giving you an opportunity, Thomas, to make this as easy on yourself as possible.
Murder is the most serious charge of all.
And combined with your extortion plot to relieve Judd Hawkins of forty-five thousand dollars, you’re in some serious shit.
You’re likely to be tried as an adult. And the DA and judges go a lot easier on suspects who cooperate.
You help us, you could be out of jail by the time you’re thirty. ”
“Thirty?!” says Steph. “My son didn’t do anything!”
“Steph,” says Clay. “Please let Chief Jensen speak. And let Caroline do her job.”
“I’m his mother, Clay!” Steph’s voice echoes in the cinderblock basement. “His mother. My job is to protect my son!”
“Mom,” says Thomas. “You’re not helping.
” He turns to Zoey and says, “I admit we lied about Teddy not being there when we found his stuff. And you know we tried to pretend that we kidnapped him. But we didn’t kill Teddy.
We found him already dead. I swear that’s the truth.
We had nothing to do with however he died. Nothing.”
“You’re sticking to that…” says Zoey.
“Yes! Because it’s the truth.”
“I believe my client is making himself quite clear,” says Caroline Roth. “Which he’s doing in the spirit of cooperation. If you want to browbeat a confession out of someone, I suggest trying elsewhere. But if you insist on taking the same tack, it would help if you provided evidence.”
Zoey says, “We have eyewitness testimony—”
“Bullshit,” says Wags. “You got nothing.”
“Wait,” says Thomas. “What eyewitness? Because whoever it is, is lying.”
“All right,” says Zoey. “This is going nowhere. Just remember, I gave you a chance to cooperate.”
“He is cooperating,” says Caroline. “He’s just not confessing to a crime he didn’t commit.”
“I got something to say,” says Judd, stepping forward off the chain-link fence.
“Thomas, if you cooperate, I won’t press charges for assault and I won’t press charges for extortion.
And Clay won’t press charges for you boys stealing his truck.
That will leave just the murder charge, which could knock a few years off your sentence.
My advice is to come clean now, and you’ll be one step closer to a clean start. ”
“But…” Thomas begins to cry. “We didn’t kill him.
I swear that’s the truth. We went to Miller’s Bluff to ride our bikes and we just found him there.
Already dead. If he wasn’t dead, we would have called for help.
” He wipes his eyes on his sleeve and adds, “Yeah, we were stupid. The kidnapping thing wasn’t my idea but I went along with it.
So I admit it. I’m guilty. But not of killing Teddy.
We didn’t do that. Why won’t you believe me? ”
“Good question,” says Zoey. “And I’ll answer it. The reason we don’t believe you is that someone removed Teddy’s body from the place you claim you found him. It’s a nice story that you found him already dead—”
“It’s not nice—it’s true!” says Thomas.
“But without a body, we can only assume that you and your friends disposed of it to cover up what really happened. Because who else would have a motive to move Teddy’s body?”
“You assume the boys moved the body?” says Caroline. “Good luck with that in a court of law.”
The old wooden stairs creak as Officers Wahlquist and Kimmich descend into the basement. Zoey turns to them and says, “Do we have what we need?”
“Yes, ma’am,” says Wahlquist. “Both suspects have been interrogated and are detained upstairs.”
“Well, then that’s that,” says Zoey. She turns toward Thomas and says, “Thomas Becker, you’re under arrest for the murder of Teddy Hawkins.
You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.
You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford—”
“He didn’t do it!” Steph is on her feet, red-faced and screaming. “Thomas had nothing to do with Teddy Hawkins’s death or removing the body.”
Clay says, “Steph—”
“Shut up, Clay! Shut up and listen! I know what I’m talking about because…” She points at Wags and says, “Get him out of here. Get him out of here and I’ll tell you everything.”
Braedon and Mei sit at Judd’s kitchen table, Braedon’s laptop open before him. “Do you think I should?” says Braedon.
“I do,” says Mei. “But maybe not right away. You’re going to talk to a therapist first, right?”
“Maybe,” says Braedon. “But I keep writing to my mom in my head. I can’t stop it.
It’s all I can think about. Even at night.
I wake up, and that’s what I think about.
Writing a message to her. Telling her I know who she is and where she is.
And that I want to see her if she wants to see me.
I can’t even be sad about Uncle Teddy because I’m thinking about it so much. ”
“Do you know who Harry Truman was?” said Mei.
Braedon nods. “He was a president, right? The one who dropped the atomic bomb.”
“Yes. He did do that. He did a lot of things. And he had this habit, if he had strong feelings about something, he’d write a letter about it.
Whether it was to opposing politicians or striking train workers, whatever or whoever got him worked up.
He’d often write passionate page after page, and then when he was done, guess what he did with the letter? ”
“Sent it?” says Braedon.
“Not usually. Usually, he didn’t send it. He ripped it up and threw it in the trash.”
“Was he mad after he ripped it up?” says Braedon. “Did he wish he had sent it?”
Mei shakes her head. “No and no. It was writing the letter that made him feel better. It was writing it that got all his thoughts and feelings out. He just had to write it to feel better. He didn’t have to send it.”
“So what you’re saying is, I should just write a message to my mom but not send it.”
“Yes. Write it and then see how you feel. And then see how you feel the next day. And the day after that. Maybe you wrote something you wish you hadn’t, or you wished you had included something that you didn’t.
Then you rewrite it and see how you feel about the changes.
There’s no rush to send it. You can even read what you wrote to the therapist. Or to your dad or Grandpa Judd.
Read it out loud. See how that makes you feel. See if anyone has any advice.”
Braedon thinks about that for a minute, then says, “That’s a good idea, Mei. Thanks. I’ll go write a message to her now. But I won’t send it. I’ll do what you said. I’ll see how it makes me feel.” Braedon closes his laptop and pushes back his chair.
“Before you go do that,” says Mei. “I’d like to ask a favor.”
“From me?”
“Yes.”
“Sure,” says Braedon. “Anything.”
Mei smiles. “I would like your permission to marry Grandpa Judd.”
“You want my permission?” says Braedon. “Why?”
“Because you’re his closest family member.”
Braedon shakes his head. “No. Dad is.”
“Sadly, Braedon, that’s not true. Hopefully that’s changing and one day your dad and Grandpa Judd will be just as close to each other as you are to Grandpa Judd. But for now, you’re Judd’s closest family. That’s why I’m asking you for permission.”
Braedon considers Mei’s request and says, “Does that mean he’d move to Rochester with you?”
“I don’t think so,” says Mei. “Your grandpa and I haven’t discussed it because I haven’t told him yet that we’re getting married.”
Braedon laughs. “Told him? I thought you were going to ask him.”
“Let’s not get hung up on semantics,” says Mei. “The point is, I’d like to live in Riverwood near you and your father and Deb. I think Judd will need you all now that Teddy’s gone. And it’s only a half-hour drive to Rochester.”
“That’s pretty far,” says Braedon.
“I grew up in Los Angeles,” says Mei. “A half-hour drive barely gets you around the block. I’m happy to do it until I retire. So what do you say, Braedon? May I have your grandpa Judd’s hand in marriage?”