Snitch (6 page)

“What's the matter?” Amy said.

“That woman who just came out of that room? That's Scott's mother.”

She peeked around the corner.

“She's down by the elevator. Maybe she's leaving. Or going for coffee or something.”

“Let's get out of here,” I said.

“You came to see him. So go see him. I'll wait by the door and let you know if anyone is coming.”

I shook my head.

“Come on, Josh,” she said. “You're a good guy. I know it.”

There were those blue eyes again, looking right into me. Then she took my hand and led me to Scott's room as if I was a little kid. She pushed me inside.

“I'll let you know when anyone comes,” she said.

Scott's eyes were closed, but he opened them when I came into the room. He had one black eye and a huge bandage on his head.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

He smiled just a little and then winced. “I've got a really bad headache,” he said.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“I think so. They said I have a concussion and they want to watch me for a while. But they're not acting weird, like I'm dying or anything. And I haven't forgotten anything. At least, I don't think I have.” There was that goofy grin again. If he could grin like that, I figured he'd be okay.

I tried to think of what to say to him. Finally I just said what I had told the cops and Andrew.

“I know I was mad at you for snitching on me,” I said. “To the cops and at the shelter. But I just wanted you to know, it wasn't me, Scott.”

He started to grin again. I couldn't tell if he believed me. Then he said, “Hey, Josh, I—”

“Josh!”

I turned and saw Amy in the doorway.

“We better go,” she said. “His mother's coming back. And there's cops with her.”

I got out of there fast. I saw Scott's mother and the cops down at the nurses' station. They were talking to one of the nurses. I don't think they saw us. We took off down the stairs and kept right on going until we were a couple of blocks from the hospital.

“Did you say what you wanted to say?” Amy asked.

“Yeah.” Then I said something else I wanted to say. “Thanks.”

Miranda was pacing up and down in the kitchen when I came through the door. She was holding Digby in her arms. He wasn't wearing a sleeper like he usually did around the house. Miranda had dressed him in a T-shirt and a pair of little baby jeans. She was more dressed up than usual too.

“Are you going out?” I said.

“The police phoned. They want you to go down to the police station.”

I felt sick, like someone had punched me in the stomach.

“Andrew can't get off work. He said I should go with you.”

“Are they going to arrest me?”

“They just said they wanted to talk to you and that you should come down there.” She picked up Digby's diaper bag and grabbed her keys. “We're going to have to take the bus.”

She didn't say anything all the way to the police station. When we got there, she asked for a police officer by name. It was the woman cop again. She showed us into a room and said she wanted to ask some more questions. She said Miranda could stay if I wanted her there.

“He does,” Miranda said before I could answer. I guessed that Andrew had told her she had to stay with me. She settled Digby on her lap.

The woman cop put my wooden priest onto the table.

“Remember I said we found this in the park where Scott Alexander was beaten up?” she said. I nodded. “Is it yours?”

I stared at it. It was mine. Even without the initials I would have recognized it. It was beat up in a few places—it had been for as long as I could remember.

“Did you take it to the park, Josh?”

“No.”

“Do you have any idea how it got to the park?”

“No.”

“The only fingerprints on it are yours,” she said. “Can you explain that?”

“It's his,” Miranda said. “Of course his fingerprints are on it.”

“I meant, if he isn't the one who hit Scott Alexander with it, why aren't there other fingerprints on it?” the woman cop said. She said it nicely, though. “When was the last time you saw it, Josh?”

“I—I can't remember. A couple of weeks ago, maybe.”

“Did you take it somewhere and lose it?”

I looked at her. The questions weren't the ones I expected.

“No,” I said. “I never take it out of the house. It's always in my room—” I broke off. It wasn't
my
room. “It's always in the living room. That's where I sleep. I keep it in a crate in the living room.”

“So as far as you know, it's never been outside of the apartment?” the woman cop said. She sounded disappointed.

“That's right,” I said.

“Josh, do you own a leather jacket?” the cop said.

“No,” Miranda answered for me.

The cop looked at her. “We can check.”

“He doesn't own a leather jacket,” Miranda said. “Why?”

The cop looked directly at me.

“Scott says he didn't see the guy who attacked him. He says the guy grabbed him from behind, but he could tell he was wearing a leather jacket. He says he tried to get the guy off him. He slammed him backward into the cement wall that runs
around the side of the park. You know that wall, Josh?”

I nodded. I could picture it.

“He says he rammed the guy into the wall and then tried to pull away. He says he could hear the guy's leather jacket scrape against the wall before the guy started hitting him with that.” She nodded at the priest, but she was looking directly at me. “The jacket must have got scraped pretty bad,” she said. “If you look closely, you can see traces of leather on the wall.”

“Josh doesn't have a leather jacket,” Miranda said again.

“Did you borrow the jacket from someone, Josh?”

What?
“No.”

“But this is your weapon. And the only fingerprints on it are yours. And you were mad at Scott. And you were out that night when you should have been at home. Is that right?”

“I didn't do it,” I said.

“So this thing just walked itself down to the park, attached itself to someone
wearing a leather jacket and beat up Scott Alexander? Is that what you're saying, Josh? It just walked out of the apartment by itself?”

