“Maybe we can find another way.” I kiss that soft spot behind his ear.
“Gross,” Erika calls from the living room.
“Hey, you’re up.” I squeeze Clint and then head to the pantry to grab oatmeal.
“You said early start.” Erika slumps onto one of the stools. “And I’m missing the little bug.”
We eat fast. Seems all of us are missing Reid. As I’m wiping down the counters, the doorbell rings. Erika is getting ready, and Clint is messaging a guy about picking up the Range Rover. I peek through the peephole at the two officers.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” I open the door wide.
“Looks like you’ve had the pleasure of some of our local news teams.” Officer Komoroski glances behind him.
One station-emblazoned SUV is backing up in our driveway, and another van is still parked on the street. No sign of reporters milling around. Perhaps they recognized the lack of story. With the police visiting, I wonder if they’ll be back.
“You know anything about our yard party?” Clint’s voice is both hard and loud as he steps into the foyer.
“Just what we observed as we drove up.” Officer Colby’s voice is flat.
“You make it a habit to share with the local news?” Clint is not backing down.
“Mr. Hansel, whatever you are dealing with here didn’t come from us.” The officer’s voice remains calm, but there is a warning shaping his words.
“Can I offer you both a coffee?” I reach out my arm to usher them further into our home.
“No, thank you, ma’am.” They both shake their heads.
“Let’s head back into the living room.” Clint turns and we follow.
As we all take our assumed seats, Officer Komoroski opens his notebook. No pleasantries. Clint looks annoyed instead of conciliatory. I lay my hand on his thigh and feel his quadriceps loosen.
“Danny Doward is out of town at his parents’. Seems unlikely he was involved, but we’re keeping tabs.” He pauses and then looks back and forth at Clint and me. “We also have an update on Marcus Anthony Jamal.”
My heart stutters. The first time I hear my daughter’s boyfriend’s full name is from the mouth of a police officer.
“As you know, Marcus, or MJ, as he’s called, is a freshman at Gatwich University. He is in the ROTC program and began military maneuvers on Sunday night. He’s been with his platoon since then.”
“So, he couldn’t have been our artist?” I ask.
“Marcus has a solid alibi. Also, his phone has been in a secured locker since Sunday at two p.m. He won’t have access until noon today.” The officer reads the details from his notebook. “We’ve put in a request to gain access to his phone, as any images your daughter sent would constitute child pornography.” The officer’s mouth is tight as if he has more to say but isn’t willing to share with us. “We’d also like to have access to your daughter’s phone and the other one you saw her using.”
Clint and I glance at each other. I’m confident he’s reading the officer’s tone the same way I am.
“If you do find a picture or pictures, exactly who could be in trouble?” Clint says his words slowly and carefully.
“At this point, if it is as you say, no one will be in trouble. Erika is free to take and possess the pictures she wants to take.” The officer turns his gaze to me.
I begin to stand, but Clint lays a hand on my knee.
The officer raises his palm toward Clint, as if to make a concession. “Look, we’re not trying to get a couple of kids in trouble; on the contrary we want to keep them and their personal information safe. We just need to know if there’s anything on the phones that can explain the threats. After what was written on your garage and car, we may be missing a part of her story.”
Words to defend the integrity of our daughter slam against the back of my teeth, but I keep them trapped, because I also know she’s not telling the whole truth. Yet it’s one thing for me to think it, and a very different gut punch to hear it from the police.
Clint nods, and I shove myself up from the sofa. “I’ll grab the one I have.”
As I pass the stairs, I slow my pace. Erika stands at the top. Tears flow freely down her face.
I grab the railing, my first foot on the step.
