I sat in the darkness, welcoming the solitude. Matt was out with his college buddies at my insistence because I needed time alone. When they called right after the cops left, he had been reluctant to go out because of what was happening and because it was a Sunday night. When I impressed upon him that I really would like the place to myself, he left, albeit grudgingly. I couldn’t help sighing with relief after he was gone. I loved him dearly, but sometimes he was too close. I needed time to think about all that had happened, and to decide what—if anything—I wanted to do from here. Even though I had promised Matt that I would see this through, I was having second thoughts. Talking to the cops had reinforced my doubts, and I tended to agree with them that this was a case best left to the professionals.
I fucking hated wasting my time, and that’s what this endeavor seemed to be to me. Kayla wouldn’t know the truth if she fell into it or if it hit her over the head. Every instinct she had told her to lie, manipulate and connive her way out of a situation. I didn’t think she trusted anyone, including herself, so what motivation would she have to tell the truth? If my mom was right and Kayla didn’t even care if she got Danny back, well, then, all bets were off. Most mothers valued their children’s lives more than their own, but this mother seemed to be the exception. If Kayla couldn’t be prodded by the disappearance of her son, what would yank her chain? The only answer I could think of was endangerment to her livelihood or her freedom.
“That’s it,” I said, bolting upright. I had enough in my hands to fry Kayla if I wanted. I was sure the cops would be more than eager to read Kayla’s secret stash. In fact, the interview this afternoon didn’t end on the best note because dumpy Detective Daily had been convinced I was hiding something….
“You’re a psychic,” Detective Daily repeated, the scorn evident in her voice. They had been interrogating me for over an hour in my living room—Matt had been banished to his room—and there had been little variation in their patter. Neither could quite believe my claims, though I told them what I’d told Kayla. “You know what I think?” Detective Daily asked, leaning forward until she was in my face. She had frizzy brown hair that framed a dead-white chubby face. Her eyes were small and hard while her lips were thin. She had the singularly most unprepossessing face I’d ever seen in my life, and she did little to enhance it. “I think you’re a con who preys on people involved in tragedies. Psychic!” She almost spat out the last word, landing spittle on my cheek. I stared at her in distaste, wanting to tell her to polish her hard-ass act because she wasn’t impressing me.