“That’s fine. Do you give your consent for us to ask Julia some questions?”
“Yeah, sure. Do what you want. But don’t come crying to me when you figure out you’ve been wasting my time and yours. My kid probably took off. He’ll be back tomorrow morning. You’ll see.”
“Ben wouldn’t run away. He’d never do that!” I protested.
“Don’t you back-talk me, girl,” my mother’s voice soared. She tried to take a menacing step in my direction but lost her equilibrium and grabbed the side of the interview table in a loose, drunken grip to regain her balance.
The detective motioned to his partner. He spoke in a quiet voice, but I could still hear what he said.
“Take the mother to the drunk tank and let her sober up before we interview her. We should book her for now on child endangerment charges for leaving her kids in the middle of the night so she could hit the bars.”
I sat small and alone in a cold metal chair and watched helplessly as one of the officers took my mother’s elbow and steered her out of the room.
“She’ll be better in a little while. She always is. She’ll be plenty worried about my brother then. I know it,” I said.
“We’ll talk to your mom later after she starts to feel better. My name is Detective Baty. I’m going to ask you some questions about what you remember. Do you think you can do that for me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Baty was a short, muscular man with a square jaw and military-style crew cut. His knees cracked as he squatted down so we were at eye level.
“I know you must be scared, but anything you can tell me may help bring your brother back. So, let’s start from the beginning and see what you can remember. You and Ben share a room, right?”
“Yes. My older sister, Sarah, got the room by herself. Is she here, sir?”
“The oldest kids always seem to get their way. Yes, Sarah is here. We’ll interview her shortly.”
“Can she come in here with me?”
“How about you and me just talk right now. I want you to do something for me. I need you to close your eyes. Do you think you can do that?”
I respectfully obeyed.
“I need you to concentrate and see a picture in your mind of what happened. What do you remember after you and Ben fell asleep? Can you see it?”
“I remember waking up in the closet. I called out for my brother. When he didn’t answer, I came out, but he wasn’t in his bed. Then I ran into my mom’s room.”
“Do you sleepwalk?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Okay. So you get to your mom’s room. What do you remember after that?”
“My mom wouldn’t wake up. She was lying in bed and she was snoring real loud. She looked kind of weird.”
“What do you mean?”
“She had her shoes on, and her sweater wasn’t buttoned right. She wasn’t wearing any pants or underwear. I’ve seen her like that before though.”
“Your dad wasn’t home?”
“No. He was away again.”
“Do you think anyone had been in the room with your mom? Like a stranger she might have met while she was out?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone in her room. I remember. . . wait. There was something I saw on her nightstand. I don’t think I’d ever seen it before.”
“You’re doing good, Julia. What did you see?”
“It was like a picture or something. Somebody drew it. It scared me.”
“Tell me what it was.”
“I didn’t like it. It was like a giant bird with wings, but it had legs like a man and red glowing eyes, but the eyes weren’t right. They weren’t in the bird’s head. They were drawn in where a person’s chest would be.”
The door to the interview room swung open, and Baty’s partner handed him a piece of paper. I recognized the picture on it. It was my dad’s mug shot.
The officer leaned in toward Baty and spoke in an almost-whispered tone. “The dad has a record. Mostly nickel-and-dime stuff. But he has an outstanding felony warrant for writing bad checks. Also, one of our crime scene guys just lifted one of those Indian arrowheads from underneath the Ben kid’s bed.”
I resurface as Russell leads Parker into the interview room. I push the thirty-year-old memory out of my mind and focus on the suspect. Parker is a slouched ruin of a man and has the same thick sideburns I remember from thirty years ago. He slumps lazily in the interview chair with his legs sprawled out casually in front of him, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Parker’s clothes are filthy. His putty overalls are covered with brown stains, and clumps of fresh dirt cling to his work boots. Navarro’s partner, Russell, sits in the chair across from Parker and tries to stare him down. But Russell’s try at an intimidating gaze doesn’t seem to faze Parker in the least.
