The Best of Friends

by Berry, Lucinda

“Fix yourself a bowl of cereal.” He’s fourteen. The child should know how to make himself breakfast.

  “I don’t want cereal.” He’s moved into a full-on whine.

  “Jeez, Reese, I said give me a second.” I force patience into my voice. I set Sawyer’s phone on the vanity next to the toilet. I’m going through those pictures again tonight and forwarding the best ones to Lindsey.

  “It’s already been a second. You’ve been in there like forever. Are you taking a poop? What are you doing?”

  It takes all my willpower not to scream at him to shut up. I wash my hands, glancing down at the wallpaper that’s taken over Sawyer’s screen. It’s a goofy cartoon drawing of him making a goal and couldn’t be more different than the album I just went through. I had no idea Sawyer was such a gifted photographer. He never expressed any interest in it to me. Did he have other hidden talents?

  Maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  LINDSEY

  Andrew shuffles into Detective Locke’s office with his head down and takes the chair beside me, mumbling apologies about being late. He’s almost never late. He wears a crisp white shirt buttoned to the top with a dark tie and matching jacket, but despite his freshly pressed clothes, he still looks disheveled. His thin lips are pursed in a straight line.

  “Hi, honey,” I say, reaching out and taking his hand. “We haven’t gotten started yet, so you haven’t missed anything.”

  Andrew loosens the tie around his neck. “I got caught up with a patient emergency at work.” Red creeps up the back of his neck. He’s a terrible liar. How long has he been lying? I should’ve been paying better attention.

  Detective Locke doesn’t notice, or if he does, then he doesn’t care, because he moves right into business without acknowledging Andrew’s tardiness or the fact that he was late too. I sat in the waiting room for twenty minutes by myself waiting for these guys when I could’ve stayed for the first part of rounds this afternoon. I’m as irritated about having to wait as Andrew is about being late.

  Detective Locke tilts his computer so that all of us can see the screen. Our new lawyer’s face fills the screen. His name is Dan, and he wasn’t able to attend the meeting in person on such short notice since he doesn’t get back from Toronto until Wednesday. He doesn’t look or sound like any lawyer I’ve ever met, and I’m afraid Andrew might have gotten him because his retainer was cheap. Andrew suggested we reschedule until he could be here in person, but I’m not willing to wait that long.

  “I’m going, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” That’s what I declared in our conversation yesterday. It was directed toward Andrew, but it sounded like I was threatening them both, since we were on a three-way call, and it came out sounding much harsher than I intended.

  Andrew wouldn’t let me go alone, so Dan agreed to be available via webcam at the scheduled time, even though he wasn’t pleased about it. It definitely wasn’t the best way to start a new relationship, but the circumstances didn’t leave much choice. Dan spent the last thirty minutes of our phone call half-heartedly rattling off advice like he didn’t expect us to follow it, and I run through it again quickly while I prepare for Detective Locke’s questions.

  Let him tell you what he knows.

  Don’t offer him any information.

  Don’t lie, but don’t tell the truth if it will get you in trouble.

  The last rule bothers me because it’s another reference to us being criminals. How can a lawyer represent me if he thinks we’ve done something wrong? I’m anxious to get started. At least the formal introductions are out of the way. That’s one good thing about Andrew being late.

  “First, I want to thank you for being so kind and helpful by giving me access to all of Jacob’s accounts. We were able to save so much time in our investigation by you voluntarily handing the computer over for a search and giving us his passwords,” Detective Locke begins. I already notice a difference in his manner from having someone else present with us during his questioning.

  Andrew shoots me a pointed glare that’s impossible to miss. Most of our conversation with Dan was centered on how we willingly gave the police access to Jacob’s laptop and his online accounts. He said we never should’ve given them up without a court order. He was adamant that we receive an itemized list of everything they’d taken from the house. But that’s the thing—we don’t have anything to hide, so why act like we do? We’re behaving like guilty people, and we haven’t done anything wrong. I wasn’t about to give the police a reason to doubt me by refusing to turn over Jacob’s personal stuff.

