Innocent Mistakes

by Melissa F. Miller

  She gnaws on her lower lip and tries to remember the exact words he’d used. “He said something like because Colin’s a minor he can’t invoke his right to a lawyer—only Mom and Dad can. And then he said he was turning Colin over to Officer Hill for now.”

  “That’s good news,” Aunt Sasha enthuses.

  The tightness in Siobhan’s chest loosens the teensiest smidge. “Good. Okay, so Officer Hill is taking Colin to the station, and Principal Dunbar is gonna call Mom and Dad to let them know. What should I do?”

  “Has your dad left for work yet?”

  She thumbs down on her phone screen to check the time. 7:30.

  “He’s probably still home. But Mom won’t be. She was heading straight to the grocery store.”

  “I’ll call them both and head out to your house right now. You did the right thing by calling me, Siobhan. This gives me a head start.”

  “You can help him, right? Colin can’t go to jail. He didn’t do anything!” She tries to stay calm; she ends up wailing.

  “Hey, come on now. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

  Aunt Sasha’s soothing voice helps, and Siobhan takes a breath.

  “He didn’t do this,” she repeats. It’s suddenly urgent to make sure Aunt Sasha believes her.

  “I know he didn’t, honey. Please try not to worry. Go to class and do your best to focus, okay?”

  She opens her mouth to argue, then reconsiders. “Sure. Bye, Aunt Sasha.”

  “Love you.”

  She ends the call, stows the phone in her pocket, and cracks the door to peek out. She waits until she sees Officer Hill hurrying by with her brother in tow and the FBI agent on their heels. The pain in her chest is heavy—crushing even,—but she bites down hard on her lip and manages not to call out to Colin.

  The tardy bell rings, jarring and echoing off the bathroom walls. She watches three more minutes roll over on her phone display. That’s gotta be long enough.

  Mom and Dad will be furious that she skipped, but there’s no way she can sit through seven hours of classes pretending to pay attention, pretending to ignore the whispers behind her back, and wondering what’s happening to her brother. Her chem partner will be ticked, too, but she doesn’t care. Roshi really pissed her off by posting that picture in the classroom portal. He can handle their lab work on his own—penance, Mom would call it.

  She shoulders her backpack, eases open the door, and races to the nearest stairwell. Then she’s running down the stairs and pushing through the metal fire door without waiting to see if an alarm sounds. She bursts out into the administrative parking lot behind the building and sprints across the football field to the neighborhood on the other side.

  12

  Sean and Jordan’s house is oppressively silent. Sasha sits at the kitchen table, facing the broken window, which is covered by a heavy black plastic bag. Her brother follows her line of vision.

  “We’re having it fixed this afternoon.”

  She nods.

  “Or at least we were. Now I guess we’ll have to cancel. How did this happen?” He drops his head into his big, calloused hands.

  He’s not talking to her, she knows. She waits.

  Sean has been teetering on a precipice ever since she rang his doorbell and delivered the news about Colin. She doesn’t want to be the one to push him over, and she’ll need to catch him when he tumbles. Unless Jordan gets home before he falls off the edge, which would be ideal. She checks the time discreetly.

  “Should you call in to work and tell them you’re not going to be in today? Or that you’ll be late?”

  He raises his head and gives her a bleary look. “I guess I’d better. Why hasn’t Dunbar called yet?”

  This is an excellent question. Why hasn’t he? She has her suspicions, but she’s not going to raise them with Sean, not now.

  “Officer Hill may have asked him not to. She’ll probably call once she’s taken Colin to the station and he’s been processed.”

  “Why? He’s just a kid.” Sean jitters his right leg under the table and grips his hands together.

  Because she wants to rattle him, see if she can scare a confession out of him before he lawyers up. Hasn’t her brother ever watched a crime show? But this, too, is something she has no intention of voicing.

  She takes in Sean’s palpable distress. Like him, she has a preference for action, an impulse to do something.

  She stands and pushes back her chair. “Why don’t you call your office? I’ll try Jordan again and have her meet us at the station.”

