Unspeakable (21 page)

F
or a while, his grandfather did all the talking in the police lieutenant's office—and most of it was just friendly BS. He and Collin sat in hard-back chairs in front of the lieutenant's desk. Andy called him
Jim
. He was a lanky, balding man in a dark gray suit with an ugly salmon-colored tie. Collin wondered if he'd put on the tie for his grandfather. A stocky young towheaded cop sat in the corner, behind Jim's desk, taking notes—except for the few minutes when he went to fetch Collin's grandfather some coffee. He came back with it in a Styrofoam cup. Old Andy took one sip and didn't touch it again.

Collin wouldn't exactly say the cops kissed his grandfather's ass, but it came pretty close to that.

They'd called last night at around eleven o'clock with the news about Fernando.

Collin had figured it was something bad as soon as the phone had rung at that hour. His grandfather had answered it in the bedroom.

Listening outside the closed door, Collin sank down on the carpet and tipped his head back against the wall. Mrs. Ryan must have told the police that he was friends with Fernando. He figured the cops wanted to talk with him and find out if he knew anything.

“I'll bring my grandson to the station tomorrow morning at eight-thirty,” he heard his grandfather say. “Now's not a good time. He's already had a rough day, and it looks like things just got rougher. He needs some rest. I'd look at it as a personal favor if you let this wait until morning. All right, Jim?”

A few minutes later, his grandfather stepped out of the bedroom with his robe on. Collin looked up at him from where he sat sobbing on the hallway floor. His grandfather didn't have to say anything.

His grandparents stayed up to keep him company. They gathered at the kitchen table—his grandfather with some scotch, and Dee with herbal tea. She kept asking Collin if she could fix him a sandwich, and he kept telling her no, thanks. At one point, Dee broke down and wept. After his initial crying jag in the upstairs hall, Collin had become sort of numb and dazed.

His grandparents finally went up to bed around midnight. “Let me do most of the talking with the police tomorrow,” his grandfather whispered, giving him a hug.

Collin stayed up another two hours, spending most of the time on his computer. Before turning in, he adjusted the webcam, switched it on
record
, and then crawled into bed. Once his head hit the pillow, the numbness wore off, and he fell asleep crying for his dead friends.

This morning, he'd played back the webcam recording—in fast motion. He'd tossed and turned some, but hadn't budged from his bed all night.

That didn't mean he wasn't tired and nervous as hell right now in the police office. Though his grandfather acted as if they were just dropping in on some old friends, Collin was completely on edge. He couldn't help thinking they were about to arrest him. Sitting there across from the two policemen, his leg shook.

The lieutenant asked him how well he knew Fernando, if Fernando had any other friends—or any enemies. How often had he hitchhiked? Did he have any favorite hangouts? Collin answered honestly, saying Fernando sometimes thumbed a ride to school and to the mall on weekends. “He thought it was a cool way to meet new people,” Collin explained. “But I have to admit, I've always thought it kind of risky.”

“What exactly do they think happened, Jim?” Collin's grandfather interjected.

“Well, Collin has helped confirm some things for us,” the balding man said, shifting a bit behind his desk. A map of Kitsap Peninsula was on the wall behind him. “We're pretty sure on his way to school Fernando was picked up by some—” He shot a wary look at Collin.

“Go ahead,” his grandfather prompted him.

The lieutenant sighed. “We're—um, still trying to determine if the boy had been molested or violated. The body was naked when it was discovered in a ditch along Silverdale Way last night. It looks like he was hit over the head at one point—”

“Was that the cause of death?” Collin's grandfather asked.

The lieutenant shook his head. “No, someone slit his throat. We'll know more after the coroner files his report.” He straightened his salmon-colored tie, and glanced at Collin again. “Meanwhile, we're wondering if Fernando got in touch with you anytime Monday. He never made it to school. I understand from Mrs. Ryan you missed school on Monday as well.”

“That's right,” Collin's grandfather answered for him. “I was feeling under the weather Monday morning. Didn't even put in an hour on the golf course before I turned around and hightailed it home. I had some important errands to run in Seattle that day, and I sent Collin to take care of them. I called the school in the afternoon and talked to a nice lady, and explained it was my fault Collin was AWOL.” Andy reached over and put his hand on Collin's knee—apparently to keep his leg from shaking. “He was off the island all day. Anyway, I hope you don't sic the truant officer on us.”

The lieutenant seemed to work up a smile. Collin was waiting for him to ask what kind of
important errands
he'd run for his grandfather in Seattle, but he didn't. “So—just to double-check,” he said. “Fernando didn't call you or leave a message any time Monday?”

Collin shook his head. “No, sir, the only person who called me was Gail Pelham, around six o'clock, when I was getting off the ferry. . . .”

His grandfather squeezed his knee. Collin could tell old Andy thought he was offering too much information. But the police certainly had to think it was one hell of a coincidence that his only two friends both died under different circumstances within twenty-four hours of each other. Collin kept talking. His stomach was in knots. “Gail called to tell me their house had been broken into. So I swung by—just to check in on her. Neither one of us knew Fernando was missing at the time. I got the call from Mrs. Ryan later that night.”

“Must have been an awful shock to hear about Gail and her family,” the lieutenant said.

He nodded. “Yeah, I was supposed to pick her up and take her to school yesterday. I came by and saw the policemen there, and the firemen cleaning up.”

“You didn't talk to any of them?”

