Noah patted me on the shoulder. Mom, everything is fine. Ethan assured me everything would be okay.
Who spoke to you, Noah?
He looked at the ground. Ethan did it.
Have you heard of him?
No. What was the person’s appearance?
“A man,” answered Noah.
Did he contact you?
Noah held out the plastic toy and said, “No, he just gave me this dinosaur.” My brother gave it to me, he informed me.
The policeman knelt down to Noah’s height. Have you heard that man’s name?
Noah shook his head. He simply apologized for the collision.
I felt like I had more tones in my chest. A second agent entered the room and spoke quietly with the first.
“We located him near the maintenance shed,” the agent said. “He is collaborating with us.”
I commented in a dry voice: “I need to see it.”
The officers led us to a small meeting room. He was sitting at the table without his baseball cap, revealing his thinning hair and puffy, red eyes. His fists were clenched. When he entered the room, he looked up.
“Mrs. Elana,” he said incoherently.
Noah hid under my legs while the police told me not to talk to the boy.
I said, “Noah, go with Mrs. Alvarez for a moment.”
But Noah argued, “Mom, I want to stay with you.”
I insisted: “Go now.”
I looked at the man as the door clicked shut. You were talking to my son, but why?
He grimaced, reluctant to look me in the eye. I didn’t mean to scare him.
You told my son to keep secrets and we used my deceased son’s name.
In defeat, his shoulders gave way. I am aware of it.
The police asked for his name. For the record, please indicate your name.
“Raymond,” he said quietly.
Why did you approach the child? The police applied pressure.
Raymond looked at his trembling hands. Last week I saw him at the school entrance. He looks a lot like Ethan.
I felt my nails digging into my palms. So you found out about his school?
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