Chapter 19 #2
Barely five minutes had passed. King pushed back his chair, shot Benj a serious look, then asked to meet me outside.
“They haven’t made a formal charge and I don’t think they’re going to.
Not today. As for Hernández’s pushy tactics and Benjamin’s unfortunate comments, those can be handled with a motion to suppress, but we’re nowhere near that bridge yet.
I know they’re planning to reinterview some of Benjamin’s classmates, and I don’t doubt they’ll show Benjamin’s photo to staff from the motel where Izzy’s body was found and talk to anyone else who might have seen him that day. ”
“How worried should I be?”
“Well, let’s see. They’ve got motive. They’ll be looking for means and opportunity. If they can confirm he was with her at the motel, you’d be justified to worry.”
He was a straight shooter. I appreciated that, even if his straight shooting made my throat constrict.
“On the other hand,” he continued, “they haven’t mentioned a warrant. They don’t have his phone or laptop. I’d call it fishing except they haven’t even bothered to cut bait. Best bet is they’re trying to show someone they’re on the case when in fact they’ve got nothing to go on.”
Trying to show someone. The Mayfields. The Scarlattis. And the other wealthy families who ran this town and wanted to know their daughters were safe.
“Okay,” I said, expelling a deep breath. “Good.”
“One other thing,” he said. “You’re a psychologist?”
“A high school counselor. Master’s in psychology.”
“Your boy ever been in therapy?”
“I’d like him to start. I have a therapist in mind, but he may not be available long-term.”
“Long-term thinking is for later. Right now, it would be helpful to show you’ve done your duty as a proactive, responsible mom.
You know he’s under stress. You don’t think he’s done anything wrong but you’ve gotten him help.
Even if he’s telling the truth, I can tell he’s a defiant kid—that much was clear from my first ten minutes talking to him. ”
“But won’t therapy confirm that he has a problem? Wouldn’t that prejudice a judge against him?”
Ralph King held my glance.
“I see what you’re saying. But first off, half the teens in this town have been in therapy, even the ones whose only problem is not eating all their broccoli when they were toddlers.
And second, narratives form. Your guy starts to put together a certain picture about Benjamin, and anyone else will be playing catch-up.
It’s generally better to have your own team well assembled before you go to court, if it comes to that. ”
“Got it,” I said.
“And for extra credit, if your guy can teach Benjamin when to keep his mouth shut, that would be worth a lot.”
King went back into the interview room. Ten minutes later, he came out with a phone to his ear, loosening the knot of his red tie as he hurried toward the parking lot.
He mouthed, Call you later. Then, to my astonishment, Benjamin walked down the hall, shoulders slumped, no handcuffs, with Hernández following several feet behind.
The detective said, “Go home. Get some sleep. We’ll be in touch with more questions.”
I was still holding my sorry grocery bag with the plasticwrapped waffles, deodorant, body spray, a paperback, and an orange.
I held it out to Benjamin and he took it, moving past me to the front doors.
He pushed on one but it didn’t open. A flutter of claustrophobia tightening my chest. Those bars on my foster home windows.
The security at the prison where I visited Ewan for the last time, seventeen years ago.
Finally, we heard a buzz. The door opened.
In the car, I said, “You weren’t charged. They said they’re continuing the investigation.”
“The lawyer explained.” He opened up the bag and pulled out the toaster waffles. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. They’re cold.”
“That’s okay.” He closed his eyes as he chewed. “Nothing like being locked up in a freezing-cold prison cell to make a toaster waffle taste better.”
I didn’t mean to laugh, but I did. Grateful for this tiny ephemeral moment of normalcy. Trying to remind myself: Life isn’t all one thing or another.
“They’re good. Try one.” He passed me the plastic bag. “We don’t want you fainting again.”
“How do you know I didn’t eat breakfast?”
“Because I know you.”
I took a waffle, took a bite, and with a dry mouth, I chewed. Because I could. Because he gave it to me. Because we were in this together. Happy just because my boy was eating. Happy because he did, indeed, know me.
Then I remembered the apartment as I had left it a half hour ago. Turned upside down, like a tornado had passed through.
Still chewing, Benjamin said, “Can we get going?”
We were down the street when I asked, “You meant what you said, about the beater, though? Because that narrows it down. If there’s a janitor at the pool, they can question him.”
It made sense to me. Someone else. A man. Maybe the janitor. Someone old enough to buy alcohol. Young enough to be stupid. The sort of person Izzy would have been curious about, an opportunity for experimentation and rebellion.
