“Correct,” Overton said. “They were processed in and spent last night in the local jail, and they’re on their way to county. What about family outside the area?”
Bobbi thought she understood. They were looking for someone who might be upset that Grayson’s parents were arrested, maybe angry that the child was placed in foster care.
“Can you think of anyone?” Overton asked. “An uncle? A family friend?”
“They were really isolated from family…”
“Gavin Fuller used to work construction,” Overton said. “He was on methadone for a while and recently got fired from his job. She worked as a bartender, then she was a clerk at the Dollar Tree, and then she was cleaning motel rooms – she’s been all over the place. That’s Shannon Fuller.”
Mike nodded, taking notes. He stopped and looked at Bobbi.
“I never encountered any family or friends,” she said. “No one came forward, and we weren’t able to locate anyone when we were first looking into Grayson’s welfare.”
“Okay, Bobbi,” Mike said. “Just a couple more things and we’ll get you out of here. How old are you, Bobbi?”
“Twenty-three.”
“And where are you from?”
“Almond. In the western part of the state.”
“You went to the University of Rochester?”
“For four years. I received my Bachelor’s degree to be a caseworker. I could’ve kept going but I just wanted to get into the field, start doing what I could. So I moved up here when I saw the job opening with DSS.”
“Okay. And you were home sick last night?”
“Yes.”
“And you live in Lake Placid?”
“I do.”
“Uh-huh. So it’s okay you don’t live in the same county you work in?”
“I think they changed that rule a few years ago.”
“And you were the first person here this morning from the Child Welfare Unit?”
“Um, I think so.” The questions were starting to make her head spin.
“Did you hear from Harriet at all last night? You said she was covering for you. She went with the police and helped to physically remove Grayson from his home. I understand about privilege, but this is a homicide investigation, and this is about your interactions with Harriet last night.”
“I did, actually, text with her at one point,” Bobbi said. “It was about six, maybe a little after. She’d been here at the office for about half an hour with Grayson, then the foster parents came, she went with them to their house, dropped off Grayson, and returned here. As far as I know.”
“Why would she come back?”
“There’s a lot of notes to take – paperwork.”
“So the text – you sent her one or she sent you one?”
“She sent one to me.”
Mike pointed to the pile of phones on Yari’s desk. “Can you show me?”
Bobbi crossed to the desk, selected her phone, and found the message from Harriet. Seeing the words turned her stomach and seemed to dry the spit in her mouth. She handed the phone to Mike. “Right there. Six thirteen.”
Mike read it as she sat back down. “She says, ‘All good. Getting him in now. How are you holding up?’” Their eyes connected. “She meant your illness?”
“Yeah. Yes.”
He scowled at the small screen. “You didn’t reply for an hour. ‘Thank you so much. Think I see the light at the end of the tunnel.’”
“I was in the bathroom, honestly. I think I had a twenty-four-hour thing.”
He looked at her with sympathy and then read the final text in the exchange. “And then ten minutes later, she says, ‘He’s with the family. See you tomorrow.’”
“Yes, sir. That’s why I figured she’d gone and dropped him off.”
Mike handed her back the phone, his eyes unfocused, as if lost in thought. Finally, he stood. Bobbi got to her feet again and shook his extended hand, then Detective Overton’s.
“Thank you, Bobbi,” Mike said. “In the lobby, a state trooper will hand you a basic incident report. If you could just fill it out, your address, phone numbers, and a summary of what you’ve told us here today, that would be very helpful.”
“What’s going to happen now?”
Overton opened the door, kept her hand on the knob while Mike answered Bobbi’s question. “Well, obviously it’s very upsetting to have things the way they are. But with everyone already coming into work, it was a good time to get some statements, and the evidence techs have to take samples, pictures, things like that.”
“In situ,” Bobbi said.
Mike made a bemused expression. “That’s right.”
“I watched a lot of cop shows with my brothers,” Bobbi said. She looked between them. “After I fill out my report, then what? Am I staying at work for the day? Is anyone?”
“That’s up to your other supervisor. As far as we’re concerned, you’re free to go. But we’d ask that you don’t leave the area. Just here in Lake Haven and your home in Lake Placid. We may need to speak to you again. Alright?”
“Okay. Yes, alright.”
“Could you do me a favor and send in Lennox Palmer?”
Bobbi nodded and stepped into the hallway.
* * *
Bobbi found Lennox sitting alone in the waiting room. She looked around and asked him where Rachel was.
“In her office,” he said. “She’s pretty upset. And she’s upset that she’s upset, beating herself up over it, keeps saying she’s weak.”
“You’re up.”
Lennox rose from the chair. He was a tall and bony forty-five-year-old, with hair pulled back in a bundle of dreadlocks, and a beakish nose that propped up the glasses always sliding away from his dark eyes. He pushed them up with a finger and took a breath. Then he walked his spidery walk toward the detectives, looming in the doorway of Yari Fennel’s office.
Bobbi looked at Investigator Nelson and watched as he closed the door.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Jessica knocked on the open door of Bobbi’s office. The older woman walked into the room, sat down heavily, and stared out the window. Half the offices in the DSS building had windows, half didn’t; Bobbi had lucked out. Hers viewed the woods next to the building, a small yellow excavator partly in view, a few bushes with the roots balled in canvas bags, ready for planting, everything else lush and green. Seeing the excavator reminded her she still needed to text Connor.
Jessica sighed. “There’s TV from Burlington out there, someone coming down from Montreal. But the police are talking to them now. Hopefully they’ll get out of here.”
Bobbi pulled the police report off her desk. “Almost done with this.”
Jessica turned away from the window and faced Bobbi. “I think we’re all in shock. But you must be especially. You probably don’t want to talk to anyone.”
It took Bobbi a moment. “Me?”
“How are you doing with this?”
“I’m fine. I mean, of course, I’m…”
Jessica dipped her head toward Bobbi and lifted her eyebrows. “I just mean that, you know, Harriet was covering for you…”
Bobbi stopped breathing. Maybe she’d been blocking it out as a defense mechanism, but now the guilt took shape. The nausea surged in her throat, and Bobbi felt the heat drain from her face. “Oh my God, she was only here because of me… Because I was sick.”
“Stop – don’t blame yourself. Of course that’s not what I’m saying.”
“How can I not blame myself?” She had a hard time meeting Jessica’s gaze and thought she might need to run to the bathroom any second. Then she remembered Mike Nelson’s direct blue eyes, his nice smile, and her stomach twisted with a new thought. “They made so little of it in there…”
Not only had Harriet been covering for her, but Harriet’s car was nearly identical to Bobbi’s. Different makes, but the same compact SUV size and shape, same shade of blue. Had someone mistaken Harriet’s car for hers? The police hadn’t mentioned the possibility of Harriet as the wrong victim, but perhaps they’d been waiting to see if Bobbi led them to it on her own. After all, she’d been the one primarily dealing with the Fullers until Harriet stepped in.
Jessica tipped back her head and shook it, closing her eyes. “What a mess.”
“Maybe it was random,” Bobbi said suddenly.