Camouflage(60)
“No. Just yelling and then a crash and … hitting sounds. Then she screamed, real loud and short.”
Hitting sounds—Francine and her killer struggling, fighting. The scream from her as she was attacked with the knife, cut off short when the blade went into her chest.
Runyon asked, “What made the crash you heard?”
“Something breaking.”
“In the kitchen?”
“I guess so.”
“Do you know what it was?”
“No.”
Something breaking in the kitchen, just as the struggle started. But there hadn’t been any sign of breakage when Runyon had gone in there. His focus had been on the dead woman, but he’d never yet walked into a crime scene without his trained eye registering anything out of place, everything large enough to see. If there’d been glass or other shards on the floor, the countertops, in the sink, he’d have noticed. Yet Bobby had no reason to lie about hearing a crash.…
Runyon asked, “Did you stay in your room after you heard Francine scream?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Until the door slammed. The front door.”
“Did you go into the kitchen then?”
Nod. “Francine … she was lying there with blood all over.…” This time the memory made Bobby shudder. “I was glad she was dead. But it made me sick, too, and scared.”
“Like you were having a bad dream.”
“Yeah. I didn’t know what to do.”
“And that’s when your mom came.”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her you were glad Francine was dead?”
“… I don’t remember.”
“But you told her everything you just told me—about the other person who was there.”
Nod. “She made me change my clothes and lie down again with a wet towel on my nose. After that … I don’t know, she acted funny. She kept saying don’t tell Dad or anybody else what happened, don’t say anything, she’d make everything all right.”
Easy enough now to piece the rest of it together. Bryn may or may not have believed Bobby’s story at first, but with no evidence that anyone else had been in the flat to support it and her son’s face and clothing still bloody, she’d mistakenly assumed the worst: Bobby hated Francine enough to want her dead; he’d retaliated for the blow in the face by stabbing her; some of the blood on his clothes was hers; he’d made up the story about another visitor out of guilt and fear. That was when Bryn decided to take the blame and try to keep the boy hushed up.
“Jake?”
“Yes, son?”
“Can I stay here until Mom comes home?”
Before he answered, Runyon went over to close the basement door. “I wish you could, but I think you know it’s not possible.”
“Why not? You don’t have to tell my dad you found me.”
“Yes, I do. The police, too—he’s already told them you ran away.”
“You said I could trust you. You said you’re my friend.”
“You can and I am. I only want what’s best for you and your mom.”
“Then let me stay here. Please.” The boy’s hands were tightly fisted now; his gaze skittered around the kitchen as if he were looking for a path of escape. “I don’t want to go back to my dad’s. I don’t want to live there anymore; I want to live here with Mom.”
“Maybe we can work that out. I’ll talk to your mom’s lawyer about it.”
“Honest?”
“Yes. Promise. But you can’t stay here now, not yet.”
“Why can’t I?”
“You can’t keep on hiding, Bobby. Your dad’s worried about you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Yes, you do. You know he’s hurting—you don’t want to cause him any more pain, do you?”
“… No.”
“And you don’t want me to get in trouble, right? Remember, I’m a detective. That means I have an obligation to obey the law, and the law says I have to take you back to your dad and notify the police that you’re safe. If I don’t, then I’ll get in trouble and I won’t be able to help bring your mom home. You understand?”
The boy’s hands slowly unclenched; his gaze steadied again. And after a few seconds he murmured, “Yes.”
“Okay. Tell you what. You must be hungry and so am I. Sit down and I’ll fix us a couple of sandwiches before we leave.”
No response. But when Runyon opened the fridge, Bobby moved over to sit at the dinette table and watch with moist, solemn eyes while he made the sandwiches.
23
Alex Chavez and I left the city in my car shortly past eight Saturday morning. He’d been more than agreeable to coming with me and had offered to do the driving, but it was my case and my decision to make this scouting expedition. I would’ve liked to bring Jake Runyon along, too, just in case, but he was so jammed up with the Bryn Darby matter I wouldn’t have felt right pulling him away from it.