Who spoke to you, Noah?
He looked at the ground. Ethan did too.
Have you heard of him?
No. What did the person look like?
“A man,” Noah replied.
Did he contact you?
Noah held out the plastic toy and said, “No, he just gave me this dinosaur.” “My brother gave it to me,” he informed me.
The police officer knelt down next to Noah. “Have you heard that man’s name?”
Noah shook his head. He simply apologized for the collision.
He felt as if he had more tones in his chest. A second agent entered the room and spoke quietly with the first.
“We located him near the maintenance shed,” the officer said. “He is cooperating with us.”
I said in a dry voice, “I need to see it.”
The officers led us to a small meeting room. He was sitting at the table without his baseball cap, revealing his thinning hair and swollen, red eyes. His fists were clenched. As he entered the room, he looked up.
“Mrs. Elana,” he said incoherently.
Noah hid under my legs while the police told me not to talk to the child.
I told him, “Noah, go with Mrs. Alvarez for a moment.”
But Noah argued, “Mom, I want to stay with you.”
I insisted: “Leave now.”
I looked at the man as the door clicked shut. You were talking to my son, but why?
He grimaced, reluctant to look me in the eye. I hadn’t meant to scare him.
You told my son to keep secrets, and we used my deceased son’s name.
In defeat, his shoulders drooped. I’m aware of that.
The police asked for your name. Please provide your name for the record.
—Raymond—he said in a low voice.
Why did you approach the child? The police exerted pressure.
Raymond watched his trembling hands. I saw him at the school entrance last week. He looks a lot like Ethan.
I could feel my nails digging into my palms. So you found out about her school?