“No, but I talked to a neighbor on the street in front of their house—or at least, what was left of it. She said Mr. and Mrs. Pelham, and Chris, and Gail, all of them were—”

“He was pretty rattled when he came home and told me,” his grandfather interrupted. “I had him lie down for a while. Poor guy, he hadn't slept well the night before, worried about Fernando. In fact, I couldn't sleep either on Monday night. I got up around two, and went downstairs and watched TV.” He turned to Collin. “I heard you get up a few times. I don't know when you finally fell asleep—must have been a little before four in the morning. I peeked in on you at around four-fifteen, and you were snoozing. . . .”

“Four-fifteen,” the lieutenant repeated.

Collin's grandfather nodded. It was all a lie. But old Andy had just given him a perfect alibi. “The last couple of days have been pretty tough,” he went on. “Do they have any idea what started the fire? Do they think it had anything to do with the break-in earlier?”

“Possibly,” the lieutenant said. “The fire department is still investigating it.” His eyes narrowed at Collin. “Do you know if Gail had any enemies at school?”

“There are some girls in our class who are pretty mean to her,” Collin admitted, shrugging. “But I don't really think they'd have taken it that far.”

The police lieutenant asked for the girls' names. Collin reluctantly named three classmates who had made Gail's life miserable. He figured there was a slight, slight chance one of them had something to do with the break-in. But none of them had started that fire.

No. Starting fires had been Wade Grinnell's specialty.

Collin and his grandfather finally got out of the lieutenant's office around nine-thirty. But old Andy spent another twenty minutes roaming the City Hall corridors and dropping into one office after another to shake people's hands.

A young, uniformed policeman held the door open for him and his grandfather as they stepped out of City Hall. The morning was cloudy, gray, and cold. Collin quietly thanked the cop, but his grandfather stopped and shook his hand, too. Collin continued down the steps in front of the tall, modern, red-brick building. At the bottom step, Collin turned back and watched his grandfather still chatting with the young cop. “Oh, God, Grandpa,” he muttered under his breath. “Can we please just get out of here already?”

His grandfather waved at him to come up. “Collin, this is Timmy Kinsella,” he said. “His dad was one of the best foremen we ever had at the plant. . . .” Collin had to hear all about Timmy's mom and dad, retired and now living in Tampa. He kept telling himself he should be grateful to his grandfather, who had just lied for him. Behind that smile and his friendly BS, old Andy had to be hurting inside. Even with all his clout and all these people sucking up to him, he had to feel awful. His daughter had been a total screwup most of her life. And now there was every possibility his only grandson had started a fire, killing four innocent people.

His grandfather finally patted the young cop on the shoulder and said good-bye. Collin walked down the City Hall steps with him. Neither one of them said anything. His grandfather pressed the device on his car key chain, and his BMW beeped. Collin climbed into the passenger side while his grandfather got behind the wheel. He started up the car.

But he just sat there for a moment with his hands on the wheel.

“Grandpa,” Collin said. “I'm really sorry you had to lie for me.”

His grandfather just shook his head and started crying.

 

 

In the car, on the way home, he tried to convince his grandfather to let him go back to school today. He pointed out that if he left the house at 10:30, he could be there in time for third period. He really didn't want to sit around at home all day, and he knew his grandparents wouldn't want him going off on his own—not after what had happened to Fernando. He pointed out that if he missed any more school, it would be tougher for him to catch up. The sooner he could go back to a normal routine, the better his chances for actually feeling normal again.

His grandfather seemed skeptical. But by the time he pulled into the driveway, he had agreed to write a note for Collin's homeroom teacher.

“Promise me you won't go off on your own or take any chances. I know you don't hitchhike or anything like that. But let's not forget, there's someone out there, and the police haven't caught him yet.” He switched off the engine to his BMW, and then leaned back in the driver's seat. “And just so we understand each other. There won't be any more secret trips. No obsessing about this reincarnation stuff and hypnotism and all that hocus-pocus . . .”

Collin shook his head resolutely. “No, sir.”

“And I want you back home by four.”

“Yes, no sweat, Grandpa.”

While his grandfather tried to get Dee on board with this arguably premature back-to-school idea, Collin retreated up to his room and gathered his schoolbooks.

He couldn't help worrying something might happen to his grandparents while he was gone. It seemed everyone close to him—or at least, anyone who had spent time with him lately—wasn't safe. He thought about Mrs. Pollack-Martin. He'd been at her place for nearly two hours on Monday. Someone had left him that note on the ferry on his way back from that visit. Had the same person followed him all the way to Leavenworth and back?

It would be easy to kill an elderly lady in a rest home and make it look like an accident or natural causes. She could be smothered in her sleep or thrown down a flight of stairs, and no one would know what really happened.

Collin wished he could warn his grandparents and Mrs. Pollack-Martin. But how could he explain to them that they might be in danger? How could he make them understand when he didn't even understand himself?

With a sigh, he started to load up his backpack—even though he had no intention of going to school today. He held on to his spiral notebook for a moment. In the back of it he'd tucked away some printouts he'd made on his computer last night. He unfolded the first sheet of paper and stole a look at it:

It was the
Explore Your Past Lives
part that had really piqued Collin's interest. He'd gone online last night and, using a phony name, booked an appointment with Dr. Dorian at 12:15 today. Under
Reason for Visit
, he'd typed in:
To answer questions about my past life.

 

 

He wasn't even a real doctor. His stupid initials were D.R., but it sure didn't look that way on his website. Collin figured he was about as phony as his name: Dante Reynaldo Dorian. His office was actually a dumpy, messy apartment on Eastlake that smelled like death. He had four cats, one of which was mean and kept taking claw-swipes at Collin's leg. Every piece of furniture in the place had been scratched to shreds. D.R. was a large man in his mid-forties with receding flaxen hair. He wore a poncho. He spent the first twenty-five minutes of their session bragging to Collin about his
gift
for tapping into people's past lives.