Page 192 of Broken
How in the hell can I protect Jack and Ethan if I’m not armed?
Prescott didn’t want to put his nephew through a police interrogation, but he was hoping they’d have more luck than he and Jack did. If anyone knew anything about Sally’s boyfriend, it would be the little boy in his arms.
Detective Kealing entered the lobby, pasted on a friendly smile, and walked over. “Thanks for coming in, Mr. Armstrong.” She addressed Ethan. “Hi, Ethan, I’m Detective Kealing. I’m a police officer.”
As was the case when Ethan met strangers, he tightened his hold around Prescott’s neck.
“I’ve got some cool markers,” said Kealing. “Why don’t you come back with me and we can hang out for a little while?”
“That sounds great,” Prescott replied. “We like to color, don’t we, Ethan?”
With Ethan in his arms, Prescott followed the detective to a room that housed a sofa, a round table with four chairs, and some age-appropriate toys in the corner. A stack of construction paper, coloring books, crayons and markers waited on the table.
Prescott set Ethan down, and Ethan clasped his hand. Prescott looked down at this small person and love filled his hardened hart.
“Ethan, do you like to draw?” Kealing asked.
“Are you staying?” Ethan asked Prescott.
“Absolutely,” Prescott replied.
“We’d like to question him without—” Detective Kealing began.
“I stay,” Prescott said.
Ethan sat at the table and the detective sat across from him while Prescott eased onto the sofa.
The detective offered Ethan several sheets of construction paper. He selected a light blue, and started scribbling with a marker.
A few moments later, a young man entered the room. “Hello, I’m Dr. Chan. I’m a child therapist who works with the detectives here.” He shook Prescott’s hand, smiled at Ethan. “Hi, Ethan. Can I sit with you?”
Ethan looked at Prescott, then back at the therapist. “Okay.”
“I love to draw pictures.” Dr. Chan drew a house with windows and a front door.
After a few moments of quiet drawing, Dr. Chan said, “That’s good, Ethan. You’re a good artist.”
Ethan said nothing.
More silence until Dr. Chan said, “Ethan, do you remember your mommy’s special friend?”
“My mommy died.”
“I’m sorry that your mommy died,” the doctor said.
No response from Ethan.
“I need your help, Ethan,” Dr. Chan continued. “I want to find the person you called your mommy’s special friend, and I was hoping you could help me with that.”
“I don’t like him. He’s mean to me.”
“That’s very, very bad,” Chan said. “What did he do to you?”
“Scary faces.”
“Do you remember his name?”
“Mr. Man.”