  Detective Locke smiles at us from across his desk. His eyes are warm and kind. He likes us, and he’s been working with us. What’s he going to do if we turn into stone walls during this meeting? Because that’s what Dan implied we should do with his questions. He said they were going to pump us for information that they could use against us later, so we shouldn’t give him anything to work with.

  I return Detective Locke’s smile. Andrew doesn’t.

  “Our technical team has run a thorough search on his laptop, and we’ve turned up the basic stuff that you’d expect to find on anyone’s computer. Nothing set off any major alarms or raised any red flags for us. Jacob has a pretty normal online presence.” He clears his throat. It’s what he does when he’s uncomfortable. I brace myself for whatever is coming next.

  “What kind of stuff did you find?” I lean forward in my seat.

  “Very usual stuff for a teenage boy living in a digital age.” A half smile turns up the corner of his lip.

  “Could you be more specific?” I ask.

  “Porn,” Andrew says. “He means they found porn, Lindsey.”

  “Oh.” I quickly sit back in my seat, embarrassed.

  “Was there anything . . .” Andrew rubs the spot between his eyes like the question is painful. “I don’t know how to ask this . . . did you find any, uh, disturbing porn?”

  Why would he ask that? What’s wrong with him? Who cares what kind of porn Jacob was into? I don’t want to hear about it. I raise my hand like I’m in elementary school and need the teacher to call on me before speaking, except I don’t wait for Detective Locke’s approval like I would a teacher’s.

  “I, um . . . don’t really want to be here for that answer. If you guys are going to talk about porn, could you maybe do it when I wasn’t in the room?” I ask.

  Detective Locke laughs. I’ve never heard him laugh before. Is he doing it for Dan’s benefit? “I didn’t bring you in today to talk about Jacob’s porn history.” He shifts his gaze to Andrew. “And to set your mind at ease, there wasn’t anything out of the usual realm.”

  Andrew’s shoulders sag with relief, and he settles into his seat.

  “I called you in because there’s still a hidden account on his laptop that we can’t get into with the username-and-password combinations you gave us earlier. We got lucky with the others, but no matter what we do, our team isn’t able to get into this account. It’s been used as the primary account to access other sites, and we need to see the account history.”

  What are they trying to find buried in his search history? The secret life of a depressed teen? They’ve already found his secret social media accounts. That wasn’t a big surprise, since I found them over a year ago. I pay more attention to those than I do the public ones. Kids are brutally vicious these days, and I was pleased to see that Jacob maintains his integrity even online when he doesn’t think he’s being watched. It has never occurred to me to search his laptop, since he only uses it for school-related stuff. At least that’s what I thought.

  “Are there any other passwords you can think of? Anything that might be helpful?”

  Andrew and I turn to each other, communicating without speaking like couples do when they’ve been married for almost twenty years. We racked our brains when they asked permission to go through all his electronics, and I can’t imagine there’s any we left out, since we stretched th
ings the first time with pretty obscure possibilities. I can’t believe none of them worked. We turn back to Detective Locke at the same time with matching shrugs.

  “Shoot. I was hoping you guys would be able to help us out.” He looks disappointed.

  “Does that mean you won’t be able to get into those accounts?” Andrew asks. His face is pinched with worry.

  “No, we can still get into them. It just means we have to send his laptop to our bigwig team, and they’re in Los Angeles with caseloads a mile long. It’ll take forever to get back.” He lets out a frustrated sigh. “But I guess we’ve got to do it because we don’t have any other choice in the matter. We have to see what’s in those accounts. If he went to such great lengths to hide them, then it’s probably exactly what we’ve been looking for.”

  I swallow my dread. It leaves a nasty taste in my mouth.

  Andrew slips his hand from my hold and clears his throat like he’s about to give a speech. “Don’t waste your time. The accounts are mine.”

