9
Tuesday, April 13
8:00 a.m.
Birmingham Police Department
First Avenue North
“I don’t disagree with you, Devlin.”
Kerri searched her partner’s face. They should be working on their assigned case; instead she wanted his thoughts about Tori. He and Tori had talked about what had happened at school over dinner last night. He’d spent a great deal of time afterward just reassuring her. There was no question he’d formed an opinion. But he was holding back.
“We’ve worked together almost a year, Falco. Don’t try faking me out. This is my daughter we’re talking about.”
Feet propped on his desk and hands clasped behind his head, Falco held her gaze a second or two before confessing, “She’s not being completely forthcoming. You’re right. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“We need to know what she’s holding back.” Kerri almost felt as if he was fighting her on this. Maybe not fighting, but definitely too restrained, which was not like him at all.
His feet hit the floor, and he leaned forward. “Does that mean it’s relevant to the actual event—Myers falling—I can’t say. You know how kids are. Hell, they hate a lot of people at this age. They’re also embarrassed by their own thoughts. Maybe she wished Myers would be hurt somehow. The girl hurt Tori’s friend, which hurt her.” He turned his palms up in question.
Kerri made up her mind then and there. “I’ll be back.”
“Dev . . . lin,” he warned, drawing out the syllables as she walked away.
She ignored him.
Across the bullpen in their own cubicle, Sykes and Peterson were huddled over their case board. Kerri cleared her throat, and the two jumped apart as if they’d been discussing the latest issue of some porn magazine.
The instant their gazes crashed into her, they sidestepped toward each other in a perfectly choreographed routine, aligning their shoulders to block her view of the case board.
“Anything new on Myers?” She’d checked with the hospital this morning, and the girl’s condition had been unchanged. An old friend with whom Kerri attended college worked at the hospital. She’d been more than happy to share an update. She didn’t have to know Kerri wasn’t involved in the investigation. The subject never even came up. The other woman simply assumed, which was what Kerri had hoped for.
Sykes made a face. “You know we can’t talk about this case with you, Devlin.”
Peterson crossed his arms over his chest. “Unless you’ve got something new to share.”
Anger sparked inside her. “Let’s just hope I’m never assigned a case that affects either of you, because I’ll have a difficult time forgetting this.”
It was a childish tactic, but she was desperate. This was her daughter’s life. The dread on Tori’s face when Kerri had taken her to school this morning had been very nearly more than she could bear. A part of her had hoped Tori would break down and spill whatever she was holding back. But she hadn’t.
If she had nothing to hide, there was no reason she shouldn’t return to school.
Still, Kerri felt enormous guilt for sending her in to face whatever music the other kids decided to play today. Kids could be so cruel.
Being a teenager sucked. It had two decades ago, when she’d been in the midst of those angst-filled years, and it did now.
Sykes and Peterson shared a look, then stepped apart, allowing her to see their case board.
“As you can see,” Peterson groused, “we got nothing more than we had yesterday.”
Kerri moved closer to read the scribbled notes visible just over Peterson’s right shoulder. Details about Alice, the new girl to the group. “What have you learned about Cortez?”
“Not a whole lot.” Sykes followed Kerri’s gaze to the girl’s photo. “She was homeschooled when she lived with her parents in Sinaloa. She moved to Birmingham last fall and started school at Walker Academy. She transferred to Brighton in January. The teachers love her. She’s reportedly brilliant and extraordinarily well behaved.”
The girl couldn’t make friends, according to Tori. Kerri frowned. “Why the move from Walker to Brighton?” Walker was regarded with equal respect. Brighton leaned more toward the arts, while Walker was better known for the sciences. “Was the academic philosophy not the right fit?”
Peterson shrugged. “We have no clue about the philosophy, academic or otherwise. Some people send their kids to public school.” He arrowed a look at Kerri, she rolled her eyes, and he went on. “According to the principal—”
“School head,” she corrected. The term was once headmaster, but that had changed in recent years.
“Whatever,” Peterson bounced back. “Alice Cortez claimed there were big problems at the school. She didn’t like the atmosphere. She feared for her safety.”
A problem at the previous school and now this? Interesting. “Was she involved in any sort of incident?”
“Nope,” Peterson said flatly.
“But there were a couple of incidents while she was there,” Sykes confessed with a sideways glance at his partner.
Kerri lifted her eyebrows in question. The two didn’t appear to be on the same page as far as sharing was concerned. Strange. They were usually like an old married couple—in it together until the bitter end. “And?”
“Two kids tried to check out”—Sykes made air quotes—“just before Christmas break. Her guardians decided Alice was right that the atmosphere was all wrong.”
Obviously, the suicide attempts weren’t successful, or the devastating events would have been all over the news. “Did Alice know either of the students involved?”
“Walker is a lot smaller than Brighton,” Patterson grumbled. “How could she not? But she says she didn’t really know them.”
“Have you interviewed the two students at Walker?”
“Can’t get past the parents.” Sykes shook his head. “You know how rich people are. They want to keep their secrets. Don’t want anything like that on the kid’s personal record. Might keep them out of an Ivy League institution.”
To a degree, this was true of any parent. Sykes should know that. He had three kids of his own. No one wanted their child to carry any sort of shame for the rest of their lives. At least not as long as unfair social stigma existed.
Kerri argued, “Then you can’t be sure Cortez didn’t know the students or play some part in their decision to, as you say, check out.” Was throwing another kid under the bus necessary to rule out the possibility of Tori’s involvement in this nightmare? The idea cramped inside Kerri.
Had she become that parent?
Could she do the same with Sarah Talley? A kid she had known for nearly a decade? Tori’s friend?
Nothing about this was simple and certainly not painless.
“Did Tori say something that suggested Cortez might be that kind of kid?”
The question Sykes posed was the same one Kerri would have asked had their roles been reversed. “No.” She opted not to mention the comment her daughter had made about how creepy the Cortez home was. “Tori’s statement hasn’t changed.”