Before Ms. Sloan could voice a reply, Hunter addressed the boy directly.
‘Marlon, we would really appreciate your help. If you could give us just a few minutes of your time, please.’
Marlon finally stepped forward, joining his mother at the door.
‘Do you mind if I see your credentials?’ he asked. This time, eye contact was held for a while longer than before.
The question caught everyone by surprise, even the boy’s mother, who looked at him as if he was being rude.
‘Of course,’ Hunter said, reaching for his LAPD identity and handing it to Marlon. Garcia did the same.
The boy studied them carefully and for a long moment, as if he were an expert in telling a forgery from the real thing.
‘Homicide,’ he said, returning the IDs to both detectives.
‘Excuse me?’ Ms. Sloan said, surprised, first looking at her son, then at Hunter and Garcia. She had failed to notice that detail when she first looked at the detectives’ identification. ‘Homicide?’
‘That’s correct, ma’am,’ Hunter said, handing her his credentials one more time. ‘Unfortunately, what started as an abduction from the house just down the road to yours has now sadly escalated to a homicide. The woman’s body was found yesterday morning. That’s why we’re revisiting every house.’
‘Oh my God!’ Ms. Sloan said, returning the credentials to Hunter, her annoyed demeanor completely dissipating. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. I had no idea.’ She placed her arm around her son’s shoulder in a protective, tight hug.
‘At this time, any information, no matter how trivial it might seem to others, could be very important to us,’ Hunter reinforced.
‘Of course, of course,’ Ms. Sloan replied apologetically, before taking a step to her left. ‘Please, why don’t you come in?’
Thirty-seven
Hunter, Garcia and Officer Woods followed Ms. Sloan and Marlon through a small anteroom, past a turned staircase and into the living room. Antique furniture decorated the large and very pleasant space. The walls, covered by widely striped wallpaper of deep-green and olive hues, were adorned with several oil paintings, all of them originals. A large, green and white shaggy rug centered the room, together with an impressive set of Victorian carved mahogany sofas and armchairs. Hanging from the center of the ceiling, a very elegant crystal chandelier bathed the room in calming light.
Ms. Sloan guided the group to the seating area. She and her son took one of the sofas. Hunter and Garcia took the other. Officer Woods took one of the framed armchairs. As they sat down, Ms. Sloan placed her arm around her son’s shoulder once again.
Hunter had kept his attention on Marlon. Officer Woods was right, the kid was terribly shy. He felt uncomfortable and awkward around people, especially strangers, and coping came in the form of minimum interaction, a shielded, timid posture, and little or no eye contact. As a result of how he felt, Marlon had built a defensive wall around him, probably subconsciously. In today’s world, not that rare a behavior. His mother’s hug seemed to embarrass him.
Hunter didn’t want to take much of their time, but he also wanted to try to make Marlon feel as at ease as he possibly could.
‘That’s a great band, by the way,’ he said as he and Garcia took their seats, indicating the boy’s shirt.
Marlon’s eyes slowly moved from the floor back to Hunter. Doubt and surprise were written all over the boy’s face. This time, he didn’t break eye contact.
‘You know Aesthetic Perfection?’ His tone, unlike his expression, carried a lot more doubt than surprise.
Hunter nodded. ‘I’ve seen them live a couple of times.’
Marlon adjusted his glasses on his nose and regarded the detective for an instant.
Hunter could tell that he was being studied.
‘Really?’ Marlon finally said. The doubt in his tone had turned into scepticism. ‘Do you have a favorite song?’
The kid is clever, Hunter thought. And very guarded. He had taken Hunter’s friendly comment and turned it into a test.
‘I wouldn’t say I have a favorite song,’ Hunter replied. ‘I like most of their stuff, especially the last two albums, but if I had to pick, maybe “Antibody”, or “Pale”, or “Lights Out”. How about you, do you have a favorite song at all?’
The kid hesitated again, visibly taken aback by a response that he wasn’t expecting. In consequence, his tense posture and expression finally relaxed. Unintentionally, his lips spread into a ghost of a smile.
‘ “Antibody” is a great song,’ he admitted. ‘I like “Inhuman” a lot too. But I agree, most of their stuff is awesome.’ He studied Hunter a moment longer. ‘Do you know a band called God Module?’
Hunter looked deep in thought for a couple of seconds. ‘No, I don’t think I do.’
‘If you like Aesthetic Perfection, you’ll like them. You should check them out.’
‘God Module.’ Hunter nodded. ‘Thanks. I will do.’
Ms. Sloan followed their quick conversation with a half surprised, half intrigued look on her face. Very rarely had she seen her son deliberately engage a stranger in conversation.
‘I’m sorry.’ Hunter addressed Ms. Sloan. ‘I know that you’re pressed for time.’
‘Umm... yes, we are a little.’ She looked at her son.
‘Marlon,’ Hunter began. ‘Could you just run us through what you told Officer Woods earlier?’
The boy nodded. ‘Sure. I was asked if I remembered seeing either a vehicle or maybe someone hanging out in the street in the past weeks. Like a non-resident, or a car that I hadn’t seen before.’
‘That’s right,’ Hunter confirmed.
‘I’d like to point out that Marlon doesn’t really like to leave the house, you see,’ Ms. Sloan intervened. ‘He doesn’t feel so comfortable outside.’
‘Mom,’ Marlon stopped her, sounding annoyed and embarrassed at the same time. ‘So what if I like to stay in the house? I still have eyes, don’t I? And my room has a large window, which I like to look out of.’ He subtly wiggled his shoulder, freeing himself from his mother’s embrace.
‘So you saw something from your window?’ Hunter asked in a calm and steady voice, bringing Marlon’s attention back to him and to the reason why they were all there.
‘Yes, I did,’ the kid replied, now scooting a couple of inches away from his mother. ‘I have a pretty good view of most of the street from my bedroom window.’
While outside, Hunter had already noticed the very strategic position of the Sloans’ house in relation to the street and the Bennetts’ home.
‘OK, so what was it that you saw?’
‘Well, let me give you a little bit of background first,’ Marlon began. ‘About four weeks ago there was some sort of problem with one of the telephone poles out on the street. The one just outside number eight-four-five-six, to be precise.’ He pointed north. ‘All the phones around here were dead.’
‘Yes, I remember that,’ Ms. Sloan interrupted again.
Before continuing, Marlon looked at her as if to say: Just let me speak, Mom.
‘OK,’ he carried on, ‘late that afternoon, a couple of AT&T engineers came by and fixed everything. I saw them working on the cables up at the top of the post.’
Hunter nodded but said nothing, allowing the kid to continue at his own pace.
‘What to me seemed strange,’ Marlon continued, ‘was that two days later another engineer was back here, working on the same telephone pole.’
Garcia frowned. ‘Why did you find that strange?
Marlon readjusted his glasses one more time. ‘Well, first, because there was no problem with the phone lines anymore. The problem had been fixed two days earlier. Second, because this engineer was by himself, using a telescopic ladder to get to the cables at the top of the post. It’s a pretty high post. The AT&T engineers that were here before him had a basket-crane truck.’