Chapter 3: What Ryan Would Not Say
I set the photograph on my desk and looked at Ryan for a long time.
He had stopped fighting the officers holding him.
That was the first change.
Men like Ryan — men who charged through police station doors and grabbed at small boys — they didn't go quiet unless they were calculating something.
"Take him to Interview Room Two," I said.
"Don't say anything to him until I get there."
Officer Tran nodded and walked Ryan out.
Ryan went without a word, but at the door he turned and looked at Evan one more time.
Not with anger.
With something closer to warning.
Evan pressed against my side.
I put my hand on his shoulder.
"You're safe.
No one is taking you anywhere."
A woman from our family services unit, Carol, appeared in the doorway.
She was already holding a juice box and a foil-wrapped granola bar.
She had good instincts.
"Come on, sweetheart," she said to Evan.
"Let's find you somewhere comfortable while the officers do their work."
Evan looked up at me.
"You're not leaving?"
"I'll be right down the hall.
I promise."
He studied my face the way children do when they are deciding whether an adult can be trusted.
Then he went with Carol.
I stood alone at my desk and looked at the photograph again.
Daniel.
Smiling.
Standing in front of a house with a green door and a cracked concrete step.
I didn't recognize the house.
I didn't recognize the street.
But the smile I knew.
That was the smile he used when he thought everything was going to be fine.
He had been wrong about that before.
I picked up the evidence bag and walked to Interview Room Two.
Ryan was seated with his arms crossed.
He had composed himself.
Whatever fear had crossed his face in the main room was gone now, replaced by something flat and practiced.
I sat across from him and placed the photograph on the table between us.
"Tell me about this."
He glanced at it.
"Never seen it."
"It was in your car, Ryan."
"People leave things in cars.
I give people rides."
"Daniel's handwriting is on the back.
I grew up reading that handwriting."
"I don't know what to tell you.
I don't know who wrote that."
I leaned forward slightly.
"You knew Daniel."
"I knew a guy named Daniel.
Dated my wife before me.
That's all."
"Your wife is Evan's mother."
"Yes."
"And Daniel is Evan's biological father."
Something moved across his face.
Just for a second.
"That's what she told me."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that's what she told me." He looked at the wall.
"Look, I came to get my stepson.
He runs off sometimes.
He's a troubled kid."
I looked at the bruises visible on my memory of Evan's arms.
"Who gave him those bruises?"
"He falls.
He's clumsy."
"Both arms.
His face."
"I want a lawyer."
The room went quiet.
Ryan stared at the table.
I stared at Ryan.
Then my radio crackled.
Officer Tran's voice came through low and careful.
"Detective.
You need to come see what we just pulled up on the system.
It's about the house in that photograph."
Ryan's eyes moved to my radio.
His jaw tightened again.
"Don't go anywhere," I told him.
May you like
He said nothing.
But his right hand, resting on the table, curled slowly into a fist.
