About That Night (8 page)

“It's Derek,” she says. “They found him.”

“Found him?”

Tritt glances at Mr. Cross. “I can drive you both, or you can come in your own car.”

“We'll follow you.” Mr. Cross reaches for his coat.

“It's okay, Dad,” Jordie says. “You don't have to come with me. Why don't you stay and have supper?”

But he is buttoning his coat. Jordie wishes he would stay put, but she knows he won't. She can't blame him. She supposes that if she had a daughter and her daughter were wanted for questioning by the police, she would insist on staying with her.

“Jordie?”

“It's okay, Mom.”

“Call me, Art,” Mrs. Cross says. “Let me know what's happening.”

Jordie and her father follow Tritt out into the night. Tritt gets into his car, which is parked at the curb, and waits, engine idling, while Jordie and her father climb into their car. Her father backs out of the driveway and heads to the business district of town. Tritt follows. On the way, Mr. Cross questions his daughter.

“Do you know why they want to talk to you?”

“About Derek.”

“But why you?”

Jordie gives her father a look and shakes her head.

“Well, I knew him pretty well, Dad. He was at our house before he disappeared. And—” Here she hesitates. “I guess you could say I'm sort of responsible for him being found.”

“Oh?” Her father, who is concentrating on the road because the snow is still falling hard, steals a glance at her.

“I was out for a walk today, and I saw something. It turned out it was Derek's scarf. The police took it from there.”

“So when they say they found Derek…”

“He's dead.” Jordie is surprised that she can say this without choking up or bursting into tears. “I saw them take him away.”

Her father reaches for her and squeezes her hand.

“I'm sorry, honey.”

They are silent the rest of the way to the police station.

When they get there and her father has to drive around to find a cleared spot to park in, Jordie thinks she will go crazy. She wants to go right in and get started. But Mr. Cross insists that she stay with him. They leave the car together and enter the police station, where Tritt, coatless now, is waiting. He ushers them past the desk sergeant and to the back of the station, guiding them into a small windowless room, its cinder-block walls painted a dull green.

“Thanks for coming, Jordie,” Tritt says.

Mr. Cross glances at these new surroundings. “Does my daughter need an attorney, Neil?”

Tritt smiles. “Not at all.” He turns to Jordie. “Sorry about the accommodations, but it is a police station.”

“It's okay,” Jordie says. She hesitates and doesn't sit until Tritt pulls out a chair for her.

“If you'll just wait here,” he says, “we'll be with you in a minute.”

We?

Jordie's father sits down beside her. They wait in silence until someone appears in the door. It's Lieutenant Diehl. Jordie's dad jumps to his feet.

“Mike, I wasn't expecting to see you here. We heard about Elise. I'm so sorry.”

Diehl nods his thanks. He looks across the table at Jordie and asks her how she is.

“I'm okay, I guess,” she says. “You know, under the circumstances.” Then, following her father's lead and the nudgy expression in his eyes, she adds, “Mrs. Diehl was the best teacher I ever had. I'm sorry for your loss, sir.”

Diehl lets go a shuddery sigh as he pulls out a chair across the table from Jordie and her dad and sinks down.

“Thank you,” he says. “I appreciate that. But the truth is, I lost Elise a long time ago. Alzheimer's is a terrible thing. I hope you never have to go through it with anyone you love.” He lays a file folder on the table in front of him but doesn't open it. “Now then, Jordie, do you know why you were asked to come down here tonight?”

“Because of Derek. Because I know him so well.”

“That's right,” Diehl says.

Mr. Cross is frowning. Sometimes Jordie thinks it's his default expression and that everything else, every wry look, every grimace, every rare and precious smile, is meted out on some kind of miserly quota system, as if he's afraid he'll use them up before his time on earth is finished.

“Are you investigating this, Mike?”

“I am.”

“I thought you retired.”