  It’s not a question, not really. And Sean takes it as the direction it is. He stands and grabs his phone from the charger on the kitchen desk. As he follows her through his house like a sleepwalker, he places the call to his office. She tries Jordan’s number again, but, again, the call rolls to voicemail. She hates to drop the news on Jordan this way, but they can’t wait around all day:

  “Jordan, it’s Sasha. Colin’s been taken to the police station. Sean and I are on our way there now. Meet us there, okay? Call me if you need directions.”

  It’s too sterile, not reassuring enough, she knows. But she doesn’t want to make promises she can’t keep. She turns to her brother.

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah. You driving?”

  “I think it’s best.”

  “Okay,” he mumbles.

  She pauses at the door and clasps his forearm. “Listen to me. I know you’re scared. I would be too. But believe me when I say it’s way better for Colin to be dealing with the local police than the FBI. This is a positive development, even though it doesn’t seem that way.”

  He nods. Then, “Where did we go wrong, Sasha?”

  “You can’t lose faith in Colin now. He says he didn’t do it, and he needs you and Jordan to believe him.”

  Sean blinks, shakes his head. His jaw hinges open. “Hang on, I thought Siobhan told you the cops confirmed the post was made from Colin’s phone.”

  “She may have misheard. Merriweather may be bluffing. I don’t know. But what I do know is there’s got to be another explanation. Colin isn’t lying.”

  She prays she’s right.

  The suburban police station is a squat brick building with a massive parking lot and lush white rose bushes in bloom lining the facade. The architecture and landscaping give no hint of what’s inside. If it weren’t for the trio of black and white squad cars lined up outside the entrance, it could be a library. Or an elementary school. A doctor’s office. But it’s not.

  Sasha parks in the second row, away from the patrol cars, and kills the engine. She stares up at the disarming structure for a long moment to remind herself what it really is, then takes a deep breath and turns to her silent, morose passenger.

  “Okay, when we go inside, I’ll do the talking.”

  She searches his face for a flicker of understanding—or even a hint that he’s heard her. But he gazes back at her glassy-eyed. He’s shut down. She catches her lower lip between her teeth and eyes him with worry. Jordan, where are you?

  As if Sasha’s summoned her with the power of thought, Jordan’s minivan careens down the street and zooms into the lot.

  Please don’t get a speeding ticket in the police station parking lot.

  Sasha wills her sister-in-law to slow down. She doesn’t.

  The minivan shoots into the space next to Sasha’s and screeches to a stop. Jordan’s halfway out of the vehicle before it’s completely still. Her presence jolts Sean to life, and he yanks the door open and races to meet her. She flings herself into his arms and presses her face against his.

  Sasha gives them a minute. But only one. Then she rounds the car and fixes her brother and sister-in-law with a searching, serious gaze.

  “Jordan, Sean, listen to me. The school resource officer—Hill is her name—seems to be reasonable. I talked to her briefly yesterday, and I think she’ll work with us. So, we need to view her as an ally, not the enemy.”

  Jordan bobs her head in un
derstanding. Sean’s face darkens.

  “I mean it, Sean. If there’s a choice between the local PD or Agent Merriweather and the feds, we want to stay local. So please don’t antagonize anyone.”

  Sean grimaces but nods. “Okay.”

  “Jordan, do you have any questions before we go inside?”

  “Yeah, actually. Wouldn’t it be better if the FBI was in charge? I mean … can’t Leo …” Jordan trails off, flustered.

  “No, he can’t. This isn’t a situation where you can call in a favor and make it go away. Besides, federal law enforcement doesn’t work that way.” Sasha keeps her voice gentle because she knows what her answer means. Jordan’s clinging to this hope with both hands, and she’s ripping it away.

  Her sister-in-law’s face sags. She looks weary and weathered, as if she’s suddenly aged a decade. She doesn’t voice any doubt in her son, though.

  Sean rubs his wife’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, babe. Sasha’s good at what she does.”

  Jordan manages a tremulous smile and slips her hand into his. “Good? I think you mean the best. Let’s go get our boy.”

