Paranoid Park (15 page)

“Hello there,” he said.

“Hi.”

“Have a seat.”

I did. He told me he was talking to everyone individually. He wanted to make sure he had his paperwork together. He went through my info, checking my name, my address, my age. It was all the same as before.

“Sorry to take you out of class.”

“That’s okay,” I said.

“So. Anyway. I talked to Jared and he says you almost went to the Eastside Skatepark the night of the seventeenth. Is that right?”

“Yes,” I said. I suddenly felt dryness in my throat. I tried to remember how freaked out Cal was. Even someone who was perfectly innocent would feel nervous talking to a homicide detective. So I was fine. I was a little nervous, but that was natural.

“So you ... drove around that night?”

“Yes. I ... well ... we went there another time and I was ... well, I thought it was cool and everything, but it was pretty hard-core. I’m not that good of a skater, so I didn’t want to go there by myself.”

“Did you drive by there that night?”

“No.”

“Where did you go?”

“That night? I ... I drove around ... downtown a little. And since I was downtown anyway, I got something to eat. And I ... then I parked down near the waterfront. And walked around a little.”

“Were you skateboarding?”

“Yeah. Well, actually, no, not really that night. I mean, I had my skateboard. Like I said, I’m not as good as the other guys. So I try to practice by myself.”

Detective Brady nodded. “So can you give me some times for these things? Approximately?”

“Uh ... I went to Jared’s around seven or eight. Then we went to the bus station a little after that. And then I drove around. And then ... oh, yeah ... that was something I got confused about before. I didn’t go home. I went to Jared’s. Because we had originally planned to sleep over at his house that night.”

“Where were his parents?”

“His mom was in Las Vegas. His dad doesn’t live with them.”

“No brothers or sisters? The house was totally empty?”

“Right,” I said. “His sister lives in Seattle.” I swallowed dryly.

“And did your parents know this? That no one was home at Jared’s?”

“Uh ...”

Brady made a note. “So this is the old trick where you tell your parents you’re sleeping at Jared’s and your parents don’t realize his parents are gone, and then you can do whatever you want?”

“Uh ... well ...”

“No, I understand,” he said, smiling slightly. “We used to do that. It’s an old one.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Brady studied me. “So what’s
your
parental situation ?”

“Uh ... what do you mean?”

“Your parents, they’re together?”

“No. They’re separated. Or they’re ... well, they’ll probably get divorced.”

Detective Brady nodded. A thoughtful look came over his face. “My parents got divorced. When I was about your age, actually. That’s a tough thing to go through.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“A brother. Younger. He’s thirteen.”

“Do you have a sister?”

“No.”

“How about a girlfriend?”

“Uh ... yeah, sort of.”

“Where was she that night?”

“She was with her other friends.”

“Did you call her at any point? Do you have a cell phone?”

“No. I didn’t call her. We just started going out, actually.”

“So she wasn’t your girlfriend a couple weeks ago?”

“Right. I mean, we weren’t totally hanging out yet. She’s more of a girlfriend now.”

“How’s that going?”

“What?”

“Having a girlfriend.”

I shrugged. “It’s good, I guess.”

“You sound unsure,” said Detective Brady, smiling slightly.

“No, it’s okay. She’s kinda ... I don’t know. We just started going out. It hasn’t really solidified.”

“I see.”

“But it’s okay. I mean, she’s nice.”

Detective Brady smiled and nodded. He tapped the point of his pen on the paper in front of him. “So, getting back to this ...” he said. “I’m trying to think about this situation. This security guard. We find him, you know, deceased on these train tracks. We think, okay, he tripped, he fell. But then the autopsy says he was hit with a blunt object.”

I nodded.

“My boss has this idea that some kids might have been riding that train, just for fun, which apparently happens a lot. They’re riding along, the security guard sees them, and he tries to kick them off. There’s some sort of confrontation, maybe a struggle, the guy ends up dead, and the kids take off.”

I tried to look slightly confused.

“So what I’m trying to imagine is,” continued Brady, “what do these kids do then? Where do they go? What kind of kids are they?”

I swallowed. “Yeah, that’s a good question.”

“What would you do? If you were one of those kids.”

“I ... I don’t know. Call the police?”

“What if the other kids were your friends? Would you call the police on your friends?”

“I think I would if someone got killed. Or if it was an accident or whatever.”

Detective Brady thought about my answer. “What if you were alone? What if you were by yourself and something like this happened?”

I looked into my lap. “Then I’d definitely call the police. Because, why not? Unless you wanted to kill the guy. I mean, myself, I don’t have anything against security guards.”

“Right. But what would you do if you didn’t call the police?” said Brady, with a new energy in his voice. “Like, what if you got scared and you didn’t know what to do?”

I glanced up at him then, thinking he would be staring at me, staring at me hard, coming in for the kill. But he wasn’t. He was focused on the pen in his hand. He was deep in thought.

“I’m not sure,” I said.