“I took it outside,” Miranda said quietly. The cop looked at her. “Josh leaves his stuff lying around, even when I tell him to put it away. I get mad. I tell him if he doesn't pick up after himself, I'll pick everything up and throw it out.” She glanced at me, then looked back at the cop. “I put Josh's box of things outside in the hall once. And out back near the dumpster another time.”

The cop nodded. “How long ago was that?”

“I don't know. A week. A week and a half maybe.”

“And what happened to it?” the cop said.

“I saw the crate when I got home. I brought it back upstairs.”

“Was the priest in it then?”

I shook my head. “I don't know. I didn't check.”

The cop looked at Miranda. “Did you see anyone look at the box or go near the box?”

“No,” Miranda said. “I mean, I didn't check on it or anything. I just left it there. I was pretty mad.” Then she frowned. “But there were some kids hanging around out back when I went out with it.”

“Kids?” the cop said.

“Some teenagers who live in the building.” She looked at me. “That boy who lives at the end of the hall and some of his friends.”

Oh.

Both the cop and Miranda were staring at me.

I stared down at the table.

“You want to know what else Scott Alexander told me, Josh?” the cop said. “He told me he doesn't think you'd be stupid enough to attack him and then leave the weapon right there where someone would find it. Especially that weapon. But he said if you had an idea who did it, you just might be stupid enough to try
to handle it yourself instead of snitching to the cops. Is that right, Josh? Because if it is, you could end up in even more trouble.”

“Josh, do you know who did it?” Miranda said.

I looked at her and at Digby, who was being so good on her lap.

“He was badly hurt, Josh,” the cop said. “And whoever did it to him should be held accountable. It's the right thing to do. Scott said to tell you it's what he would do.”

I pictured Scott saying that. I pictured his goofy smile when he said it.

“Josh,” Miranda said. “You should tell.”

“Jeez, Miranda, stop, would you?” I said. She had fussed at my hair before we left the apartment. She had fussed at my shirt collar before we got into the car. Now that we were in the parking lot at the shelter, she was tugging at the stupid tie I was wearing.

“I just want to straighten it, Josh,” she said. “I want you to look good. Andrew is going to take pictures.”

All of the kids in the program had brought someone with them—a parent, two parents, a guardian, a foster parent. They all looked a lot neater than they normally did and were all wearing their good clothes. Amy was wearing a skirt and a clingy top. She looked amazing. She was with a woman who looked exactly like her, only older. She introduced us—the woman was her mother—and I introduced both of them to Andrew, Miranda and Digby. Scott was there too.

The only person who was missing was Travis. The cops had arrested him. It turned out his cool leather jacket was all scraped in the back from where Scott had dragged it against the wall. He wasn't locked up, but he was in a group home again where he would get close supervision. He wasn't allowed to continue in the program.

Mr. Weller started to clap his hands to get everyone's attention. He talked about the program and what it was supposed to accomplish, both for the dogs and for the
kids. Then he said he wanted the guests to judge for themselves how well we had done. He nodded at Scott, who pulled down a movie screen and turned off the lights.

They played the video from the second day. I remembered that I had been scared the first few times I met Sully, but I was surprised by how scared everyone else looked. I was surprised, too, by how badly behaved the dogs were. They were all jumping and barking and pulling in every direction. Then the camera focused on me making Sully sit. Miranda gasped when Sully lunged at me. Everyone except Miranda laughed when I jumped back fast and stepped on Amy's dog's tail.

“They made you work with that vicious dog?” Miranda said. She sounded shocked.

“He's not vicious,” I said.

After the video, the kids in the program all went out of the room. When we came back, we had our dogs on leashes. The dogs all walked to heel. None of
them barked or jumped. The people in the audience looked sort of stunned, as if they couldn't believe these were the same dogs.

One by one, Mr. Weller called us to the middle of the room. One by one, we showed how well our dogs listened to and obeyed commands. I got Sully to sit, stay, come when called, roll over and shake a paw. Miranda clapped the loudest at the end of his performance.

“You worked wonders with that dog, Josh,” she said.

“Yeah. Good work, Josh,” Andrew said.

We all got a certificate that said we had completed the program and another certificate that said we had successfully passed a dog-training course. Mr. Weller told everyone that most of the dogs had been successfully adopted and would soon be leaving for their new homes. He came up to me after and said that Sully was one of the first to have found a home.

“He's going to a nice family, Josh,” he said. “A nice young couple with a little boy.” He smiled at Andrew, Miranda and Digby. “It looks to me like you and Sully have a lot in common.”

He was right.

“They're always looking for volunteers here at the shelter,” Mr. Weller said. “If you want me to, I can put in a word for you. And you never know,” he added. “Sometimes volunteering leads to a job. Scott started here as a volunteer.”

“I already filled out an application,” I told him. “Scott helped me. I'm going to start next week.” I looked at Andrew. “It's just twice a week,” I said. “I'll also look for a job, I promise.”

“I know you will, Josh,” Andrew said. “So, you want to go get a burger or something to celebrate?”

I said I thought that would be great. Then I said, “Can Scott come too?”

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