“I took a leave.” There's a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. It seems to Jordie he doesn't take well to his interview being sidetracked by personal questions. “After her father died, Elise needed a lot of care—more than I could give her while I was holding down the job. But now—” He lets a moment of silence carry the rest. “And the Maughams live across the street from me.”

Mr. Cross nods and says nothing.

“Now then, Jordie,” Diehl says, “I need you to tell me about Derek.”

“Did you talk to his parents?” Surely they know more than she does.

“I did. And I'll be talking to a lot of other people too—kids at school, teachers, anyone who can tell me anything that might help us figure out what happened to Derek.”

“What did happen to him?” Mr. Cross asks. “Was it an accident?”

“I'm afraid not.” Diehl's eyes are hard on Jordie. “It looks like he was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Mr. Cross's eyes are wide with incredulity. “You must be kidding! Who would murder a kid like that?”

“How do you mean?” Diehl asks.

“Well, I mean, he was a nice boy. Never any trouble that I could see. He was staying at our house while his parents were away and was never a bit of trouble…you know, for a teenage boy staying at his girlfriend's house, if you know what I mean.”

Jordie feels herself blush.

“I can't imagine who would kill that boy,” Mr. Cross finishes.

“That's what we aim to find out,” Diehl says.

“How did he die?” Jordie chooses her words carefully, but even so, her voice catches on the last word. Even though she saw his lumpish form on the stretcher, she still can't believe that's what it's come down to. Someone killed Derek.

“Blunt force trauma,” Diehl says.

“A blow to the head,” Tritt explains. “We're waiting on the postmortem to find out if he died immediately or if he was left out there in the cold and the snow to die.”

Jordie's heart seizes up. Someone hit Derek on the head and left him to die in the cold and dark and snow.

“So, given that you knew him well and that he was staying with you the day before he went missing, we need to talk to you,” Diehl says. “But first there are some details I have to get out of the way.” He tells her that because she is only sixteen, a minor, she has certain rights, such as the right not to talk to the police if she doesn't want to.

“Of course she wants to,” her father says. “Don't you, Jordie?”

Jordie nods.

Also that she has the right to have a parent or some other adult present while she talks to the police.

“Done,” her father says.

That she's not under arrest, that she's free to leave at any time, but that anything she says can be used in a subsequent court proceeding.

“What is it you want to ask her?” her father asks.

Diehl ignores him. “You understand these rights, Jordie?”

“Yes.”

He opens the file folder, slides a paper across the table to her and tells her to initial where he has puts
X
s and to sign at the bottom of the page. She skims the paper as she initials the boxes; it says exactly what he has already told her, and her initials and signature show that she understands and agrees.

“Derek's parents say that Derek didn't go with them to see his grandmother last weekend,” Diehl says. “Instead, he stayed behind to be with you. Is that right?”

“You already know he did,” Mr. Cross says. “You just said so yourself.”

Diehl shoots a look of annoyance at Jordie's father. “I was talking to Jordie.”

Mr. Cross bridles, but he doesn't speak.

“How long did Derek stay at your house, Jordie?” Diehl asks.

“All weekend. From Friday when his parents left until Monday morning. Or Sunday night. I'm not sure.”

“Was anyone else there?”

Another odd question. Her dad has already said that Derek was no trouble, making it clear that at least he was there with them.

“My parents. And my sister.”

“Were you all there the whole time?”

“Well, no. I mean, we were all there for supper on Friday. And then Carly—my sister—and Derek and I watched a movie downstairs. On Saturday, Derek and I went to the mall. I don't know what everyone else was doing. We went out for pizza and brought back some movies to watch. My parents were out.”

“We were at the curling club,” Mr. Cross says.

“And Carly was at a friend's house. She slept over.”

“So it was just you and Derek at your house?” He's peering at her as if the answer she gives to this question means something, that it will reveal something about her or her trustworthiness.

“Yes,” she says. She glances at her dad. “We didn't do anything we weren't supposed to.” Unless her parents expected them to act like brother and sister, that was true. They did a bunch of other stuff, but none of it was wrong, and none of it was actual sex.