“You’d run probably,” said Detective Brady. “And you’d go back to the skatepark and tell your friends. Or if you were smart, you wouldn’t go back to the skatepark; you’d head for the river and hope nobody saw you.”

“Yeah ... I guess so.”

“And these kids,” continued Brady, “they’re probably transients. Or runaways. They’re probably in trouble already. If I was them, I think I’d hop the first train out of town. Get out of the state. Out of the country, even....”

I swallowed. “I heard someone got stabbed there once ...” I said.

“Do you know any street kids? I mean, yourself personally.”

“No,” I said. “I mean, I’ve seen them. ‘Streeters,’ people call them. Some of them skate. Most of them just beg for change and stuff.”

“If I showed you photos, could you pick out people you’ve seen in the area?”

I shrugged cautiously. “I doubt it. It’s not like I know any of them.”

Brady thought about this for a long time. Then he checked his watch. “All right,” he said. “I’m going to have to cut this short.”

I said nothing.

He packed up his briefcase and got out another business card. I noticed his hands as he handed it to me. They were big and thick, meaty-looking. He wore one of those big rings, like car salesmen wear in movies.

I tried my best to look meek and confused. “So I can go back to class?”

“Yeah. Hey, and thanks. I appreciate it.” He leaned over the table and offered me that same thick hand. I shook it.

Then I got the hell out of there.

(
3:30 P.M.)

 

Dear __,

I hadn’t seen much of Jennifer during this time. She made varsity cheerleader for basketball, so that week she was practicing every day after school. Then Elizabeth and some of her friends went ice-skating on Saturday, and Jennifer wanted me to come.

A bunch of people went. Christian was there, and a couple other boyfriends. We all sat at a picnic table drinking hot chocolate, and Christian told the girls about our meeting with Detective Brady. It was weird because he told the story like I hadn’t even been there. The whole group of them talked about this thing that I did, this whole situation that I caused, but since everyone looked up to Christian so much, nobody could imagine I had anything to do with it. They only wanted to listen to him. Even when he told everyone I had been interviewed, too, the girls were like, whatever, and wanted to hear more about him. Which was fine with me. Sometimes it was good to be a wallflower.

After ice-skating, we all went to Elizabeth Gould’s house. She had this fancy hot tub, and everybody stripped to their underwear and sat in it and looked at the stars.

Even though it was fun, I kept thinking of Detective Brady. As we got dressed again, I asked Christian, “Do you think Brady knows more than he’s telling us?”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe he knows something and he’s playing dumb. Like he’s trying to trick us.”

“I doubt it.”

“The whole thing is pretty weird, though,” I said. “A detective showing up at school. Talking to skateboarders.”

Christian scoffed. “Cops are stupid. Why do you think they’re cops? Do you know how much money they make? Like, the same as a janitor.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But maybe they do it for other reasons.”

“Dude, grown-ups do stuff for money,” said Christian, tightening his belt. “There are no other reasons.”

Afterward, I went back to Jennifer’s house. She was acting all sexy, and we went straight to her bedroom to make out. But I couldn’t stay focused.

“What is wrong with you tonight?” she said, pulling away.

“Nothing.”

“You’re acting so ... out of it.”

“How am I supposed to act?”

“I dunno. But you could say something every once in a while. Christian and Elizabeth talk. They have a relationship.”

I stared at her. “What does that mean?”

“When Christian says something, he says it. When you say something, people interrupt you. And you let them.”

I stood up. “I’m sorry if I’m not Mr. Popular, like Christian.”

“I’m just saying, you could be a better boyfriend,” she said. She got up and tucked her shirt in.

I didn’t know what to say. She was probably right.

“You better go; my parents will be home soon,” she said.

“Can you give me a ride home?”

“That’s another thing,” complained Jennifer. “You need to get your own car. You can’t just skateboard everywhere.”

But that’s what I did. I skateboarded home from her house. In the rain. In the dark. I was glad to do it. I was glad to be on my own.

That night I had a dream about Detective Brady. I dreamed that he came to live with my brother and me. He was a relative of ours, it turned out. I sat with him at the airport, and he told me about his parents’ divorce—how it made him become a cop. He said all cops’ parents were divorced; it was one of the requirements.

Then the dream changed, and I was at school and people were congratulating me. Everyone was really impressed about something I did. I felt accepted and comfortable and like everything was all right again.

Unfortunately, when I woke up I was back in reality. Nobody was happy about anything, least of all me. At least it was Sunday. I got up and went downstairs. I ate breakfast and then Jared called. Did I want to come skate with him and Paul Auster and check out the new rails at the convention center? I did.

Jared picked me up. When I got in the car, he looked at my board. “That isn’t your board.”

“Yeah it is, I just got it.”

“What’d you get a new board for?”

“My dad bought it for me,” I said, which was sort of true. “I wanted to try something different.”

Jared looked at it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why would I tell you?” I said, grabbing it back from him.

“I gotta skate with you, dude. I don’t want some wuss board riding next to me.”