“I don’t know how many crap cars visit that lot, actually,” Benjamin said. “Maybe there are two. Maybe there are ten.”
“But you were telling the truth to the police, about what you heard? Because this could be the most important clue they’ve got.”
He turned to look at me. “Are you going to believe me?”
“Of course.”
“No really. I don’t mean, ‘I’ll believe if it’s convenient.’ I mean believe believe.”
“I will.”
But he’d see, soon enough. I’d held it together as long as I could, the finger in the dike, but too much time alone last night, reviewing everything Benjamin had said and not said in that interview room, had weakened the walls I’d built over the last twenty-four years.
I knew and I didn’t know—and not just about him, but about everything.
At home, he’d see the proof of my shattered mind. He’d see that I’d betrayed him.
I patted the steering wheel like it had just occurred to me. “We should . . . go to breakfast.”
“I just ate two waffles. I stink. I want to shower. And sleep.”
“After breakfast.”
“I didn’t just get a good report card. I was arrested. No one celebrates being arrested.”
“No, but—”
“Is that what your parents did when your brother was arrested? Take him out to Denny’s?”
“I don’t want to talk about Ewan.”
“That’s your answer. He isn’t relevant.”
I shook my head. Another lie. Ewan had never been more relevant.
“You left your phone home on purpose,” I suggested, changing the subject, “because you knew they’d find those angry texts.”
Benjamin shifted several times in his seat, pushing away the chest strap. I didn’t expect him to say any more. “Actually . . .”
“Yes?”
“Actually, I didn’t want them to see a naked photo I had of Izzy.”
I tried to keep my eyes glued straight ahead, so he wouldn’t see the shock on my face. “A photo she let you take?”
“No. It was going around school. I just saved a screenshot.”
“That’s why Hernández mentioned blackmail. He already knows.”
“He’s an idiot if he doesn’t. I’m sure Manny mentioned it to him.”
“And that’s what Chandra was talking about. Jesus, Benjamin. So multiple people know you had that photo. Were you blackmailing her?”
“Mom. Really?”
“Then why, Benjamin?”
I risked glancing over but it didn’t help. He was staring hard over his right shoulder, out the window.
“To keep Manny off my ass. He knew I had a copy in several places. Izzy wasn’t even embarrassed when that photo got passed around school. She was proud of her body. She liked to show off her tits.”
“Benjamin—”
“And she was smart. She knew it was a good way to deal with assholes. Tell them you don’t care and they’ll find someone weaker to take down.”
I muttered, “Easier said than done, speaking as a girl. So what happened with Manny?”
“He had a heart attack. He threatened everyone with what he’d do if they didn’t delete it. He tried threatening me and I told him the whole point was I wouldn’t delete it. I’d only forward it to more people if he tried to beat me up.”
I nodded, digesting.
“I saw your face just now,” Benjamin said.
“I tell you Manny thought he fucking owned Izzy and you’re like, Okay, hmmm, and I tell you that Manny wanted to beat me up over a girl and you’re like, Yeah, that makes sense, and I tell you Izzy liked to show off her tits and you freaked out.
But they’re just tits, Mom. They’re tits! ”
“They’re breasts. On a girl who is now dead.”
Red light. When it turned green, I said, “I guess if you delete the photo, they’d still find it—if they get a warrant for your phone.”
“Guess so,” he said, sounding curiously unbothered.
I cleared my throat. “Well, I hope some of this has taught you a lesson.”
He laughed under his breath. “Hell, yeah. Be careful what you put on your phone.”
“Oh, Benjamin.” I risked another glance in time to see a smirk flit across his face. I felt sick. “That’s what you learned? Really?”
“But it was still good advice to keep the photo.”
“Good advice from who?” I asked.
This time, he didn’t answer.
When my phone rang, I looked for a spot on the shoulder where I could pull over.
“What are you doing?” Benjamin asked.
“Phone call.”
“You never pull over.” He looked behind us. “This isn’t even safe. You could have found a parking lot, at least.”
“This could be your lawyer. I’m not waiting.”
But I’d already seen it was Curtis. I waited for the call to go to voicemail, then I started texting.
On the way home with Benj sooner than I thought.
“Like you tell me? ‘Texting and cars don’t mix’?”
“It’s the psychologist we met at the pool. My old professor. I told him the police held you overnight.”
Benjamin sounded disgusted. “Why did you tell him?”
“The same reason I called the lawyer. For backup.”