Navarro barges through the interview room door and places a can of soda in front of Parker, who quickly grabs it and slugs back its contents.
“Hey, go easy there. We’ve got plenty more in the vending machine,” Navarro says.
Parker takes the now-empty can and crushes it with one hand.
Navarro moves in closer to Parker and begins to bat his hand back and forth in front of his nose. “Phew. Catch a whiff of you, farm boy. What’s that, manure on your shirt? Don’t believe in showers or detergent, huh?”
Parker looks up at Navarro and reciprocates with a nasty sneer. “I was out working in the field when you guys showed up. I didn’t have time to get all pretty for you.”
“That’s a big farm you got up there in the country. Plenty of room to hide a kid,” Navarro accuses.
Parker’s legs retract from their previously sprawled position, and he snaps to attention until he sits ramrod straight in the metal chair.
“What do you mean by that?” Parker asks in a defensive tone.
“So, is it little boys or little girls you prefer these days? Or don’t you care?” Navarro continues. “Just as long as they’re young. You don’t have an age limit, right? It’s the hardcore ones who go after babies and toddlers though.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t take any baby. And I don’t touch kids. I served my time. I was rehabilitated. I don’t do that stuff anymore.”
Parker digs at his greasy head nervously and then pushes up his shirtsleeve, exposing the money shot. It’s the Woodstock tattoo, the bright yellow ink now faded to a tired mustard hue on the wrinkled skin of Parker’s forearm. The tattoo is the same one I saw thirty years ago on the Cadillac driver’s arm.
“Where were you at ten p.m. last night?” Navarro asks.
“I was with my sponsor. I went to an AA meeting at the Church of the True Believers, and then we had a cup of coffee at the diner up the street. You can ask him. My alibi is solid.”
“Write down your sponsor’s name and address,” Navarro says, and pushes a pen and notepad across the table in Parker’s direction.
Parker stares at the paper for a long moment. He grabs the pen between his thick, awkward fingers, scribbles down the information, and hands it to Navarro.
“The Church of the True Believers? Isn’t that the former Reverend Casey Cahill’s church?”
“I have no idea. I don’t know who that is. It’s the closest meeting from my house is all,” Parker answers.
“Do you smoke?” Navarro asks and pulls out a hard pack of Marlboro Lights cigarettes, the same brand as the one found at my house last night. Navarro leaves the open pack on the table.
“I quit smoking a long time ago,” Parker answers.
“You like to hunt?” Navarro asks.
“Yeah, deer. I didn’t realize it was a crime.”
“Very funny. What nationality are you?”
“You ask a lot of stupid-ass questions. German.”
“Your skin is pretty dark for a German.”
“My grandfather was Indian. Native American. Not one of those foreigner types.”
“Nice mouth on you. So, what broug
ht you to South Lakeport? Were you trying to escape from something you didn’t want the cops to find out about?”
“No, not even close,” Parker says, defiantly. “I told you. I served my time and was rehabilitated. I found God while I was in prison, and He changed my life.”
“You served time in Macomb, right? That’s where Casey Cahill is locked up.”
“I told you, I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“You didn’t answer my question. How’d you wind up in South Lakeport?”
“My uncle let me live on his farm after my aunt died. Must’ve been twenty years ago. He couldn’t stand living in the place without her. He wanted to make sure someone took care of the property, I guess.”
“You used to live in Sparrow. Never been there, but I hear it’s nice in the summer. Great place to meet little kids. Have you ever been to Funland? They’ve got games and rides and cotton candy. Kids love that kind of stuff.”
Parker squirms uncomfortably in his chair. “Yeah. I’ve been there once or twice. I used to take my niece Beverly there.”
“Is this her?” Navarro asks and motions to his partner. Russell pushes the picture of the little girl with the red hair in the turquoise and white polka-dot bathing suit in front of Parker.
