by Kate Kessler
“Very funny,” Audrey replied, but Neve was already gone.
“Do you own a lot of knives, Randy?” Neve asked. They were in the field office in Eastrock. She didn’t want to be there. She wanted to be home with Gideon watching something on TV, drinking beer and fooling around, but instead, she was wasting her time with an ignorant yahoo who looked at her like she was dirt under his boot.
“Yeah,” he replied. “So fucking what? It’s not a crime.”
“You own a lot of hunting knives?”
“I got a couple.”
“Ever break one?”
He looked at her like he thought it was a stupid question. “No.”
Not like she expected him to admit it. She sat down at the table across from him. The file with crime scene photos of Tala Lewis lay unopened in front of her. “Tell me about your relationship with Tala Lewis.”
His belligerent expression didn’t change. “We didn’t have no relationship.”
“No? Then tell me about your bullying of Tala Lewis.”
Randy shrugged. “There’s no law against telling someone what you think of them, is there?”
“Not unless it becomes harassment. I’d say you definitely harassed Tala. According to her friends you constantly confronted her in public.”
“Him.”
“Excuse me?”
“I confronted him in public.”
“Tala Lewis was a girl. She identified as female.”
He snorted. “You ever know a girl with a dick?”
“Yes, actually.” Back when she worked in New York, she’d met several. “Let me ask you this, Randy, why did you care if Tala had a penis or not?”
“Because that made him a guy, not a girl. And he was walking around pretending to be a girl. You know the fucking chink would use the girls’ bathroom at school?”
“Yes, because she was a girl.” You fucking moron. She didn’t say that part out loud. Nor did she school him that Tala wasn’t Chinese. “So you didn’t like her because she was transgender and nonwhite.”
“I didn’t like him because he was a fucking freak.”
“How did you find out Tala was trans, Randy?”
“What?” He actually looked surprised. “I heard.”
Neve sat back in her chair with a little smile. “No, you didn’t hear it. Nobody but her closest friends knew, and they didn’t tell anyone. I think you found out another way, didn’t you?”
He squirmed in his chair.
“I hear that you hit on Tala at a party. I think you made a play—maybe got handsy—and discovered for yourself that Tala’s anatomy wasn’t what you expected. She pushed you away but not before you realized the truth.”
“I never touched her…him.” His red face suggested otherwise. “And I didn’t make a play.”
“You did,” Neve insisted. Instinct told her she was right on this one. “You grabbed her, or pressed up against her, and you realized something wasn’t quite right.”
Randy shook his head. “Nah.”
“Then why did your friends all laugh when they found out Tala was trans? Not at her, but at you?”
The flush in his cheeks evaporated, leaving him pale. “They know?”
Neve nodded. “The whole town knows—or they soon will. You might as well tell me the truth.” She watched him roll that around in his narrow little mind. This wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with Randy. The first time, he’d used the word “nigger” in front of her. The second time, she arrested him for picking a fight with a Native American kid who hadn’t done anything but be not-white. She couldn’t stand the ignorant little bastard.
“Fine. I saw her around some, and ran into her at a party. I gave her a few drinks and a little smoke and then I made my play.”
Funny how he switched to using “she” as a pronoun when he talked about assault. “So, what? You stuck your hand down her pants, rubbed up against her?”
He was blushing again. “I put my hand under her skirt. She tried to push me away, but I thought she was playing.”
Neve’s fists clenched. “Little clarification for you, asshat, when a girl pushes you away she doesn’t want you.”
A grimace contorted his narrow features. “Yeah, well, I didn’t want her either. Not after grabbing a handful of dick.”
“That’s not what I heard. I heard you came sniffing around a few times, and it was only after she told you off that you started getting mean.” She actually hadn’t heard this, but based on what she knew about Randy, she figured she knew how it played out.
He didn’t say anything, and Neve knew she was right.
“You didn’t reject her. Tala rejected you.”