  I whirl around in my chair to face Andrew. “What do you mean, they’re your accounts?”

  “I mean they’re mine.” He refuses to look at me. His eyes roam the room with nowhere to land. He’s obviously shaken. “I created them with Jacob’s information.”

  Alarm bells go off inside me. “I don’t understand. What for? Why would you do something like that?”

  The color is gone from his face. Sweat breaks out on his forehead.

  “Oh my God.” It hits me like I’ve been stunned with a Taser gun. “This is what you’ve been so worried about? All this time I thought you were freaking out over Jacob, but you’ve been scared that you were going to get caught. What have you been doing?”

  “I was going to tell you. I’ve been trying to find the right time.” He spits it out fast, like the words have been stuck inside him for a long time just waiting to get out.

  The room spins. I feel sick. This can’t be happening. I grip both armrests. My body goes rigid with fear like I’m about to plummet on an amusement park ride. I can’t swallow.

  “I haven’t been doing anything in real life. All of it is online. I don’t even know who she is. She just wanted a friend. Same as me.” He’s speaking too fast for my brain to catch up.

  “I assume it’s safe to say that you can provide access to those accounts?” Detective Locke breaks into our conversation.

  I forget he’s in the room. Humiliation burns my cheeks. Dan clears his throat, reminding us of his presence too.

  “Do you really need to see it? How does that help Jacob?” There’s no hiding Andrew’s embarrassment. He picks at the irritated skin on his hands.

  It’s sex stuff. It’s got to be. That’s the only thing that would elicit this type of reaction from him.

  Dan jumps in. “If we provide you with the IP addresses and history so that you can verify all accounts, will that suffice?”

  Detective Locke is as calm and collected as he was at the beginning of the interview. “As long as everything checks out, that should be fine.”

  How long did it take him to be able to sit in the midst of people’s crumbling lives and remain unaffected? Why couldn’t he have had this conversation with us over the phone? Suddenly, the realization slams me—he set us up. Detective Locke set us up. I can’t believe it. He wanted to be present so he could see our reactions.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  DANI

  I tug on the glass door of the police station and quickly scan the empty waiting room. There are too many options. Does Bryan expect to walk in and sit next to me? What will he do if I tell him not to? But what’s it going to look like to Detective Locke if we sit apart? My thoughts overlap as they chase each other. I flash the receptionist my ID, and she barely glances up from behind her Plexiglas window in the corner of the room.

  I pick a chair in the center of the room: completely neutral. I’ll leave the decision up to Bryan and do my best not to freak out during whatever surprise Detective Locke has in store for us. He left a harried voice mail right before lunch about coming in to speak with him as soon as we could because there’d been an interesting turn in the case that he wanted to discuss. He refused to say anything more when I called him back to confirm. I was extra careful to schedule it at a time when Bryan could attend. I haven’t heard from him all day. His assistant was the one who confirmed our four o’clock appointment.

  My thoughts summon his presence, and he walks through the door arm in arm with Ted. His head is thrown back and he’s laughing in the ridiculous, over-the-top way that he does when he wants people to notice him. Ted’s strides match his as they take spots on the opposite wall. Ted shifts his eyes from me to Bryan, then back again. I shrug as if I owe him an explanation for our distance.

  Thankfully, we don’t have to wait long before Detective Locke calls us into his office. He never takes us in the interview rooms lining the hallway like the ones I’ve seen on TV. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad one. I trail behind Ted and Bryan, following them into the room. I slide into one of the chairs in front of Detective Locke’s like we usually do, but Ted and Bryan stay standing behind me, as if to imply that they don’t expect this meeting to last long. Detective Locke is unfazed and settles into his normal seat behind the desk. He takes a minute to shuffle through the papers on his desk, and Bryan does his impatient throat-clicking thing behind me while we wait. I try not to cringe. He hasn’t looked at me once. It’s like I’m not even in the room. Ted’s following his lead.

  “Good to see you again, Martin,” Ted says, breaking the tension.