“What about Sunday?”

“I slept in. I guess Derek did too.”

“You guess?”

“He slept in the basement.”

“He got up about ten,” her father says. “Helped me clear the driveway and then went next door and shoveled Mrs. Drake's walk for her. Like I said, he was a good kid.”

Jordie rolls her eyes. Every time her dad calls Derek a good kid, even if it sounds like an innocent compliment, she knows better. What he means is that Derek was a good kid especially in comparison to Ronan.

“Was he having trouble with anyone?” Diehl asks. “Did he have any enemies, maybe at school or on the hockey team he played on?”

“No,” Jordie says.

“No?” Her father's frown deepens. “How can you say that?”

“Because it's true.” She's furious with her father for interrupting her. Diehl is asking her questions, not him.

“Is it, Jordie?” Diehl asks.

“Yes. He was a good guy. He didn't have enemies.”

“He never argued with anyone? Never got into a shoving match or a fight? Nobody had a grudge against him?”

“Yes,” her father says at the exact same time she says, “No.” Father and daughter glare at each other. Then calmly, keeping her voice steady, Jordie turns to Tritt and says, “You told me I have the right to have a parent here, but that doesn't mean I have to, does it?”

“Jordie!” Mr. Cross can see where this is going, and he doesn't like it.

She refuses to look at him. “Does it?”

“No, it doesn't,” Tritt says.

“Then I would like my dad to leave.”

“Now listen here, Jordie—”

“If it will help us get the information we need, I think it might be a good idea, Art,” Tritt says.

“And I say it's a bad idea. I'm her parent.”

“She has the right not to have you present, Art.” Tritt's expression is one of reasonableness. He leans forward slightly, his eyes fixed on Mr. Cross. “They were dating. You were seventeen once, Art. You went out with pretty girls like Jordie here. And I bet there were things about those relationships that you wouldn't have wanted to talk about with your old man in the room. Am I right?” Her father refuses to concede the point. “The Maughams have lost their son. Imagine it was you and Celia. Imagine something had happened to Jordie. You'd want us to get to the truth, wouldn't you? You wouldn't want anything to interfere with that, would you?”

Her father doesn't answer; he just stares across the table and then, still silent, pushes back his chair and gets up.

“I'll be outside,” he says. He doesn't look at Jordie. He's angry with her, but she doesn't care. Tritt gets it. There are things she doesn't want to discuss with her father sitting right there. Plenty of things.

Tritt and Diehl wait until he is out of the room. Tritt gets up and closes the door and then sits down again. Jordie is glad of the pause. She knows exactly what her father is thinking about, and she bets that no matter what she says, Diehl will talk to him later and find out. But her father only sees things from a distance. She sees them close up. If she stays calm, if she doesn't panic and doesn't think for a second what her father might or might not say, it could be okay.

“Did Derek have any enemies, Jordie? Was anyone mad at him about anything?”

“No.”

“Your dad seems to have other ideas about that.”

“My dad thinks there was something between Derek and a guy I used to go out with.”

“Was there?” Diehl asks.

“No. Like I said, Derek wasn't that kind of person. He never had any trouble with anyone. Even on his hockey team. He never fought—ever. That's one of the reasons my dad liked him.”

“And if we were to talk to your father?”

Jordie answers promptly, even though she wishes she had time to think. She decides on the truth.

“I don't know. Maybe my dad knows something I don't. But I doubt it. Derek told me everything.” Derek told her too much. “If Derek had any trouble with anyone, I would know about it.”

“Okay,” Diehl says. “So, Sunday, it sounds like Derek got up before you and helped your dad clear the driveway.”

“And Mrs. Drake's. See what I mean? Parents just eat that stuff up.”

“You're not saying it was an act, are you?”

No, she was not. “It was genuine. Like I said, Derek was a nice guy. Parents and teachers really liked him.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” She tries not to show how blindsided she is by the question. “He was my boyfriend. I liked him a lot.”