Still nothing, but his jaw tightened. She watched the muscle in his cheek flex, and that was answer enough.
“Where were you the night of February seventeenth, Randy?”
Scowling, he looked up. “That was two months ago. I don’t remember.”
“It was a Friday, does that help?”
“I was probably with my friends. We go sledding a lot in the winter.” By sledding he meant snowmobiling, not flying downhill on a toboggan. Neve shuddered to think of how drunk or stoned and reckless the bunch of them probably were when they tore around on the machines.
“So if I ask people on Park Road if they saw your old beater driving back toward the Falls that night, they’re going to tell me no?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I don’t drive back there in the winter anymore. Got stuck too many times.” He looked almost smug.
“Which one of your friends drives when you go back there, then?”
“Jimmy Dodsworth.”
“So if I ask the folks on the road, will they have seen Jimmy’s vehicle?”
This time, he paused. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m not his fucking keeper.”
“Mm. I hear you thought Tala Lewis deserved to die.”
He scowled at her. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Twitter.” She showed him the screen shot of his—and a dozen other people’s—tweets concerning the murder. “‘It got what it deserved.’ @RandyDyer_69 is you, isn’t it? I mean, there’s a photo of you on the profile page.”
He shifted in his chair but managed to maintain his slouch. “Yeah, okay. I said that, but a lot of people said the same thing. You walk around pretending to be something you’re not, you’ve got to be prepared to face the consequences, y’know?”
Neve folded her arms over her chest. “There are those who say race is determined by the father. My father is white. If I told you I was white, what would you say?”
Randy looked at her like it was a trick question.
Neve smiled tightly. “I identify as black—and you believe that because you see a black woman when you look at me. But I could call myself white, and you’d call me a liar, even though I can prove I’m half white. Tala Lewis identified as a girl, and you thought she was one until she stopped meeting your expectations of gender. You thinking she wasn’t a girl doesn’t make her less of one—and it sure as hell doesn’t make you much of a person.”
His scowl returned. “Hey—”
“You ever lose your temper, Randy?” She interrupted him, wanting to take advantage of his irritation.
“Doesn’t everybody?”
“You like to fight.”
He shrugged. “So?”
“Have you ever hurt anyone when you were angry?”
“Yeah, but I never stabbed nobody.”
“I bet you wanted to, lover of knives that you are.” She opened the file and slid it toward him. “Ever fantasize about doing something like this?”
His silence was more than answer enough. He stared at the photo of Tala’s head and shoulders. There were stab wounds clearly visible, surrounded by bruising where the hilt of the knife had forcibly struck her flesh. Neve watched as he swallowed hard, never taking his gaze off the photo. He was pale, and his fingers shook, but he still reached out as though he wanted to touch the dead girl.
Neve pulled the
file away and closed it. “You can go home now, Randy.”
He looked surprised. “You’re letting me go?”
Neve smiled as she stood. “I don’t have anything to hold you on.”
He also stood, frowning. “Not even the fight?”
“Nope.” She could hold him, but she was more interested in what he’d do when she let him go. And then, of course, there was the obvious. “Oh, by the way, that girl you grabbed tonight? You know she’s Jake Tripp’s niece, right?”
Oh, the expression of panic on his face! For once Neve appreciated Jake’s reputation. “She is?”
It was a small town, but Randy was at that age where he didn’t pay too much attention to people younger than him, unless he thought they were hot. Alisha was a pretty girl, but maybe she wasn’t his type—lucky for him. “Yeah. You might want to avoid Gracie’s for a while. And him.” At that moment, she actually appreciated Jake and what he was.
Then, after flashing Randy a sympathetic smile, she left him alone in the interview room. She was going the hell home.
CHAPTER SIX
Monday morning Audrey drove Alisha to school since it was also her first day of counseling. She had absolutely no idea what to expect but assumed that the brunt of students who came to see her were simply those taking advantage of being able to get out of class.
