Chris Mooney - The Dead Room

John nodded.

'I'll help you through this. Sometimes I may have to interrupt you with a question or I may ask you to clarify something. I need to make sure I have all the facts straight in my head. If you don't understand something, ask, okay?'

He cleared his throat. 'Okay.'

The boy clearly didn't know where to start.

Gently, she said, 'Tell me about the people who came inside your house.'

'There were two of them. Two men. I was on the sofa watching TV when I heard the door open. I thought it was my mom coming home so I didn't get up.'

'You were home alone?'

'Yes.'

'And where was your mom?'

'She said she had to go to a couple of job interviews and do some errands and wouldn't be back until late. She told me to stay inside the house until she got home.'

'Why? Was your mom worried about something?'

'She was always worried. No matter where we lived, she was always telling me to make sure the apartment was locked up. She'd always make sure the windows were locked before she went to bed. Every day when I came home from school, she'd call to ask if everything was okay. I thought… My mom didn't make a lot of money and we never lived in the best neighbourhoods. When we were in Los Angeles, our apartment got broken into and she freaked out. Two weeks later we were living in Asbury Park. That's in New Jersey.'

'Did you move around a lot?'

'Yeah.'

'Do you know why?'

'I think it has something to do with her parents,' John said. 'They were murdered before I was born. She never got into specifics or anything. The only thing she told me was that the people who did it were never caught. I think she was scared they might come for her or something.' He swallowed and then took in a sharp breath. 'And they did. They found us and killed her.'

'You said "they". There was more than one person?'

'You mean inside my house?'

'We'll get to that. I want to know about the people who murdered your grandparents.'

'I don't know names or anything. My mom just said people came into her parents' house one night and shot them to death while they were sleeping. My mom said she wasn't there – I don't know where she was. She told me these people were never caught.'

'What are the names of your grandparents?'

'I don't know. My mom never talked about them. I don't even know where they lived. I asked her – I was, you know, curious about what had happened – but she wouldn't go into any details. I think that's what made her paranoid about using computers.'

'What do you mean?'

'She never went on the internet to order anything. She couldn't, anyway, 'cause she didn't have a credit card – she always paid cash for everything. She thought people could spy on you if you were on the internet.'

'Was she worried these men who murdered your grandparents would somehow find her?'

'I guess. I mean, that's what I thought.'

'Do you know how old your mother was when her parents died?'

'No.'

'Where did she go to live?'

'I don't know. I'm sorry.'

'You don't have to apologize, John. You're doing great. Let's talk about why you came to Belham. You said something about a job opportunity. What kind of jobs?'

'She didn't tell me specifics. My mom… She's fun and everything, takes me places, but there are certain things she's real private about. At least with me.'

'Like what happened to her parents.'

'Right. She told me they were murdered before I was born. She was always afraid of something happening. And she's not, you know, gushy with her emotions. She keeps them bottled up. When you talk to her about what's bothering her, she won't tell you.'

John was talking about her in the present tense, as if she were going to come through this door at any moment, sit down on the bed and hold him, tell him everything's going to be fine.

'Tell me about your mother's friends,' Darby said.

'I never met them. For all I know, she didn't have any.'

'How long have you been living in Belham?'

'Just a couple of days,' he said. 'We were only going to stay for, like, a week, or something.'

'Do you know the names of the people who owned the house?'

'No.'

'Okay, let's go back to when you were on the sofa. You said you heard the door open.'

'It was the door at the end of the kitchen hall, the one that lead out to the garage. I know that because it makes this swishing sound against the floor when it opens.'

'Did your mom leave one of the garage doors open?'

He thought about it for a moment.

'I… I remember when my mom left, she told me to lock the door – the door at the end of the kitchen hall. But I don't remember hearing the garage door shut. I'm not sure. It's all confusing. It's like I have all these snapshots flashing through my head all at once. It's hard to keep track.'

'That's normal.'

'So when it opened later, I thought it was my mother. And I was half-asleep on the sofa. I remember it was dark – I could see the backyard through the sliding glass door in the living room. That's when I saw him, the man with the gun. He was standing at the end of the sofa telling me to stay quiet.'

'Describe him to me. Tell me everything you noticed, even if you don't think it's important.'

'He wasn't wearing a ski mask or anything, which I thought was kind of odd. The other guy wasn't either. I mean, that's what you do when you rob a house, right?'

'Right.' Darby felt excitement bumping in her chest. Two men had entered the house and the boy had seen their faces. He could give descriptions to a sketch artist. A long shot, maybe, but if the pictures ran on TV someone might recognize them.

'He was a white guy,' John said. 'And he was wearing this warm-up suit – the kind the Celtics wear. Had a Celtics hat too. A baseball cap. He was old. He kind of looked like someone's grandfather but his face was, like, weird.'

'Weird how?'

'He didn't have any wrinkles. His skin was, like, all smoothed back. It reminded me of Mrs Milstein – she was our neighbour when we were living in Toronto. She got a facelift and her skin was real tight and kind of shiny. My mom said Mrs Milstein had gotten a facelift. This Celtics guy had the same kind of face, and his hands… they weren't right. They looked like they belonged on someone else. They were all wrinkled and hairy, and I saw these big veins sticking out on them. They reminded me of the hands I saw on the really old guys at nursing homes.'

'When did you get a close-up look at this man's hands?'

'When he was…' He swallowed again. 'He made me get up from the sofa and sit on one of the kitchen chairs. That's when I saw the other guy. He was standing in the kitchen. He pointed a nine-millimetre at me while the Celtics guy taped me down to the chair.'

'You recognized his gun?'

'I watch a lot of cop shows. CSI, Law and Order – stuff like that. The cops always carry nines. And when they interview the victims, they always ask for details.' His voice sounded so terribly frail. 'So when I… When all of this was happening, there was, like, this voice in the back of my head telling me to pay attention to everything. The little details are what catch these guys.'

'You're doing a great job, John. This is really helpful. Tell me about the man standing in the kitchen.'

'He was wearing a suit – not a warm-up suit, I mean the kind a banker or lawyer would wear. He wasn't wearing a tie, though. He was a white guy and kind of… not fat but he had a gut on him. I remember he kept checking his watch.'

'Was he wearing gloves?'

John nodded. 'Blue ones, the kind the forensics people wear on TV.'

'Do you remember what colour his shirt was?'

'White.'

The body she'd seen in the woods had had a white shirt and blue latex gloves.

'Did these men talk to you?'