Seth followed her out of the interview room, chuckling to himself. “Did you see his face? He’s scared shitless. And he should be. That son of a bitch is guilty as sin.”
She stopped walking and turned on him. “You need to be careful. The sheriff’ll have your hide if he finds out you were messing with him like that. He’s already sued the department once and he’s not afraid to do it again.”
He gave her his innocent-little-boy face. “I didn’t do nothing wrong.”
She frowned at him. “You know I hate it when you use a double negative.”
She turned and walked quickly away, ducking into the women’s restroom to escape Seth. He’d had no business coming into that room with her, standing so close she could smell the onions on his breath from lunch, taking potshots at poor Gordon Swift, who looked scared and alone and—as much as it pained her to admit—guilty. She hated the thought that she’d just been in the same room with the man who might have killed Davy.
Still, she couldn’t deny or explain that, while in the room with him just then, the main thing she’d wanted to do was hug him and tell him everything would be all right. She pictured two versions of him, the older man in that interview room and the younger one on the night Davy disappeared. That night his hands had been drawing hands. Now, his hands rested utterly still.
She studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror, finding dark circles under her eyes, her hair gone frizzy from sleeping on it and then rushing out of the house after she was roused from sleep by the sheriff’s call. She hadn’t been able to return home and prep for the press conference and hated that she was going to appear on TV looking exhausted and unkempt. When she’d imagined this moment, she’d imagined things so differently—appearing professional, attractive, and confident on camera. But Pete had insisted she make the opening remarks. She’d done this before, but never for a case with this level of interest or with this level of personal stakes.
She patted her curls, as if that would subdue them somehow. She sighed and turned from the mirror. No amount of staring at her reflection would change how she looked. It was time to do her job and not let vanity or insecurity get in the way. This was about Davy, not her. No one would be looking at her anyway; all eyes would be on the grieving family.
She needed to make sure the Malcors were settled in the makeshift green room they’d assembled on the fly, a place for the family to wait before being trotted out onto the stage under the hawkish eyes of the press and the public. How could they do this in the midst of such grief? Anissa felt she knew what Tabitha would say if she asked her: years of practice.
She peeked in the room to find them all in a line, first Daniel, then Tabitha, then Thaddeus, perched on a short row of folding chairs. Each of them held a Styrofoam cup of coffee and looked uncomfortable and uncertain. Looking, she thought, a lot like Gordon Swift had.
All these lives, touched by one night. “Mine was too,” she wanted to say to them. When Gordon Swift had spoken of the three children who’d said they saw a car that night, she wanted so badly to admit that she’d been one of those children. But to admit that now would likely end her career.
She wanted to tell the Malcor family that Davy was the reason she pursued this job. That night a female officer had interviewed her about what she’d seen in the fields, her presence so authoritative. That night something had stirred in her, a wanting. She wanted to be like that officer—tough and unafraid. Someone unlike Anissa’s mother. Back then, Anissa had thought it was that simple: that a career choice could make her the kind of woman she longed to be. She hadn’t known that confidence and strength did not emanate from one choice but many.
She couldn’t think of that right now. She had to focus on the task at hand. And the task at hand was to make this next part of the process as painless as possible for a family already in so much pain. She plastered on a smile for the Malcors, tried her best to channel that officer from long ago, someone she never saw again, as if she was a mirage, a fantasy instead of a real person. She’d always wanted to ask someone in the department about her, but she didn’t know her name, and when she scanned the staff boards of headshots from years back, no faces looked familiar. Sometimes Anissa wondered if she’d dreamed it all.
“You guys doing ok?” Anissa asked the Malcors.
They nodded in unison. Then Thaddeus sipped his coffee, Daniel looked down at his feet, and Tabitha attempted a reassuring smile. I’m the one who’s supposed to be reassuring you. Tabitha’s coffee cup was empty, and Anissa offered to fetch her more, but Tabitha declined.
“We’ll be taking y’all out any minute,” she said. “They’re just dealing with some of the sound equipment first.”
“Yes, please don’t make us sit out there on display any longer than necessary,” Thaddeus said into his coffee cup. “Not sure why we have to be out there at all.” He gave her a look. “Ratings?”
“If you’d like,” Anissa hurried to reply, “I can ask the sheriff to come discuss other options if you’d rather not be out there.” She could feel Thaddeus baiting her, but she refused to engage. What was the saying? Hurt people hurt people.
Thaddeus shrugged. “All I know is, if you guys expect us to say something out there, I’m not making some sort of family statement.” He pointed at Tabitha. “Mom can do it. She always has.”
“Thaddeus, I actually think it’d be best for you to do it this time,” Tabitha said. “You wrote that book; people will expect it to be you.”