“I told Luke he should talk to you,” Alisha informed her. “I don’t know if he will, but . . .”
Audrey pulled into a parking spot. It was a beautiful day and she was suddenly filled with resentment for having to spend it inside the building. Funny how returning to her former high school could awaken those old feelings.
“I hope he does.” Audrey gathered up her computer bag. “Want to do lunch together? Frank’s is open.” Fat Frank’s was a local institution. A fast-food joint that was open seasonally from May till October, it had the best clams and lobster rolls in the area. It had been in business since the early seventies.
Alisha grinned. “Yeah! I’ll meet you in the office.”
“Sounds good. Spread the word that I’m totally not scary and I’ll buy you ice cream.”
As she got out of the car, Alisha laughed. “You are totally scary, but I’ll do my best.”
They approached the school together. Outside, kids lined the sidewalk that surrounded it. A couple of them were smoking, but the rest were simply standing around, slouching and talking. Alisha looked them over, like she was searching for someone.
“Luke is usually out here,” she said. Then, to a group of guys standing near the entrance, she said, “Have you guys seen Luke?”
They looked uncomfortable. “He went inside,” one replied. Audrey noticed the kid had a mullet. Was it 1985? Jesus, she hoped those things didn’t come back into fashion.
“You’re not exactly his type, Lish,” another quipped, jabbing one of his buddies with an elbow. Obvious much?
Alisha narrowed her eyes. “I’m his friend, moron. That’s something you wouldn’t understand.”
Audrey put her hand on the girl’s arm. “Let’s go inside.” The boys were just being idiots, products of upbringing and peer pressure. They’d never let on if anything Alisha said to them actually made a difference. She might as well be talking to a row of porta-potties.
“I want to go by his locker,” Alisha announced when they walked inside. Conversation buzzed in the corridors as groups of teenagers swarmed their lockers and classroom doors. “You don’t have to come with me.”
“I think I will, though. If you don’t mind?”
Alisha shook her head. Audrey didn’t say anything as she walked beside the girl. Luke Pelletier was her cousin, but more important, he meant something to Alisha. She wouldn’t feel right going to work at the school without checking in on him, especially when she couldn’t be certain if he was capable of murder. Alisha trusted in him, but the kid had backed the wrong horse before.
Audrey looked around as they walked. Her locker had been along this very hallway her senior year. The school had changed its colors since then. Back when she went there the lockers had been maroon, against gray walls. Now they were dark blue and the walls, while still gray, had white stenciled murals on them to brighten the place up. The scenes were all very sporty and academic, like some kind of cheerful propaganda.
They found Luke at his locker, surrounded by the three boys Audrey had witnessed harassing him the previous week. One of them gave Luke a hard shove, knocking him back. The row of lockers reverberated under the impact.
“Leave me the fuck alone!” Luke shouted.
The boys laughed. “You got no one to protect you now, Perv-ier. Where’s your girlfriend and skank murderer when you need them?”
“Right here,” Audrey said loudly, causing them to go very still. “And skank? Really? I’ve gotten worse insults from twelve-year-olds.” It was true. She’d once interviewed an underage prostitute who called her some very colorful and inventive names.
The boys slowly turned to look at her. One of them looked belligerent, but the other two actually seemed vaguely nervous. She had to admit, she liked it. Just because her work centered on kids didn’t mean she had to like every teenager that crossed her path. They were just as capable of being assholes as adults. The only difference was that kids could change and heal a lot easier than adults could.
“I’m not his girlfriend,” Alisha said, her cheeks flushed.
“Oh, right. His girlfriend was a guy.” The other two laughed at this.
Audrey stepped closer, leaning in and blocking him from the others because she had no desire to shame the kid in front of an audience. “You seem to be very hung up on that. Would you like to make an appointment with me to discuss whatever fears and concerns you have about your own sexuality?” Honestly, she was mostly serious. It was the same kid who was preoccupied with cock sucking the other day. “It will be confidential, I promise.”