  As they’re crossing the lot, Jordan’s cell phone rings. She digs it out of her purse and frowns down at the display.

  “Who is it?” Sasha asks.

  “It’s school—the administrative number.”

  “So, Dunbar?”

  “Probably.” She raises her eyes and searches Sasha’s face. “Should I answer it?”

  Sasha debates for a second. Siobhan heard the principal tell Officer Hill he’d call Sean and Jordan. He’s likely planning to call the police department after he talks to one of them to give her an update.

  She shakes her head. “Let it go to voicemail.”

  “Are you sure?” Sean demands.

  “Yeah. Right now, we have the element of surprise—nobody’s expecting us yet. Let’s keep it that way.”

  Jordan gives Sasha an uncertain look, then drops the phone back into her bag. A moment later, Sean’s phone chirps to life in his back pocket, and he ignores it.

  13

  Colin digs his fingernails into his palms and stares at Officer Hill, grateful that at least she didn’t handcuff him.

  “Call my aunt,” he spits the words from between clenched teeth.

  She gives him the same friendly, concerned looks she’s been giving him ever since she plunked him down in this dreary, windowless room. There’s not even a one-way mirror anywhere. His eyes drift up to the ceiling.

  There it is. A camera mounted in the corner.

  “I can help you.”

  He drags his eyes away from the camera’s red blinking light to stare at her. When he speaks, he hides his fear with bluster. “You’re violating my rights.”

  “No, Colin, I’m not. You’re not entitled to an attorney yet—despite what you might have seen on television.”

  “So, then I’m free to go, right?” He tries to call her bluff.

  “Not exactly. You’re in custody, but I’m not trying to interrogate you. We’re just waiting for your parents.”

  He narrows his eyes and glowers. She sounds like she’s telling the truth about the Miranda rights thing, but he’s not sure he should trust her.

  “Okay,” he huffs, “call my parents.”

  “You heard Principal Dunbar. He said he’d called them. We just need to have a little patience.”

  He folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  She grabs a metal chair, drags it to the opposite side of the table, and spins it around backwards and then sits down with her arms folded over the back of the chair. “Colin, I really am trying to help you.”

  “I want my parents.”

  “I know.”

  They stare at each other for a long, silent moment. The clock on the wall ticks loudly. He cracks first.

  “Why?” he demands.

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to help me? If you think I made that stupid post about Hunter—”

  She cuts him off with a frustrated wave of her hand. “You understand what Agent Merriweather explained this morning, right? The cell phone carrier gave him a copy of your parents’ phone records. They’ll prove that—”

  “Yeah, I don’t care what he has. I didn’t do it.”

  She studies him with an expression he can’t quite decipher. Her brown eyes almost look concerned, like she’s worried about him.

  Don’t fall for it.

  He clamps his mouth shut. Before she can say anything else, there’s a quick, loud tap on the door. Rat-a-tat.

  She raises herself from the chair with a soft groan and opens the door a crack. “What’s up, Jeff?”

  He lifts his head and spots a uniformed officer. It’s the guy who offered him a soda and told him that he was in the stands when Colin pitched his no-hitter against Westbrook High. He assumes this Officer Jeff guy is playing the good cop, but still, a warm feeling spread through his chest at the memory of that game.

  Now the officer stage whispers to Officer Hill, “Colin’s parents are here. And, um, they brought their lawyer.”

  Colin doesn’t bother to hide the grin that blooms on his face.

  “How the devil did they get here so fast?” Officer Hill says in a low voice.

  The guy shrugs. “I don’t know, but they know you brought him in. What do you want me to do?”

  “Bring them back.”

  “The lawyer, too?”

  She shrugs. “I guess there’s no point in delaying the inevitable.”

  He nods and withdraws to the hall, pulling the door shut.

  Officer Hill turns and studies Colin in silence. He stares back at her. A few minutes later, Officer Jeff returns with Mom, Dad and Aunt Sasha.

  Mom darts across the room and grabs him by the shoulders. “Are you okay, Doodle?”

