The Dead Room by Chris Mooney Page A

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?’
    ‘The Celtics guy did,’ John said. ‘He said he just wanted to take a look around the house and he couldn’t do that while keeping an eye on me. ‘Relax, champ, this will all be over before you know it,’ is what he said. Then he put tape across my eyes and patted me on the shoulder. He didn’t talk to me after that.’
    ‘Do you remember hearing anything? Did you hear their names? What they said to each other?’
    ‘I didn’t hear their names. They swore a lot. They started searching through the kitchen, ripping open the drawers and throwing out plates. All I kept hearing were things smashing against the floor.’
    ‘What were they looking for?’
    ‘I don’t know. I thought… I was pretty sure I heard a phone ringing and then the smashing stopped. I know the garage door opened, I remember hearing it. That’s when everything got real quiet. Then they grabbed my mother.’
    He swallowed again, his shiny eyes growing wide with fear as his mind started replaying what had happened to his mother.
    Darby moved him away from it. ‘Why did you ask to speak to my father?’
    He didn’t answer. He looked down at the tissues balled in his fist, his eyes darting back and forth as if he had dropped the answers to the question.
    She leaned closer. ‘You can trust me, John.’
    He reached for the tape recorder and shut it off.

11
    Darby waited for the boy to speak, afraid that if she pressed him, he’d shut down.
    Two minutes later he did. He wouldn’t look at her.
    ‘I promised my mother. I promised her I’d tell the truth only to Thomas McCormick.’
    ‘The truth about what?’
    ‘About my grandparents,’ he said. ‘About why they were killed.’
    Don’t push or you’ll lose him.
    She waited.
    ‘I know who did it,’ he said. ‘I know their names.’
    ‘Look at me, John.’
    When he did, she said, ‘You’re not alone in this any more. Whatever it is that happened, I can help you. You can trust me.’
    ‘Sean.’
    ‘Is that the name of one of the men who murdered your grandparents?’
    ‘No. That’s my real name. Nobody is supposed to know. Only your father knows. My mother –’
    He stopped talking, snapping his attention to the voices shouting outside his room. He looked frightened.
    The door opened. The boy jumped, hitting the back of his head against the wall.
    A searing anger lifted Darby off the bed. She got to her feet as the lights were turned on.
    Pine and the patrolman crowded the doorway. They seemed out of breath. They were speaking to her but she didn’t hear them, her attention locked on the man standing near the foot of the bed. He wore a crisp tan suit and a floral tie, his short black hair damp with the rain.
    A Federal agent. The smug expression on his face gave it away, even before he flashed the tin.
    ‘I’m Special Agent Phillips,’ he said in a calm and somewhat effeminate voice. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room, Dr McCormick. I’m officially taking over this investigation.’
    Darby pushed the Fed away from the bed and got in his face. ‘He’s not going anywhere.’
    ‘I beg to