The Rag and Bone Shop by Robert Cormier Read Free Book Online Page B

himself, announcing only his own family name. “I’m Trent.”
    He motioned to the boy to be seated, maneuvering deftly so that the boy ended up in the lower chair. Trent seated himself opposite, slouching a bit so that his loftier appearance would not be obvious until later and even then almost subliminally.
    “I appreciate your cooperation, Jason. And will try to make this as brief and as painless as possible. It would be wonderful if you came up with information that would help find the perpetrator of this terrible crime.” Voice mild, informal.
    The boy nodded. “I hope I can help. I’ll do my best.”
    His first words. Well-modulated voice. A small swallow before answering. Hands moving slightly but not defensively.
    “I know you will.”
    Jason shot a quick glance around the room, observing it for the first time.
    “Sorry for the smallness of the office,” Trent said. “All the rooms are being used and we drew this one.” The use of
we
designed to give the boy a sense of their being in this together, as partners, as associates.
    Nodding again, Jason seemed to relax, settling back a bit in the chair.
    Trent positioned his hand over the Record button of the tape recorder. “For the purpose of accuracy, we’ll be recording our conversation. Is this acceptable, Jason?”
    The boy nodded in agreement.
    Trent looked at the boy’s trusting face, the surface innocence in his wide-eyed gaze. Was he truly innocent or was this a mask? Trent was aware of the masks people wear and it was his job to remove the masks, if not entirely, then at least to allow a glimpse of the evil underneath. Was there evil in this boy? Was he capable of an evil act? We are all capable, Trent thought, remembering Carl Seaton and the innocence in his eyes, which resembled the look in the eyes of Jason Dorrant.
    “Just relax, Jason. Think of this as a conversation, no more, no less.” Trent was conscious of using his avuncular voice. “We’ll talk about the events of Monday. What you saw and what you remember seeing.” He was conscious of avoiding the word
murder,
would use soft words throughout the interrogation. “Memory is a strange device, Jason.” The constant use of Jason’s name was important, personal, avoiding the impersonal. “It plays tricks. What we remember or think we remember. And the opposite, what we’ve forgotten or think we’ve forgotten. We’ll find out about it all together.” Establishing them as a team. “Think of this as a kind of adventure.”
    “I
hope
I can help out,” the boy said.
    “Don’t worry about it. Just relax. We’re alone here. Only the two of us. You don’t mind being alone, away from the rest of your friends, do you?”
    And now the first important step.
    “I mean, we can have other people here, if you want. A lawyer or counsel. Or even your mother.”
    The object was to isolate the boy, to avoid the presence of a lawyer or parent or guardian. It had to be done immediately at the outset and so deftly that the boy would not become suspicious. The words were important, of course, because they would appear on the official record—audio and transcript—but what would not show up on the record was Trent’s casual attitude, the shrug of his shoulders that conveyed the ridiculous idea of having other people present. The mention of his mother was deliberate, counting on the boy’s preadolescent pride—the humiliation of having his mother on hand to give him support—all of this to elicit from the boy the answer he sought and now received.
    “No, that’s fine.”
    And to make certain:
    “Okay, this way then, without counsel?”
    “Yes.”
    “Fine, Jason. Then let’s proceed. First of all, tell me a bit about yourself.”
    “Well, I’m twelve years old, thirteen in November. I’ll be starting eighth grade in September.”
    Jason fell silent. What else was there to tell?
    “Hobbies?”
    Jason shrugged. “I’m not too interested in hobbies. I read sometimes. E-mail on the