Page 28 of Five
We both know people often embellish the truth to put themselves in a better light, especially if they were lacking in some way.
“The place is fenced, but it’s only waist height, so it seems the perp simply leaned over and tried to pull one of the kids over the top. He dropped the kid when he was spotted.”
I nod, my mind playing through the details he’s given me. “That’s a bold move, attempting to snatch a kid when there are so many people around.”
Stan shrugs. “Perhaps he thought there was enough going on that he wouldn’t be noticed, and he could get away with the kid before anyone realized the boy was missing.”
I rub my hand across my five-day stubble, running the scenario in my head. Seems like it would be a lot easier to snatch a random kid off the street.
Unless you had a particular child in mind… unless you were operating on a specific set of parameters.
My mind doesn’t want to go there, but I can’t avoid it. There was one thing that tied all theknownLost Boys together. From a quick glance at the information given me, I know this boy has that same distinction. But is it feasible that the perp would have known that?
Something else tickles at my memory, and I dig out my own notebook to check. Apprehension sinks its greedy claws into my subconscious and tears its way into my awareness as I stare at a side note I’ve mostly overlooked.
“The daycare was broken into last week. Do you have any more information on that?”
Oberman rubs the back of his neck and doesn’t look me in the eye. “It was judged to be teenagers messing about. The place was messed up, but nothing was taken. Not even the petty cash that was in an envelope on the floor.”
Pursing my lips, I think back to my own misspent youth. No way a kid wouldn’t have taken the cash if they’d seen it lying there.
“So the point of entry was a broken exterior door, but the locked interior doors showed no sign of damage, is that right?”
The officer nods. It wasn’t his call, or even his case, but I know he’s thinking the same thing as me.
What sort of kid goes to the trouble of picking a lock so carefully that it doesn’t leave a trace, then trashes the place but doesn’t take anything?
We both know it doesn’t add up.
“Where’s the child now?” I ask, taking a look around. Whatever evidence there was of the break-in, it’s all gone now.
“He’s in what they call the ‘quiet room’ with his dad. They’re waiting on you.”
He points me in the right direction, and I give him a nod before turning my attention to what must be the main playroom of the daycare center, and the people who are still here.
There’s a woman kneeling on the floor, playing some kind of game with the kids who have yet to be collected, clapping her hands to a beat that’s in her own head. She’s caught my attention a couple of times, something about her pulling my gaze.
“Is that the owner?” I ask Stan.
“That’s right,” he confirms, checking his notes again. “Neve Murray.”
She’s half-turned away from me, and I take the opportunity to watch her a bit longer, appreciating her curvy figure in a way that is not remotely professional and enjoying the way her eyes sparkle playfully behind her long, wispy bangs. She’s putting on a good show for the kids, that’s for sure. There’s no way she can be half as unruffled as she appears, but that just makes me like her all the more, even though I should be reserving judgment until I’ve spoken to her, the family, and the rest of the staff.
She has an undeniable pull on me; that much is certain. And unsettling. Normally I’m deliberately standoffish when it comes to incidents like this. It pays to be aloof and detached. Good cop/bad cop really is a thing, and I’m mostly the cynical, jaded type, so I skew naturally to bad cop.
Maybe I’m feeling this way because she personifies my mental image of the woman, the teacher, who helped Ollie all those years ago.
She glances up at me, and I feel an immediate, visceral connection. I struggle to remain composed in front of Stan, and also Ms. Murray, who’s watching me curiously.
Neve.The recognition is swift and shocking because this isn’t just any woman. This is the woman whose photograph my brother has shared with me and the other three guys we live with, the woman who has been the topic of countless conversations in our home recently, the woman Ollie’s been chatting to via PolyApp for the past couple of weeks.
The one who’s coaxed him out of his shell enough that he’s taking her out for dinner tonight.
Fuck.
I drag my eyes away with difficulty and turn to Stan, shaking my empty coffee cup. “Is that thing actually a garbage can?” I ask, gesturing towards the bug-eyed glitter bin.
He nods his head, and I make my way over to it, checking inside to be sure before I toss the cup.
