My tone is soft, pleading. I feel afraid, for Wyatt’s sake, wondering how Detective Evans will react if he continues to say no. “Put it away, Wyatt. Please. Just for a little bit.”
But Wyatt still doesn’t, and I’m not sure if he’s trying to be defiant or if it’s the grief speaking, being rebellious so that he doesn’t break down and let us see him cry. Still, I worry about what Detective Evans is going to do, about what he’s going to say. He watches Wyatt for a long time (Wyatt’s own eyes dropping to his phone), his face deadpan.
“You remind me of myself when I was your age,” Detective Evans finally says, his voice controlled, and Wyatt looks up, imagining, as I do, Detective Evans at fourteen.
“Yeah?” Wyatt asks, doubting. “How’s that?”
“I didn’t like people telling me what to do. I hated authority figures as a result. Teachers, parents, coaches, you name it.”
Something he says registers. Wyatt doesn’t say as much, but he shifts, slumping further in his seat, still staring at his phone.
“I’m going to ask one more time,” Detective Evans says. He nods at the phone. “Do you think you can put that away for a while and answer a few questions of mine so we can find your sister and figure out who hurt your parents? You do want to find her, don’t you?” he asks. This time, Wyatt reluctantly puts the phone away, mumbling something under his breath aboutthe stupid internet not working anyway, turning it face down on the arm of the chair.
Detective Evans leans back. He asks, “Did you hear anything in your cottage last night?” Wyatt shrugs. “Is that a yes or a no?”
Wyatt says nothing. He sits in his chair, silent, staring down at his hands.
“Wyatt? Did you hear the detective’s question?” I ask, and then, when he still doesn’t respond: “Wyatt? Did you hear me?”
“I already told you,” he says, his eyes darting up.
“You already told us what?” I ask, taken aback by the anger in his eyes.
Wyatt says nothing.
“Listen. Wyatt. I know this is hard,” Detective Evans says, the unexpected softness in his voice momentarily endearing him to me. “I want to find the person who did this to your parents and to find your sister. I think you can help me do that. The thing is, the sooner we start looking, the more likely we are to find them. But we can’t do that unless you talk to us. You are the last person who saw the three of them, which means you might be the only one who can help. Try to think back to last night, in your cottage. Did you hear anything unusual? Did anything out of the ordinary happen?”
Wyatt shifts in his seat. “I dunno. I don’t think so,” he says this time.
“You don’t think so?”
“No.”
“Okay,” Detective Evans says. “Take me through last night. Your aunt and uncle came for dinner, is that right?” Wyatt nods, sitting slouched in his chair. “What time did they leave?”
Wyatt looks to me and asks, “What time did you leave?”
“Maybe eight or eight thirty,” I say, going through it again in my mind, playing cards and sharing a bottle of wine and a couple beers with Emily and Nolan before that argument between Emily and Reese happened, and we left.
Except that this time, as I play it back in my mind, I remember something I’d forgotten. As Elliott and I were leaving, Emily leaned in to him and said, her words guarded but not so underwraps that I didn’t notice, “Do you think I could talk to you tomorrow in private? I have something to ask you,” and Elliott hesitated, stiffening as if caught off guard, and then said yes.
After we left, I didn’t think to ask Elliott about it. I forgot all about it, because he and I were so laser focused on what happened with Reese that it slipped my mind.
“What happened after your aunt and uncle left your cottage?”
“It was... I dunno... it was quiet.”
“Quiet how?”
Wyatt shrugs. “Like no one was talking.”
“Had they gone to sleep?”
“I was in my own room. The door was closed. How would I know?”
“Fair enough.” The detective thinks and rephrases his question. “Were you awake for a while after your aunt and uncle left?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
