“Miles, I understand you saw a lady in the trees the day Elsie went missing.”
Miles put his hands on his hips. “I told Miss Angel that.”
“He mentioned it at home, too,” said Miles’s mother.
It sounded like the boy had been talking quite a bit about what he’d witnessed. “What can you tell me about the woman you saw?” River asked.
Miles pressed his lips together and wrinkled his forehead then he stared at the ceiling. “I talked about it already.” He looked at River. Maybe he was hesitant to talk around a police officer.
Lydia rose from the chair and grabbed crayons and paper from a nearby table. “Maybe it would help if Miles drew a picture of what he saw. Miles is quite a good artist.”
The boy grinned and raised his chin as she set the paper and crayons down in front of him. He chose a green crayon from the box and began to draw what looked like triangular evergreens.
At the same time Miles started drawing, he began to talk. Lydia’s move had worked.
“She was an old lady with white hair.” His finger traced the outline of the trees. “When we sat down to eat our snack, I was looking at the forest and everyone else was facing the trail. Miss Angel made me turn around.”
“I do remember that.” Lydia’s voice brightened. “Miles likes to be different from the other children.”
The little boy grinned and started to pet Frankie again. “Yup, that’s me.”
River put his finger on the trees. “This is where you saw the old lady?”
“Just a second.” Miles selected several different colors and proceeded to draw ten circles. Then he turned them into faces and added details.
River didn’t want to interrupt, but he needed to pick the kid’s brain about what he’d seen in the trees.
Lydia shifted in her chair. “Miles, could you draw the old lady first?”
“Just a second,” said Miles. He drew another circle covered in curly hair, with no face. “This is me.”
Lydia gave River a raised eyebrow.
Miles’s mother leaned close to him. “Honey, I think what they most want to know about is the lady that you saw.”
Miles lifted his crayon from the page and crossed his arms. Clearly, he didn’t appreciate that his creative process had been interrupted.
“Do you remember anything else about the lady? Was it just her white hair that made you think she was old?”
“No, she had an old face, too.” He continued to pet Frankie.
Lydia pushed one of the crayons toward him. “Maybe you could show us.”
River doubted that a drawing from a four-year-old would be lifelike, but the process of crayoning seemed to unlock some part of the kid’s memory.
Miles picked up the crayon and drew a circle between the trees. “Her head popped up. She looked at where we were sitting. But I’m the only one who saw her.”
“Yes, Miles. You are the only one,” said Lydia.
The notion that he was special made the four-year-old smile again. He put a face on the circle.
“Anything else you remember about this woman?” said River. “What was she wearing?”
“I only saw her head just for a second. She went back in the forest where Elsie went to chase the butterfly.”
River shifted on the tiny chair. “That’s all?”
“That’s all.” Miles put his crayon down. His expression changed as something across the room drew his attention and he popped up from his chair. “Hey, wait a minute here.” He walked across the classroom and picked up a white hat that had been put on a doll propped in the corner of the room.
