did everything go?”
I told him the same thing I’d told my uncle, not wanting to impart the real reason I went to see Pastor James Young.
“Good,” Steve said, but his voice somehow betrayed him, making it clear he didn’t believe things were very good at all.
He was wearing his gray uniform today, his silver badge catching some of the sun. An older man, large but not overweight, he was widely known for his gentle nature, for his fairness and patience. But I remembered the rage in his eyes for the first two days, when he had been convinced I’d murdered my parents. It remained constant until I’d gone through all the lines of questioning, until I’d passed the polygraph test, until the forensic lab came back and confirmed that my DNA was nowhere to be found in my parents’ room. Until two of my friends hesitantly stepped forward to admit that I’d been drinking and smoking pot with them at a party until about five a.m. Friday night.
“Is everything cleaned up in there?” I asked finally. Meaning, was the mark in blood taken off my door?
Steve shook his head. “Not everything. Some things we still had to keep there in case we need to come back to it.” Meaning, yes it was.
A light breeze picked up, rustling the leaves in the massive oak in the front yard.
“Believe me, Chris,” Steve said, “this is the best route right now. We just … I can’t afford to keep twenty-four hour protection on you anymore. I’m sorry.”
“No, you have nothing to apologize for.” I glanced at the cruiser parked across the street, the police officer inside who’d somehow gotten stuck babysitting me. “I understand how things are.”
“Trust me. You’ll be safe up there in Bridgton. Your uncle will be able to keep an eye on you. Nothing’s going to happen to you. I promise.”
I didn’t say anything to this. I didn’t tell him that he shouldn’t make promises he wasn’t certain that he could keep, not when a week had gone by and the police had no leads at all on who had murdered my parents. No evidence found inside the house. No apparent motive for the crime. No apparent entry point. It was like the killer had been hiding in the shadows of their bedroom the entire time, waiting for them to close their eyes, before stepping out and cutting their throats.
Steve said, “I know there’s some tension between you and your grandmother and uncle. I sensed it at the funeral. Hell, I sensed it a few minutes ago when Dean went over to talk to you. But whatever happened in the past, things change. People change. You’ll all get over whatever happened too, I know you will. It just takes time.”
A car drove down the street. We both watched it. For a moment I thought it was somebody with the news, somebody doing a drive by to see if anything had changed here, and now wouldn’t they get a nice surprise to find that the victims’ son was standing right in his own front yard with the chief of police? But it was Darren Bannister in his blue Buick Rivera, the old man only glancing at us as he drove toward his home three houses down.
I said, “Do you even know what happened eleven years ago? When I was seven, why my dad cut off all ties with his family?”
Steve shook his head.
“My grandfather tried to kill me. When I was seven years old, he came down here and kidnapped me and tried to kill me.”
Steve opened his mouth, started to say something, then must have thought better of it. He waited a moment, letting that sink in, before saying, “Like I told you, Chris, it just takes time. Everything will work out. We’re going to catch this guy. I mean, hey, look at what happened to Kevin Parker and his wife. That worked out for the best, right?”
Kevin Parker, one of the town’s few celebrities (though could a best-selling author really be called a celebrity?), had lost his wife nearly eight months ago. Some thought she had just run off, but as it turned out she had been kidnapped. A few days ago she had been
I told him the same thing I’d told my uncle, not wanting to impart the real reason I went to see Pastor James Young.
“Good,” Steve said, but his voice somehow betrayed him, making it clear he didn’t believe things were very good at all.
He was wearing his gray uniform today, his silver badge catching some of the sun. An older man, large but not overweight, he was widely known for his gentle nature, for his fairness and patience. But I remembered the rage in his eyes for the first two days, when he had been convinced I’d murdered my parents. It remained constant until I’d gone through all the lines of questioning, until I’d passed the polygraph test, until the forensic lab came back and confirmed that my DNA was nowhere to be found in my parents’ room. Until two of my friends hesitantly stepped forward to admit that I’d been drinking and smoking pot with them at a party until about five a.m. Friday night.
“Is everything cleaned up in there?” I asked finally. Meaning, was the mark in blood taken off my door?
Steve shook his head. “Not everything. Some things we still had to keep there in case we need to come back to it.” Meaning, yes it was.
A light breeze picked up, rustling the leaves in the massive oak in the front yard.
“Believe me, Chris,” Steve said, “this is the best route right now. We just … I can’t afford to keep twenty-four hour protection on you anymore. I’m sorry.”
“No, you have nothing to apologize for.” I glanced at the cruiser parked across the street, the police officer inside who’d somehow gotten stuck babysitting me. “I understand how things are.”
“Trust me. You’ll be safe up there in Bridgton. Your uncle will be able to keep an eye on you. Nothing’s going to happen to you. I promise.”
I didn’t say anything to this. I didn’t tell him that he shouldn’t make promises he wasn’t certain that he could keep, not when a week had gone by and the police had no leads at all on who had murdered my parents. No evidence found inside the house. No apparent motive for the crime. No apparent entry point. It was like the killer had been hiding in the shadows of their bedroom the entire time, waiting for them to close their eyes, before stepping out and cutting their throats.
Steve said, “I know there’s some tension between you and your grandmother and uncle. I sensed it at the funeral. Hell, I sensed it a few minutes ago when Dean went over to talk to you. But whatever happened in the past, things change. People change. You’ll all get over whatever happened too, I know you will. It just takes time.”
A car drove down the street. We both watched it. For a moment I thought it was somebody with the news, somebody doing a drive by to see if anything had changed here, and now wouldn’t they get a nice surprise to find that the victims’ son was standing right in his own front yard with the chief of police? But it was Darren Bannister in his blue Buick Rivera, the old man only glancing at us as he drove toward his home three houses down.
I said, “Do you even know what happened eleven years ago? When I was seven, why my dad cut off all ties with his family?”
Steve shook his head.
“My grandfather tried to kill me. When I was seven years old, he came down here and kidnapped me and tried to kill me.”
Steve opened his mouth, started to say something, then must have thought better of it. He waited a moment, letting that sink in, before saying, “Like I told you, Chris, it just takes time. Everything will work out. We’re going to catch this guy. I mean, hey, look at what happened to Kevin Parker and his wife. That worked out for the best, right?”
Kevin Parker, one of the town’s few celebrities (though could a best-selling author really be called a celebrity?), had lost his wife nearly eight months ago. Some thought she had just run off, but as it turned out she had been kidnapped. A few days ago she had been
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