  Seriously? Doodle? In front of Officer Hill?

  He gives her a warning look.

  “Mrs. McCandless, he’s fine. Please calm down.”

  Colin sucks air through his teeth. Officer Hill is pretty good at relating to high school students, he’ll give her that—but she must not know much about moms. Everyone knows you never, ever tell a mom to calm down.

  As if to prove the point, Mom rounds on her. “I beg your pardon? He’s sixteen. You dragged him out of school. I will not calm down.”

  “Jordan.” Aunt Sasha says Mom’s name mildly, but the look she gives Mom could freeze water.

  Mom presses her lips together and falls silent.

  Dad clears his throat and jerks his chin toward Colin. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, Dad.”

  Officer Hill makes a play to regain control. She motions to a pair of molded plastic chairs pushed up against the wall. “Mrs. McCandless, Mr. McCandless, please have a seat. Attorney McCandless-Connelly, I can get you a chair from the conference room.”

  “No need. I don’t expect we’ll be here very long,”

  “Oh? And why’s that?” the officer asks as Mom and Dad drag the chairs over to the table and sit on either side of Colin.

  “There’s no prosecutor in here.”

  Colin blinks at her.

  Aunt Sasha continues, “See, if Officer Hill were planning to charge you, Colin, an assistant district attorney would be here. Because you’re a juvenile, and they would want to get you in front of a magistrate right away, probably by videoconference. No ADA, no charges. No charges, no hearing. Isn’t that right, Officer Hill?”

  To Colin’s amazement, Officer Hill smiles. “What I’m about to tell you isn’t to leave this room, understand?”

  Mom and Dad exchange a puzzled look. Aunt Sasha frowns.

  “You really don’t have a basis to demand confidentiality from us.”

  The officer nods. “I know, but I could lose my job for what I’m about to share. So, if you want to hear it, I’m asking you to keep it between us.”

  “I want to hear it.” Colin’s surprised to hear his ow
n voice blurt the words.

  Aunt Sasha leans back against the wall and crosses one leg in front of the other, tapping her tall, skinny heel on the pockmarked linoleum. “I’ll admit I am curious.”

  “So, this stays in this room?”

  “If it helps my client, I can’t agree to suppress information, officer. But I won’t attribute it to you unless I have to.”

  Officer Hill considers this for a moment, her mouth puckered like she’s tasting something sour. Then she nods. “That’ll do. The comment Colin posted—”

  “The comment Colin is alleged to have posted,” Aunt Sasha corrects her.

  “The comment Colin is alleged to have posted could be construed as a death threat.”

  Aunt Sasha shakes her head. “KYS, or I’ll do it for you? No, it may be rude and hurtful, but ‘kill yourself’ isn’t a threat.”

  “Sure. But ‘I’ll do it for you’ is.”

  “It could be interpreted that way. But, it’s not a slam-dunk.”

  “I’ll give you that. Do you know what is a slam-dunk, though? That comment is a clear violation of the school’s cyberbullying policy.”

  “Assuming it is, that’s breaking a rule. Which is neither a federal nor state crime.”

  Colin feels like he’s watching a tennis match. Judging by the way Mom and Dad are turning their heads back and forth to follow the conversational lobs, he’s not the only one.

  “But as I’m sure you’re aware, Pennsylvania law requires all public schools to have a cyberbullying policy in place.”

  “I am aware. It doesn’t require them to refer an incident to you—let alone to the FBI.”

  “Let’s talk about the FBI.” Officer Hill leans forward.

  “Let’s. Why did Agent Merriweather insert himself into this situation? It’s highly unusual. As I understand it, the FBI might get involved if the school referred the issue to the local police and you all reached out to the Bureau. But that would have to be a highly unusual fact pattern, and it’s definitely not what happened here.”

  “We’re in agreement there.”

  “So, why are they involved?”

  Officer Hill flicks her eyes away from Aunt Sasha to Mom and Dad for a moment before she turns back and answers the question. “Nathan Merriweather is Leigh Dalton’s brother. Hunter’s uncle.”