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“Give ’em your phone, man. Have ’em track it.”
“I did. But that just shows my phone was at the campsite. Not me.”
“So you’re basically screwed.”
“Basically. So I decided that I didn’t have anything to lose by asking questions. I’m not a cop, but... Skyler was my friend. I want her killer punished.”
“And you want your life back,” Nathan murmured.
“Yeah. You don’t get yours back, though, do you? Not like it was before. I wish I could change that.”
Nathan swallowed hard, new tears filling his eyes. “I miss her.”
Sam exhaled, his own eyes burning. He understood this boy’s pain. “My friend is gone, too. Not the same as a sister, but still...”
“It hurts,” Nathan whispered. “And makes me so mad.”
“Me too. Look, if your mom can’t talk to me, I can come back. I don’t want to put either of you in a bad position.”
“She’s not really asleep,” Nathan said. “I only said that to make you go away.” He turned slightly. “Mom? Can he come in?”
A muted voice said, “Yes. But tell him I have a gun. In case he gets any ideas.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “I heard her. No ideas. I swear.”
“Then come in,” Nathan said, opening the door wider.
Questioning his life choices, Sam followed the boy into a living room that had been nice once. It was dark now, the drapes drawn. An inch of dust had gathered on all the surfaces and there was a fist-sized hole in one of the walls. Beer cans and wine bottles littered the furniture and, expression embarrassed, Nathan gathered them as they passed.
“I’ll be right back,” Nathan said. “Sit down, please.”
Sam sat in a wingback chair, facing a thin woman sitting in the corner of the sofa. She wore a thick sweater and had an afghan pulled over her legs. A dachshund sat on her lap, its muzzle gray. A half-drunk bottle of wine was on the lamp table beside her. Not a glass in sight. Either she hadn’t started drinking yet or she was guzzling straight from the bottle. Sam would bet the latter, because her eyes were glassy.
On the sofa cushion at her hip was the gun.
All right, then.
“So you’re not a cop,” the woman said, her voice raspy.
“No, ma’am.”
“A shrink,” she said, her eyes filled with misery.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry to intrude.”
“Yet here you are.”
“Mom,” Nathan said quietly. He had a plastic grocery store bag in one hand and set about gathering more empty wine bottles.
“Leave them, honey,” Mrs.Beckham said with such heavy sadness that Sam had to swallow. “I’ll take care of them later.”
Nathan’s small sigh and slumped shoulders suggested that it was an old argument and that his mother would likely not follow through. He sat beside her, his cell phone in his hand.
“I’ll call 911 if you cross a line,” Nathan warned.
“I won’t,” Sam promised. “I just want to ask you some questions about Naomi. What you remember about when she disappeared.”
Mrs.Beckham gestured impatiently. “Then ask so this will be done.”
