Eye Contact by Cammie McGovern Read Free Book Online Page A

who has only seen Adam at his worst, looking more autistic than he has in years, should hold out more hope for a breakthrough from him than she does.
    As they wait, watching the empty room, Lincoln is apparently free to explain some particulars about what they’ve found: “Here’s the thing,” he says softly. “We’ve got a couple of unusual factors here. The first one is: no one noticed these two kids leaving. I mean no one. None of the teachers, not a single student, and we’ve talked to all three classrooms at this point. Something like this, you’d expect a ripple effect—one person dared them, one person saw them, told another person. Nothing like that. As far as we can tell, there was no one else involved in their leaving.”
    Cara nods. To her this makes sense. Adam wouldn’t leave the playground on a dare because he wouldn’t recognize what one was.
    Lincoln shifts in his seat. “The other thing is: we’ve got forty officers at the site right now, gathering evidence. Outdoor crime scene like this, hard to tell how useful any of it’s going to be. You collect two hundred cigarette butts, five of them with lipstick, what does that tell you? Someone wearing lipstick has been there, smoking. Nothing, basically. The point is, we’ve got one thing going for us: the ground is soft. It’s been raining, right, so we’ve been able to pull up some footprints—good ones—but only of the kids. We can find lots of evidence of the two kids there, a lot that shows us what we should be able to find, but we can’t. Bear in mind, adults are heavier, so usually it’s much easier to get their footprints. This is the opposite of what you’d expect.”
    The door opens, and Adam walks into the interview room, followed by a middle-aged female psychologist Cara has met, another woman, and a man Cara hasn’t seen before. The psychologist starts by pulling out crayons, paper, and two cloth dolls, one a boy and one a girl. Cara knows these won’t work, that Adam won’t draw a picture voluntarily, and dolls are meaningless to him—the table might as well be scattered with clothing. Adam sees what the woman is putting on the table and drifts away to the far wall of the room.
    â€œThere are also no tire marks on the dirt-road entry. No one—so far—has reported seeing anyone on the road. Now, it’s still early and this may very well change. But so far we can’t find evidence of anyone else in the woods.”
    Jesus, Cara thinks as she watches Adam do something he hasn’t done in years—stand in the corner of the room, facing the wall, and rock.
    â€œNow, a guy can be good, okay? He can be very meticulous and organized about covering his tracks and cleaning up afterward, which it looks like this guy was, okay? But he can’t run around in a little girl’s shoes, you know what I’m saying?”
    Wait a second. She turns and looks at him: What is he saying? “Does someone think Adam did this?”
    â€œWe’ve got to consider the possibility. He was there, no evidence anyone else was.”
    â€œAdam couldn’t have possibly—”
    He holds up a hand. “Here’s the thing, though. It doesn’t really fit. Where would he have gotten a knife? He has no blood on him. He’d have had to do a lot of covering up, burying the evidence, changing his clothes.”
    â€œHe wouldn’t have done that.”
    â€œRight. We’ve talked to his teachers, talked to people who know him. Bottom line is, anyone sitting with him for three minutes is going to pretty much agree he didn’t do this thing. So, no, he’s not a suspect at this point.” Cara takes a deep breath, feels the knot in her stomach loosen. “But we’re trying to get a picture of what the hell happened. How did two kids get away and across a soccer field, without being seen? Was this planned