Simple by Kathleen George Read Free Book Online Page B

other man had a less polite look. He slumped as he walked.
    If they were tired, what did it mean for Cal? Had they been grilling him all day?
    The conference room had a large wooden table and vinyl upholstered chairs that were on rollers.
    â€œSit, Mrs. Hathaway.”
    She sat. Her chair rolled, making her grab the edge of the table.
    â€œThe floor slants some,” the larger detective said, smiling. “You’ve come to tell us something about your son? Is that right?”
    â€œI’ve come to make sure he’s okay. He can’t handle stress. He probably won’t tell you that he can’t handle it, but I’m here to make sure somebody knows it.”
    The detectives stared at her. “What exactly are you saying?” the skinny one asked.
    â€œThat I want to talk to him. In private. Not”—her hand swept the room’s ceiling—“not with some listening device.”
    â€œThere isn’t anything like that in here,” the big one said, looking first at her, then at his partner. “We could let them talk in here.”
    The other one grunted. He turned to her. “He called you?”
    â€œHe did. Am I supposed to get him a lawyer?”
    â€œIs that what he asked for?”
    â€œHe didn’t ask me anything. He just said he was having a bad day. He found a body and he was upset that he couldn’t get out to go home. Why … why are you keeping him here?”
    â€œHe’s a key witness. He found the body. He’s a witness.”
    â€œDid he do it?” Everything stopped moving. Her words hung in the air.
    â€œWe thought perhaps you were here to tell us that.”
    â€œI won’t let him be bullied. He’s had a hard life. He—did he tell you he’s deaf in one ear? Did he let you know he doesn’t always hear what you’re saying?”
    â€œNo, he didn’t mention that.”
    â€œIt slows him down.”
    â€œWe thought it was something else.”
    â€œThere are other things.”
    â€œCan you tell us?”
    She studied them. She didn’t know what to do except explain. So she began. “When he was a boy, he got beat up at school. Badly. He had a concussion that … did not reverse, or whatever, right away. And after that he got a seizure one day at school, and so the same boys beat him again. Nobody should have to go through that. The boys got away. Nothing ever happened to them.”
    â€œI’m sorry. That’s terrible.”
    â€œYes, it is. He fought to make a comeback. He did okay in school in the long run, but he’s never been totally … confident. The doctor said a brain injury is … tricky.”
    â€œWhat are you trying to tell us?” the skinny one asked, and again she felt afraid of him. “That he has excuses for certain—”
    The other one quieted him. “Just a minute. I’m interested in this injury. How is he not okay? Can you be specific? Seizures?”
    â€œJust the one to my knowledge.”
    â€œDid he ever sleepwalk?”
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œBlack out?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHe did?”
    â€œFor a couple years he had memory problems. Things he just didn’t remember.” It was the truth. Would the truth help him if he did it or would they just hold it against him? “Please don’t batter at him. I’m afraid for him. A seizure is a terrifying thing.”
    The two detectives sat for a long time as if thinking. Finally the friendlier one said, “I’m going to let you talk to him while my partner and I talk to each other.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œShould I—” She stood.
    â€œNo. You stay here. We’ll bring him to you. Maybe you can get him to tell us what happened.”
    It seemed to her she waited a long time, though it was probably four minutes. She couldn’t sit. When her son came in, she stood and hugged him for a