reading, perched half-buns on a desk.
“Can we begin now and talk on the way? The officer last night stressed how important it was to get on it now, before the trail getscold.” She hoped there was nothing in the Hall-Eaton report to contradict the statements she’d attributed to them.
“Did the officers explain to you, Mrs. Spencer, that Youth Division cannot conduct a search for a runaway until the court issues a warrant?”
“He’s not a runaway. He’s not a wayward child. He’s not a delinquent. He’s a missing boy.” Zala pressed her shoulders down to get ready; Judson seemed to be about to address her as “dear.”
“Technically, Mrs. Spencer, any minor who spends a night away from his or her legal domicile without express permission from his or her legal guardian is a delinquent, a runaway. Unless”—she arched an eyebrow—“you have reason to believe he was kidnapped. Who has legal custody?” she asked suddenly, running a fingernail down the form.
“I do. His father wouldn’t take him without telling me. He didn’t kidnap him, I mean.”
“Your husband, is he a vet?” And when Zala nodded, Judson leaned closer. “Did a tour overseas?” Zala held up two fingers and raced around in her mind for something to say to get things moving. No one was going to lure her into a discussion on Vietnam vets. She had learned how to skirt that, by keeping her mouth shut.
“He had permission to go,” Zala said quickly, “so he’s not a delinquent.” Did they only look for well-behaved children from two-parent, nonvet homes?
Judson set her elbows on the counter and laced her fingers under her chin. “You say that you expected him home on Sunday for dinner. All right. He had your permission to take the overnight trip on Saturday, but not to stay out on Sunday night. But when the other boys returned Sunday evening, no one had seen … Sundiata, is it? No one had seen him, is that right?”
“That’s correct. So something must have happened to him on Saturday, because he didn’t show up at the outing at all.”
Judson took a long time studying Sonny’s photo, and Zala wondered if something had happened to make the boy familiar to her. There was no fancy equipment in the squad room, nothing to suggest his face might have come “over the wire.” Unidentified boy in traffic accident. Boy found in woods, amnesia victim. Male youth rescued from drowning. Zala was riveted to the flaky lipstick, the crimped mouth like forked pie crust.
“Can you think of any reason why your son might have chosen not to go with the group?” She reached under the counter with one hand and picked up the pen with the other, prepared to make notes on a clean sheet of paper. “Please think back, Mrs. Spencer. Did he have a fight with any of the boys, or a disagreement with one of the staff?”
“Mr. Lewis and I discussed that. There’d been no problems.”
“And at home, Mrs. Spencer. A row with a neighbor, or with your other children? Are they all natural siblings?”
“Natural?”
“They all have the same father? And mother.… All right. How about a row with a boyfriend? One of your personal friends? Nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re an attractive young woman and legally separated, why shouldn’t you enjoy male companionship? It happens like that.” Judson gave a coy shrug. “Separations upset children sometimes. And when Mom takes up with a man friend, young boys have a way of getting in the middle. You know, to get in between. It happens.” She shrugged at the ordinariness of it, arms out, palms up. “It happens,” she repeated, inviting intimate disclosures.
“He gets along fine with all friends of the family,” Zala said carefully, but Judson was holding her pose, adding an encouraging half-smile to lead Zala over the leaves into the pit. “And that’s why so many of us are busy trying to find him.”
Judson nodded and folded her arms on the counter. “Was it a legal separation or
“Can we begin now and talk on the way? The officer last night stressed how important it was to get on it now, before the trail getscold.” She hoped there was nothing in the Hall-Eaton report to contradict the statements she’d attributed to them.
“Did the officers explain to you, Mrs. Spencer, that Youth Division cannot conduct a search for a runaway until the court issues a warrant?”
“He’s not a runaway. He’s not a wayward child. He’s not a delinquent. He’s a missing boy.” Zala pressed her shoulders down to get ready; Judson seemed to be about to address her as “dear.”
“Technically, Mrs. Spencer, any minor who spends a night away from his or her legal domicile without express permission from his or her legal guardian is a delinquent, a runaway. Unless”—she arched an eyebrow—“you have reason to believe he was kidnapped. Who has legal custody?” she asked suddenly, running a fingernail down the form.
“I do. His father wouldn’t take him without telling me. He didn’t kidnap him, I mean.”
“Your husband, is he a vet?” And when Zala nodded, Judson leaned closer. “Did a tour overseas?” Zala held up two fingers and raced around in her mind for something to say to get things moving. No one was going to lure her into a discussion on Vietnam vets. She had learned how to skirt that, by keeping her mouth shut.
“He had permission to go,” Zala said quickly, “so he’s not a delinquent.” Did they only look for well-behaved children from two-parent, nonvet homes?
Judson set her elbows on the counter and laced her fingers under her chin. “You say that you expected him home on Sunday for dinner. All right. He had your permission to take the overnight trip on Saturday, but not to stay out on Sunday night. But when the other boys returned Sunday evening, no one had seen … Sundiata, is it? No one had seen him, is that right?”
“That’s correct. So something must have happened to him on Saturday, because he didn’t show up at the outing at all.”
Judson took a long time studying Sonny’s photo, and Zala wondered if something had happened to make the boy familiar to her. There was no fancy equipment in the squad room, nothing to suggest his face might have come “over the wire.” Unidentified boy in traffic accident. Boy found in woods, amnesia victim. Male youth rescued from drowning. Zala was riveted to the flaky lipstick, the crimped mouth like forked pie crust.
“Can you think of any reason why your son might have chosen not to go with the group?” She reached under the counter with one hand and picked up the pen with the other, prepared to make notes on a clean sheet of paper. “Please think back, Mrs. Spencer. Did he have a fight with any of the boys, or a disagreement with one of the staff?”
“Mr. Lewis and I discussed that. There’d been no problems.”
“And at home, Mrs. Spencer. A row with a neighbor, or with your other children? Are they all natural siblings?”
“Natural?”
“They all have the same father? And mother.… All right. How about a row with a boyfriend? One of your personal friends? Nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re an attractive young woman and legally separated, why shouldn’t you enjoy male companionship? It happens like that.” Judson gave a coy shrug. “Separations upset children sometimes. And when Mom takes up with a man friend, young boys have a way of getting in the middle. You know, to get in between. It happens.” She shrugged at the ordinariness of it, arms out, palms up. “It happens,” she repeated, inviting intimate disclosures.
“He gets along fine with all friends of the family,” Zala said carefully, but Judson was holding her pose, adding an encouraging half-smile to lead Zala over the leaves into the pit. “And that’s why so many of us are busy trying to find him.”
Judson nodded and folded her arms on the counter. “Was it a legal separation or
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