  “You too.” He finds the paper he’s searching for and sets it on top of the stack. “I won’t take up too much of your time, since I know we all have things we’d rather be doing. I’ve had the opportunity to interview many of Caleb’s friends and classmates as well as some of his teachers. They’ve all been very accommodating in helping us get to the bottom of things.” There’s a perceptible shift in his tone. “Would you describe Caleb as having a temper?”

  Here we go. It was only a matter of time. I take a deep breath before speaking. “You have to understand—”

  Ted places his hand on my shoulder to stop me and interrupts. “What are you getting at?” he asks Detective Locke.

  “An idea of Caleb’s temperament. Does he get angry easily?”

  “He doesn’t have a temper.” The lie easily rolls off my tongue without a conscious thought. I can sense Bryan’s pleased expression without turning around.

  “Would you agree?” Detective Locke glances at Bryan.

  “Caleb isn’t an angry kid,” Bryan says without any hesitation.

  “Hmm . . . that’s interesting because his teachers and classmates painted a slightly different picture. All of them described Caleb as being quick tempered.” He skims his paper. “In fact, someone called him a ‘hothead.’ Why do you think so many people described him that way? Was he only that way at school?”

  “He wasn’t that way anywhere. He might’ve had a strong personality, and he stood up for himself if he felt wronged, but that doesn’t mean he was a hothead. That implies something completely different.” Bryan maintains his stance.

  “So he didn’t get in trouble for . . . let’s see, ‘threatening behavior toward a teacher’ last year?” he recites from what I’m assuming is the disciplinary report in his hand. We have the same one in our files at home.

  We’ve already been through this with the school, and I don’t want to go through it again with the police department. Caleb never threatened a teacher. Period. I’m not one of those mothers who acts like their child can do no wrong. That’s not what this is about. I can admit when I’m at fault, and I’ve taught my children to do the same. But Caleb had every right to stand up to Ms. Arias when he was being accused of something he didn’t do.

  “One of his teachers got upset when Caleb didn’t agree with a grade he’d gotten on his midterm,” I explain for what feels like the thousandth time.

&nb
sp; Detective Locke shifts in his seat and raises his eyebrows. “He got an F for plagiarizing, didn’t he? Isn’t that what the dispute was over?”

  “Technically, yes, but Caleb got angry when—”

  Ted interrupts Bryan. “We’ve established that Caleb has been in trouble at school. What kid hasn’t? Can we move on?”

  “Very well.” Detective Locke gives him a clipped nod. “Can we talk about the time Caleb was suspended for spitting in someone’s food?”

  I push my chair back. “This is getting ridiculous. Are we going to go through every incident Caleb’s had in school since kindergarten?” This is starting to feel like a witch hunt, and I don’t like it. Bryan’s anger radiates from behind me. He doesn’t like this any more than I do.

  “No, but we are going to talk about the ones that involved violent behavior toward other students.” He looks so pleased. He’s one of those people who’s never had any real power in their life, so once they get even a little taste of it, they totally let it go to their head.

  Bryan speaks to Ted rather than addressing Detective Locke. “He’s making it sound like such a bigger deal than it was. That’s exactly how the school handled it, too, like Caleb was some vicious bully who tormented kids on purpose, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. All he was doing was trying to make his friends laugh. Nothing more.”

  I nod my head in eager agreement. Caleb is a clown, and making people laugh is his favorite thing to do in the whole world. Does he step over the line occasionally? Yes, but his intentions are always good. He would never hurt anyone on purpose.

  “I’d like to bring Caleb in for questioning again but this time with his trauma therapist. I’ve already reached out to her, and she’s agreed to join us.” Detective Locke doesn’t bother pretending like he needs my permission. His gaze is focused on Ted.

  “We’re more than happy to cooperate with the investigation. All the rules previously created will apply to this interview too, of course.” Ted doesn’t skip a beat.

  “Caleb still isn’t talking, so I’m not sure what good that will do,” Bryan says.