Page 72 of Heartbreak Bay

“Connor, don’t answer him.”

Holland looks at me, then back to the boy. “So you’re saying you didn’t make that post, then?”

“I’m calling a lawyer,” I say, and take out my phone. “I don’t like any of this. He’s not answering questions. Connor, be quiet—you don’t need to say anything at all.” I have a criminal lawyer in my contacts; we’ve needed her before, and I know she’ll show up fast. I don’t know what Gwen would do, but the last thing I want is for Connor to make a deadly mistake. “Connor, he’s not on your side.”

“But I didn’t do it,” Connor says.

“Then you’ve got no reason not to talk to me,” Holland says.

“No.” I say it flatly, and put a hand on Connor’s shoulder when he tries to respond. “We’re done. You want to prove that he did it, go ahead and try to do that without the help of a fifteen-year-old. That’s your job.”

Holland sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Let me just lay my cards on the table, all right? Then you can decide what you want to do.”

“Pass. Because legally, you get to cheat at cards.” I hit the contact number and get an answering service. “Yeah, I’m going to need Ms.Moore down here for Connor Proctor at KPD Central. He’s not under arrest, but he’s going to need representation.” I give my callback number and hang up. Holland has a hangdog, disappointed look. I don’t care. “Go ahead. Lay it out if you still want to.”

He shakes his head, sighs, and gives Connor a look that clearly says he wishes I hadn’t done that. I care even less. “Okay,” Holland says. “Well, as you know, we have an internet post under Connor’s name in which he threatens to go on a killing spree—”

“I didn’t post that!” Connor says. I put a hand on his shoulder, and he subsides, but I can feel how tense he is.

“He knows you didn’t,” I say. “Don’t you, Detective? And he also knows about the vandals at our house. And the flyers. Kind of wonder why he thinksyoushould be the one in handcuffs, considering all that.”

“I didn’t want to bring you in here,” Holland says. He’s still directing it toward Connor, not me. “Tried real hard to avoid it, in fact.”

I snap my fingers and tap the table. “Hey. Talk to me. Not to him. He’s done answering.”

Holland does, finally. He meets my gaze squarely and holds it. He looks genuinely sorrowful. They’ve deployed their A game on this, I can feel it; he probably cracks a lot of suspects just through sheer empathy. It’d work with Connor, if I’d allow that.

I smile. “Go ahead and tell me what you think you have. Because I guarantee you, you have nothing worth pursuing.”

“I have a witness who swears he saw Connor with a gun. Showing it off at school last week, in fact. He goes by Ripperkid on that message board, did you know that? And we’ve also got another witness who heard Connor publicly state on multiple occasions that he intends to kill a whole bunch of people. We take that seriously, Mr.Cade. I sure hope you do too.”

“That’s a lie!” Connor leans forward, his face flushed, fists clenched. I tighten my grip on his shoulder and get him to lean back. “Dad! I didn’t!”

“Maybe it is, son,” Holland says. He seems sorrowful about it. “But those two people called in complaintsyesterday. Before this post was ever made.”

“Convenient timing,” I tell him. “You have any corroboration on that? Other kids who back it up?”

Holland doesn’t say anything. He just sighs. “Mr.Cade, we both know that I can lie about that to you—tell you I’ve got twenty kids all on the record, tell you there’s school video, tell you all manner of things. And even if I wasn’t lying, you’d obviously believe I was. So I don’t know how you want me to answer that question in a way that makes sense. But I’ll tell you this, and I’m being as straight as I can: I have corroboration.”

I open my mouth, then close it. I need to take my own advice. I don’t look at Connor. I stare straight at the detective, and he stares back, and then finally he scoots his chair back. “I’ll let you know when your lawyer gets here,” he says.

The door shuts behind him, and I hear the lock click. We’re not going anywhere.

Connor says, “Sam, I didn’t—”

“Don’t,” I say. “They have cameras in the room, and they can hear anything we say. Tell me once your lawyer gets here because they’ll have to turn them off, but not until then. Okay?”

He looks miserable, pale, absolutely wretched. But he nods. I put my arm around him, and we lean together in silence. I’m scared for him. It’s hard to read Holland. Hemightbe telling the truth about a witness, and about having more than one. I don’t know. I still believe Connor, but ... this isn’t looking good.

It takes an eternity—well, two and a half hours—for our attorney to arrive and the police to decide they won’t try to charge Connor. Which tells me that if they do have witnesses, they’re not confident about them. Not yet.

We drive home. I’m so tired I feel lightheaded, and I have to focus hard on the road, but I say, “Ripperkid?”

Connor winces. “I know,” he says. “That—doesn’t look great.”

“Want to tell me why you picked it?”

“It’s what they call me at school,” he says. “Once word got around. And word always gets around. I figured I probably should own it. I talked to Lanny about it. She thought it was cool.”

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