He swallowed as she backed away. She held his gaze. “Luke, Alisha, let’s go.”
Luke didn’t need to be told twice; he fell into step beside them. They walked him to his homeroom before continuing on to Alisha’s. He didn’t say anything to them, just walked through the door, his head down. Not exactly polite, but given his situation, Audrey supposed she could give him a pass.
Alisha looked a little upset, though. “Thanks for defending Luke again.”
Audrey shrugged. “I’ve never been big on bullies. I’ll see you at lunch, kiddo.”
She walked into the office just as the first bell rang. Within minutes, she was set up in a small room with a large overstuffed chair, love seat, and coffee table in it. There was even a window, letting in bright sunshine, and a bookcase full of old yearbooks. It all looked very inviting. Someone had even thought to put a box of tissues on the table.
“Is it okay?”
She turned. Micheline stood in the doorway, looking slightly anxious. Her eyes were bright and her round cheeks slightly flushed. “I wasn’t sure what kind of setup you’d prefer, but I thought this would at least make the kids—and you—more comfortable.”
Audrey smiled. “It’s perfect, thanks. Miss White would never have thought of something like this.”
The shorter woman smiled at the mention of their old guidance counselor. “Miss White would have been ticked off that the school hadn’t asked her to do it. I’m happy to let someone with your training handle this awful situation. If you need anything else, let me know.”
“I will, and thanks again.”
Micheline smiled. “Your appointments are in a shared calendar that I just e-mailed to you. They can be made by the front desk, or you can make them yourself. Just make sure you put them in the calendar so the student doesn’t get accused of skipping.”
“Oh, fabulous. Thanks so much.”
“Good luck.” Micheline walked away without shutting the door. Audrey didn’t mind—an open door was always more inviting than a closed one. After a visit from both Principal Welton and Vice Principal Robert Ty
son to make sure everything was to her liking, she sat down in the chair and pulled out her phone to access the calendar Micheline had sent. She didn’t have anything scheduled for first period, but her second-period appointment was Kendra Granger. Lucy Villeneuve was scheduled for Tuesday afternoon. She was alternating mornings and afternoons throughout the week so she could continue to work on Grace Ridge and wedding plans.
As the second bell for first period rang, Audrey’s phone pinged. First period now had an appointment: Jamie Allen. She looked up when she spied someone in the doorway. Well, she’d be damned.
It was the kid who’d been picking on Luke at his locker. His lean cheeks were pale, making the freckles there all the more prominent.
“Hi,” she said. “Jamie?”
He didn’t move from the doorway. “Did you mean what you said, that whatever we talk about is private?”
She nodded. “Yeah. It is. Do you want to come in?”
He crossed the threshold and closed the door.
Audrey had just finished her notes on the not-so-surprisingly troubled Jamie Allen—bisexual and ashamed of it, youngest child of an unpredictable alcoholic and his exhausted wife—when Kendra Granger arrived for her session. She and Jamie had discussed his curiosity about Tala Lewis, so Audrey considered their talk to have fallen within the parameters set by the school board. She’d made another appointment for him the following Monday, and promised to e-mail him a list of books he might find helpful, since he insisted that his father would never allow him to go to a therapist on a regular basis. She also gave him her business card and the number of the local crisis line. It was all she could do. He didn’t know what he was feeling, but he knew it really pissed him off that Luke and Tala had dated, and he wasn’t sure which one of them he was more jealous of. He was just angry that he couldn’t be himself and angry that Tala had been. Angry that he wasn’t what his father wanted him to be. Angry that his father was a drunk—angry at everything.
Kendra, on the other hand, didn’t look angry at all. She looked perfect. Her skin was flawless and so pale it had to be a bitch to find foundation to match—not that she needed it. Her eyes were a bright blue; her hair was a glossy dark brown. She wore jeans, boots, and a long-sleeve top, and looked as though she’d just stepped out of the pages of a teenage fashion magazine.