Rafe continued. “Brittney Travis is the first young person to go missing since I took my oath as sheriff. This class and that art book of Derek’s is the first break we’ve had in months. I want to establish open communication with all of you, and I want to eliminate, as much as possible, any false leads. With your help, I can do that. Please do as Detective Williamson has asked. While you’re writing down information, he and I will be calling you into the next classroom one by one to speak to us privately. As this is going on, I ask that you not talk to one another so I hear what’s on your mind first, before anyone else has had a chance to comment.”
With a few more words, Rafe made Derek almost seem a victim; he made Brittney seem a saint. He didn’t mention that Janie might now be in danger, as well.
When he finished, he leaned against her desk, managing to appear both in charge and approachable. Not an easy balance.
Amanda had returned and was now sitting in the back. She had calmed down and was quickly writing. Her interpreter was doing the same. Janie wished she could get a peek at what they were working on. Amanda, who had known Brittney and Derek both, might actually have a lead. The only other person in the art class who might have something to add was Max Carter.
Tall, shy Max wasn’t writing a word. He mostly glanced at what the others were doing, a bewildered expression on his face. Janie watched as Rafe did one last sweep of the classroom, his gaze lingering on Amanda and Max.
In alphabetical order, student by student, he and Nathan pulled them out of Janie’s class and into a room across the way where a table and chair waited. They’d cull any memory the students had of Derek or Brittney, no matter how minute.
The room felt somewhat empty, and a little eerie, without Rafe’s presence.
She watched as the different personalities dealt with the assigned task. Most were more than a little hesitant, some determined, but a few seemed angry.
She didn’t blame them. They were remembering Derek. How he got too close to them when he wanted to argue about comments on his art. How he interrupted them and even cursed. Petty things, somewhat typical of a young man his age, but for some reason, a degree more sinister.
The first student returned, packed her bags and left. Rafe was right behind her, already calling the name of another student. Then Detective Williamson did the same.
Eventually, Rafe and Detective Williamson neared the end of the alphabet. The handful of students remaining were getting antsier by the minute. Janie hoped none of them had to go through the hours of questions that she had this last week. Some were single mothers, others just kids. The rest were people who worked hard during the day and used this class as an outlet, a way to escape.
Janie was in a situation she couldn’t escape.
She gazed down at the blank piece of paper in front of her. Last week, she’d re-created Derek’s art book pages, but surely there was something else she could do.
Closing her eyes, Janie tried to remember the drawing of the car—it was an older model, four-door. For the last week, she’d been focused on the tiny jagged lines that had made up the license plate numbers, as well as on the words, those life-changing, life-ending words. She had to accept that she wasn’t suddenly going to rearrange her memory and figure out the numbers or change the ending to the story.
So instead she pictured the tiny drawings of the car’s passengers. She didn’t need to draw Derek or Brittney; everyone was very familiar with what they looked like as well as where they were in the vehicle.
The front passenger driver...that’s where she’d start.