“Where did you get this? You searched my place?” Parker asks as his voice notches up a good two octaves.
“We had a search warrant, dummy. Is this your niece?”
Parker nods and runs his thick, dirt-stained fingers across the photo.
“Yeah. Beverly’s mom, my sister, got messed up in drugs and stuff, and I’d take Beverly for a few weeks every summer. I was just trying to make her life easier, you know.”
“I’m sure you did. I bet you were a regular prince of an uncle. Did you invite Beverly’s little friends to your house during her summer visits?”
“Yeah. You’ve got to let kids have fun. Parents these days are too worried about structure. Old-fashioned fun is the best thing for kids. They had lots of fun at my house.”
“You know this kid?” Navarro asks and pushes a picture of Ben toward Parker. It’s Ben’s third-grade picture, which the police used as his missing-person photo.
“Nope. Never seen him,” Parker mutters and looks away from the table.
“Okay. Then what are these?” Navarro asks and shoves the Polaroids of Ben and me in front of his face.
Parker gives the Polaroids a quick, passing glance. For a brief instant, a flicker of recognition seems to register in his eyes.
“You know who these kids are, don’t you? It’s Ben Gooden and his little sister, Julia. You saw them at Funland, and you followed them home. You tailed them slowly all the way to their house, and then you broke in that night and took the little boy. You didn’t take the girl though. But now I know why.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re making all this up.”
“The girl got away before you could drag her out, too. She hid in the closet when she heard you coming. But she got a look at your face before you could see her. It’s been eating at you all these years, wondering if that little girl was going to remember you and tell the police. You know how many years you’d get for a first-degree murder sentence? That’s life in prison easy, if the judge doesn’t decide to give you the death penalty first.”
“I’m not going back to prison,” Parker begs in a whiny, thin treble.
“What happened, Parker? What did you do to that boy? Did you accidentally go further than you ever had before? And then you had no choice but to kill him?”
My heart is racing so quickly, I am afraid it is going to burst out of my chest. I place my forehead against the glass that separates me from Parker and try to focus.
“The one thing I can’t figure out is why you would wait this long to come back. Thirty years is a long time, but maybe you’re a patient guy, or you get off slowly by stalking your prey,” Navarro says. “You saw the little girl in the room with Ben that night, didn’t you? You saw her, and you thought she saw you, too. You knew you had to come back to finish her off one of these days. That’s why you kept all those stacks of papers in your filthy house with her byline. You were stalking her, just like you did with her brother.”
“That’s not what happened,” Parker says, his eyes darting back and forth across the room as though he’s searching for an alibi. “I remember now. Yeah, that’s right. Those pictures jogged my memory. I saw those kids at Funland. I like to take pictures, just like an amateur photographer. It was a coincidence is all. I was driving to a friend’s house and saw those kids walking all by themselves along the side of the road. I stopped and asked if they needed a ride home. I was just trying to help them out. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to them, two kids all alone like that. But I didn’t break into their house or take a kid. I left right after they said they didn’t want a ride. Now I get screwed for trying to be nice.”
“A friend of mine remembers you. She said you were a substitute school bus driver. That must have been pretty convenient for a guy like you. They didn’t do background checks in the 1970s for substitute drivers, did they?”
“Yeah, I was a substitute school bus driver, so what? That’s not against the law. People have to work and I like kids. I’d joke around with them and make them laugh. And they loved my music. I played rock ’n’ roll on the bus ride home. All the kids wanted to sit in the front seat so they could hear my tapes. I made homemade tapes up special just for the bus rides. That was probably the best part of the day for those kids. I could tell a lot of them came from bad homes.”
“My friend saw you the day you followed her and her brother home. You knew the girl’s name from your bus route, and you searched for her a few years ago, right? You got nervous, thinking she would finally remember you, so you searched for her on the Internet and found her byline in a Detroit paper. Then you find out where she lives so you can finally fix your little problem. But when you got to her house last night, you saw that boy, and you just couldn’t help yourself. The loss of innocence gets you off more than anything else, doesn’t it?”
