Trina Treece heaves her frame up off the sofa with the grace of a gymnast. “What kind of question is that?”
“The kind he has to answer.” But Tomasetti doesn’t take his eyes off the boy.
Justin holds his gaze. “I never touched her.”
“Did you buy her a cell phone?” Goddard asks.
“Her parents wouldn’t do it, so I did. Last I heard, that wasn’t against the law.”
“She use it?” I ask.
“Sure. We talk all the time.”
“When’s the last time you heard from her?” Tomasetti asks.
“I dunno. A couple days ago.”
“Have you tried to contact her in the last twenty-four hours?”
Justin nods. “Goes straight to voice mail.”
“Didn’t that seem strange?” Goddard asks. “Or worry you?”
“Hey, she’s like that. Independent, you know?” The teenager shrugs. “I figured she’d call me when she got to where she was going.”
Tomasetti pulls out his note pad. “What’s the number?”
Justin rattles it off from memory and Tomasetti writes it down.
“You got your cell on you?” he asks.
“Sure, I—” The kid’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to take it.” Tomasetti holds out his hand. “Give it to me.”
The kid wants to refuse. I see it in his face and in the way he can’t quite make himself reach into his pocket to get it out. But he must see something in Tomasetti’s eyes, because after a moment, he produces the phone. “That cost me plenty.”
“We’re just going to take a look, see if it will help us with a time line.” He removes an evidence bag from his pocket and the boy drops the phone into it. “You’ll get it back.”
Justin doesn’t believe him, and looks away. “What ever.”
“You know, Justin, it would have been helpful if you’d come to us when she first went missing,” Goddard says.
“So that’s what you’re calling it?” Treece looks from Goddard to me to Tomasetti. “She’s missing?”
“Her parents just filed a missing-person report,” I tell him.
“I figured she was fine,” the boy says. “How was I supposed to know?”
“You could have tried using that thing between your ears,” Tomasetti tells him.
The teenager gives him a “Fuck you” look.
“Does she have any other friends she might have taken off with?” Goddard asks.
Justin shakes his head. “Most of her friends are Amish.”
“Did she have transportation?” I ask.
Another shake. “Not that I know of. She couldn’t afford a car.” He chuckles. “I let her drive mine once and she took out old man Heath’s mailbox.”
“So you just assumed she’d walked somewhere?” Tomasetti asks.
“Or took the bus.” His voice turns belligerent. “Look, we’re friends, but I ain’t her fuckin’ keeper.”
“How did you meet her?” I ask.
“She was walking along the road. It was raining, so I stopped and asked her if she wanted a ride. She got in.” He lifts a shoulder, lets it drop. “I offered her a cigarette and she smoked it.” He smiles. “It was funny, because she was wearing that old-lady dress—you know, the Amish getup. We hit it off.”
“Are you involved in a relationship with her?” Tomasetti asks.
“Well . . . we’re friends . . . mostly.”
Tomasetti sighs. “Are you sleeping with her, Justin?”
To his credit, the kid blushes. “I guess. I mean, we did it a few times. But we weren’t like boyfriend and girlfriend or anything like that. I’m not ready to get tied down, so I set the boundary right off the bat.”
Silence falls and all of us stand there, caught up in our own thoughts. The two little girls watch the scene from the kitchen, eating chips from a bag. Tomasetti’s trying not to look at them, but he’s not quite managing.
I look at Justin. “If you wanted to get out of Buck Creek so badly, why didn’t you go with her?” I ask.
He laughs. “I don’t think my probation officer would appreciate that.”
A few minutes later, Tomasetti and I are sitting in the Tahoe, waiting for Goddard to start rolling. Tomasetti is staring out the window, brooding and preoccupied. I’m trying to find the right words, when he beats me to the punch.
“What the hell are people doing to their kids, Kate?”
It’s not the kind of statement I’m accustomed to hearing from him. He’s more apt to spout off some politically incorrect joke than a serious philosophical question, and it takes me a moment to find my feet. “Not everyone treats their kids that way.”
“Too many do.”
I want to argue. Only I can’t, because he’s right. So I let it stand. “We do what we can, Tomasetti. We can’t control everything.”
“That bitch in there doesn’t deserve those little kids.”
“I know.”
“She’s going to fuck up their lives the same way she fucked up her own.”
“You can’t say that for sure.”
His laugh is bitter. “Since when are you the optimist?”
“Don’t get cynical on me, Tomasetti.”
“That’s kind of like asking the ocean not to be wet.” But he doesn’t smile as he stares out the window. “We take so much for granted. I wish I had five minutes with my kids. Just five lousy minutes to say the things I didn’t say when they were alive.”
Tension climbs up my shoulders and into my neck. This is the first time he’s talked about his children with this level of intimacy, this kind of emotion. It’s the first time he’s mentioned regret or allowed me a glimpse of his pain. I don’t have children. But I know what it’s like to lose a loved one. I’ve been to that dark place and I know firsthand the toll it can take.
“That’s human nature,” I tell him. “We take things for granted. All of us do.”
He says nothing.
“I’m sure they knew you loved them,” I say, but I feel as if I’m floundering.
“When I was on a case, I’d go for days without seeing them. Even when I was home, when I worked late, I didn’t kiss them good night. I didn’t tuck them in. I barely looked at them some days. Half the time, I didn’t even fucking miss them. What the hell kind of parent doesn’t miss his kids?”
I glance over at him. He’s gripping the wheel tightly, staring straight ahead, and I think, Shit. “Tomasetti . . .”
He tosses me a sideways look. “I don’t remember the last words I said to them, Kate. I was in a hurry that morning. Had some big fucking meeting. Some meeting that didn’t mean anything to anyone. I didn’t know that the next time I saw them would be in the morgue.”
It’s difficult, but I hold his gaze. “You loved them. They knew it. That’s what counts.”
“I didn’t keep them safe.”
“You did your best.”
“Did I?”
I take a moment to calm down, rein in my own emotions. “Tomasetti, are you okay?” I ask.
He gives me a wan smile. “I’m not going to wig out, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I reach across the seat and take his hand. “Just checking.”
For a couple of minutes, neither of us speaks. We watch Goddard get into his cruiser. The only sounds come from a group of little boys playing stickball in the yard across the street and a blue jay scolding us from the maple tree a few feet away.
“I wanted to take that bitch’s head off,” he says after a moment.
“Now there’s the Tomasetti I know and love.”
His mouth twists into a grim smile, and the tension loosens its grip. An instant later, his cell goes off. He glances at the display, makes eye contact with me, and answers it. “What do you have?”
His eyes hold mine as he listens to the caller, but his face reveals nothing. “Got it. Right. Check on that for me, will you?” He disconnects and clips the phone to his belt.