Thaddeus frowned. “One has nothing to do with the other,” he said. If Anissa didn’t know better, she would bet he’d had a few nips of something before they left the house.
Tabitha rose from her seat. “It’s time for someone else to do it. I’m tired of doing it. I did it for years. I talked and talked and talked about hope, and now that hope is gone!” Her voice broke and she sat down, crossing her arms in front of her.
Daniel reached over and patted her shoulder, then gave his son a stern look. “That’s fine,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
Tabitha jerked her head toward him. “But you . . . You never wanted to . . . You said you couldn’t.”
Daniel gave Tabitha a weary half smile. “It was never about could or couldn’t. It was about doing what needed to be done. It took me a long time to learn that.” He winked at his ex-wife, the action so quick Anissa wondered if she’d imagined it. “Too long,” he added.
“Well,” Thaddeus said, the sneer still in his voice. “I guess that’s settled.” He tilted his cup up and drained the rest of the coffee, then crushed the Styrofoam until a hole appeared in the side and remnants of coffee dribbled onto his jeans. He grimaced and cursed.
“I’ll go get some paper towels,” Anissa said and hurried out of the room, grateful for an excuse to flee the tension.
As she was carrying the paper towels back to Thaddeus, Pete jogged over and grabbed her elbow, halting her.
“Look,” he said in a low voice. “I thought about it, and I need you to warn the family that we’ve got Swift here for questioning. Reassure them that they’re not going to have to see him. I don’t want someone asking about it out there”—he hitched his thumb in the direction of the front of the station, where the conference would be held—“And them not aware.”
She glanced out the front windows to see people scurrying around making last-minute adjustments as members of the press milled about waiting for the event to start. They’d been lucky the weather was nice enough to hold the press conference outside.
“I’ll tell them,” she said. She headed back to the room where the Malcors were waiting. Three sets of eyes looked at her when she returned. Thaddeus reached out to take the paper towels and mumbled a thank-you as he dabbed at the coffee spill.
While he worked at the stain, she addressed the room. “Sheriff Lancaster wanted me to let you all know—just as a courtesy—that we have Gordon Swift here on the premises. As we told you this morning, there was some evidence recovered that we need to question him about. So he was asked to come in. And he did. Voluntarily.” She couldn’t help but emphasize that last word.
Thaddeus stopped working at the stain and looked up at her, his fist mashing the paper towels into a ball as his eyes widened. “Why would you have him here at the same time as us?”
“This is an active investigation,” she said, feeling a defensive edge creep into her voice. So much for being diplomatic. “Time is of the essence.”
“You mean you were afraid he was going to run if he knew you’d found evidence that he did what we’ve known he did all along?”
“Thaddeus,” Tabitha said in a warning tone.
“I’m not involved with that aspect of the case,” Anissa said, standing her ground. Thaddeus unnerved her, but he also angered her with his entitlement, his expectancy. He’d spent his formative years being treated as a victim, and as far as she was concerned, it showed. “I’m not an investigator. My job is to communicate on behalf of the department.”
“Yeah, well, you should communicate that the department mishandled my brother’s case from the beginning.”
Daniel spoke up. “Thaddeus, this isn’t the time or place to be discussing this.”
Thaddeus rose from his seat. “What are you talking about? Of course this is the time and place. If not for their Barney Fife approach, we wouldn’t be sitting here twenty-one years later waiting to be paraded in front of strangers to talk about Davy.” He looked from Anissa to his parents to the door, as if he was thinking about bolting. “Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t actually like talking about my brother all the time.”
“I’m sorry,” Anissa said, desperation welling up inside her. She couldn’t allow the wheels to come off just yet. She had to get them through this press conference, then she could make sure they got home and were hidden away from the press. Then they could fall apart in private. They could grieve as loudly, as angrily, as they deserved.
“I wasn’t involved with Davy’s case back then.” She heard the lie just underneath her words. “So I don’t know how it was or wasn’t handled. All I know is that now, here, today, we are working to get you the justice you deserve.”
Thaddeus gave a caustic laugh and threw the paper towels toward the wastebasket to Anissa’s left. The towels landed in the trash can with a soft thunk, and she remembered he’d been a baseball player back when everything happened. He’d been pretty good, as she recalled.
She thought about him that night, off with his friends in another, darker part of the field. With nowhere else to go, Davy had walked over to where she was standing. They’d stood there for a time, silent, watching the other kids play. Then he’d smiled at her and she’d smiled back. That was how it had started.
The door to the little room opened.
“We’re going to get started now,” the sheriff said, and wordlessly they all filed to the door.