“I didn’t take any kids. I told you. I’ve never done anything bad to a kid. I’m not a monster.”
“Not according to your record,” Navarro answers.
A heavy bead of perspiration begins to slide down Parker’s temple.
“I was on drugs back then. Drugs made me act crazy. Bad things happened to me as a kid, and the drugs made it all come back. But I never took a kid. I’ve been clean and sober now for twelve years. You go call my sponsor. He’ll tell you.”
“So if you’re the upstanding citizen you now claim to be, then I guess you’re just holding on to these little photos as keepsakes from the past for your memory book?” Navarro asks and then he goes in hard for the upper cut. “Where’s the boy you took last night?”
“Why do you keep asking the same stupid question? I didn’t take no boy.”
Navarro lunges toward Parker and stops just an inch away from the suspect’s face.
“What did you do with him? Where’s the boy? You think prison was bad before, you haven’t seen anything. The hardcores in maximum security don’t take too kindly to pedophiles, kidnappers, and baby killers.”
“You’re full of shit. I didn’t do anything. You’re just looking for a guy to pin this on because you’ve got nothing. I know how you cops operate. You guys are all lazy, so you try and find an ex-con in the system so you don’t have to do any work. But guess what? You’ve got no evidence and those pictures don’t prove nothin’.”
Navarro pulls out a piece of paper from under his arm.
“I have a court order mandating you give me a DNA sample. You’re screwed, so you might as well save me the trouble and tell me where you put the boy you took last night. If you don’t get the death penalty, you’ll get killed in prison. Help yourself and tell me now. Otherwise, there’s no deal and you’re a dead man.”
“Screw you, asshole. I keep telling you, I d
idn’t take no kid last night. You’re not going to make me break and cop to something I didn’t do.”
“Your choice. If you change your mind, let me know. We’re going to be keeping you here for a while.”
Navarro and Russell get up and leave Parker in the interview room. Now thinking he is alone and no one can see him, he slumps over the table and buries his head in his hands.
The door to my room swings open, and Navarro gives me a wide grin. “We got our guy. It’s just a matter of time before he gives it up and we find your boy.”
CHAPTER 9
Still without a confession and no further leads on Will, I glance nervously at my watch. It is just after 1 p.m. My mind flicks back to what Cahill said in jail about time being my prison. The clock still ticks on the wall, but nothing has changed. I grab my phone, which I put on mute after I went into Pamela’s office, and see that I have ten missed calls from David, who I realize I left outside on the police station stairs more than an hour ago, promising I’d be right back.
I search for David in the parking lot to apologize and spot him leaning against his car with his blue suit coat draped over one shoulder. He notices my approach, shakes his head back and forth slowly, and lets out a low whistle.
“You’re over an hour late. That’s got to be some kind of record, even for you,” David says.
“I’m so sorry, everything happened really fast. They brought a suspect in for questioning. His name is A.J. Parker, and the police think he took Will and my brother. I had to ID some old photos Parker took, and a few were of Ben and me. Some of the children were being abused in the pictures, and it really jarred me. I should’ve called. I blew it, okay?”
David nods toward the passenger side door and gestures for me to get in. On the seat is a box half-filled with Will’s missing-person flyers.
I try and play it cool, but David slams the driver-side door shut and I know all is not yet forgiven.
“I know. I went into the station to try and find you and ran into Linderman. He was still hot over the press conference, but he told me what was going on. Do you think you can do me the courtesy of calling me next time, so I get the news from you instead of someone else? I spent the last hour going door to door, handing out Will’s missing persons flyer to anyone who would take it, so at least the last hour I spent waiting around for you wasn’t a complete waste of time.”
The Last Time She Saw Him Page 13
