My 16-year-old son d*ed in an accident while riding home from his best friend's house — a week later, I found his phone with a message that began, "I did everything you asked me to do."

Three days after Mercer's arrest, Caleb came to my door.

He was alone.

He looked like he hadn't slept in a week.

He was still wearing his school jacket, even though it was a Saturday.

I opened the door and looked at him.

"Mrs.

Hartley," he said.

His voice cracked on the second word.

"I need to tell you something."

I stepped back and let him in.

We sat in the living room — the same room where he had sat with Jeremy dozens of times over the years, playing video games, eating cereal, talking about nothing.

He sat on the edge of the couch with his hands between his knees and stared at the floor.

"I didn't know," he said.

"I need you to believe that.

I didn't know what my dad was going to do."

"Tell me what you did know," I said.

He looked up.

His eyes were red.

"My dad asked me to get someone to take the photos.

Someone he didn't know, someone who couldn't be connected to him.

I told him about Jeremy — that Jeremy was trustworthy, that he wouldn't talk." His voice broke.

"I told him Jeremy was my best friend."

"And then?"

"Jeremy did it.

He took the photos and the video.

But then he got scared and told me he'd made copies.

My dad found out." Caleb pressed his hands together.

"He told me to tell Jeremy to delete everything.

I told Jeremy.

Jeremy said he would.

And then—"

He stopped.

"And then he d*ed," I said.

"I swear I didn't know my dad would—" He couldn't finish the sentence.

"When it happened, I told myself it was an accident.

I told myself it had to be an accident.

But then I sent those messages to Jeremy's phone because I — I don't know why.

I think I needed someone to know.

I think I needed you to find it."

I sat with that for a moment.

"You knew I might find the phone," I said.

"I hoped you would." He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

"Jeremy told me.

He said, *If anything happens, she'll find it.* And when he d*ed and nobody was asking questions — I thought if I sent those messages, maybe you'd look."

The room was very still.

"Caleb," I said carefully.

"Have you spoken to the police?"

"Not yet.

My mom wants me to.

My dad's lawyer told me not to." He looked at me directly.

"I don't care what the lawyer says.

I'll tell them everything.

Whatever they need.

Jeremy was my best friend and I got him into this and I have to — I have to do something."

I looked at this boy who had sat at my table and eaten my food and watched my son grow up alongside him.

"I'm going to call Detective Voss," I said.