I Am Death

Thirty-seven

Hunter, Garcia and Officer Woods followed Ms. Sloan and Marlon through a small anteroom, past a turned staircase and into the living room. Antique furniture decorated the large and very pleasant space. The walls, covered by widely striped wallpaper of deep-green and olive hues, were adorned with several oil paintings, all of them originals. A large, green and white shaggy rug centered the room, together with an impressive set of Victorian carved mahogany sofas and armchairs. Hanging from the center of the ceiling, a very elegant crystal chandelier bathed the room in calming light.

Ms. Sloan guided the group to the seating area. She and her son took one of the sofas. Hunter and Garcia took the other. Officer Woods took one of the framed armchairs. As they sat down, Ms. Sloan placed her arm around her son’s shoulder once again.

Hunter had kept his attention on Marlon. Officer Woods was right, the kid was terribly shy. He felt uncomfortable and awkward around people, especially strangers, and coping came in the form of minimum interaction, a shielded, timid posture, and little or no eye contact. As a result of how he felt, Marlon had built a defensive wall around him, probably subconsciously. In today’s world, not that rare a behavior. His mother’s hug seemed to embarrass him.

Hunter didn’t want to take much of their time, but he also wanted to try to make Marlon feel as at ease as he possibly could.

‘That’s a great band, by the way,’ he said as he and Garcia took their seats, indicating the boy’s shirt.

Marlon’s eyes slowly moved from the floor back to Hunter. Doubt and surprise were written all over the boy’s face. This time, he didn’t break eye contact.

‘You know Aesthetic Perfection?’ His tone, unlike his expression, carried a lot more doubt than surprise.

Hunter nodded. ‘I’ve seen them live a couple of times.’

Marlon adjusted his glasses on his nose and regarded the detective for an instant.

Hunter could tell that he was being studied.

‘Really?’ Marlon finally said. The doubt in his tone had turned into scepticism. ‘Do you have a favorite song?’

The kid is clever, Hunter thought. And very guarded. He had taken Hunter’s friendly comment and turned it into a test.

‘I wouldn’t say I have a favorite song,’ Hunter replied. ‘I like most of their stuff, especially the last two albums, but if I had to pick, maybe “Antibody”, or “Pale”, or “Lights Out”. How about you, do you have a favorite song at all?’

The kid hesitated again, visibly taken aback by a response that he wasn’t expecting. In consequence, his tense posture and expression finally relaxed. Unintentionally, his lips spread into a ghost of a smile.

‘ “Antibody” is a great song,’ he admitted. ‘I like “Inhuman” a lot too. But I agree, most of their stuff is awesome.’ He studied Hunter a moment longer. ‘Do you know a band called God Module?’

Hunter looked deep in thought for a couple of seconds. ‘No, I don’t think I do.’

‘If you like Aesthetic Perfection, you’ll like them. You should check them out.’

‘God Module.’ Hunter nodded. ‘Thanks. I will do.’

Ms. Sloan followed their quick conversation with a half surprised, half intrigued look on her face. Very rarely had she seen her son deliberately engage a stranger in conversation.

‘I’m sorry.’ Hunter addressed Ms. Sloan. ‘I know that you’re pressed for time.’

‘Umm... yes, we are a little.’ She looked at her son.

‘Marlon,’ Hunter began. ‘Could you just run us through what you told Officer Woods earlier?’

The boy nodded. ‘Sure. I was asked if I remembered seeing either a vehicle or maybe someone hanging out in the street in the past weeks. Like a non-resident, or a car that I hadn’t seen before.’

‘That’s right,’ Hunter confirmed.

‘I’d like to point out that Marlon doesn’t really like to leave the house, you see,’ Ms. Sloan intervened. ‘He doesn’t feel so comfortable outside.’

‘Mom,’ Marlon stopped her, sounding annoyed and embarrassed at the same time. ‘So what if I like to stay in the house? I still have eyes, don’t I? And my room has a large window, which I like to look out of.’ He subtly wiggled his shoulder, freeing himself from his mother’s embrace.

‘So you saw something from your window?’ Hunter asked in a calm and steady voice, bringing Marlon’s attention back to him and to the reason why they were all there.

‘Yes, I did,’ the kid replied, now scooting a couple of inches away from his mother. ‘I have a pretty good view of most of the street from my bedroom window.’

While outside, Hunter had already noticed the very strategic position of the Sloans’ house in relation to the street and the Bennetts’ home.

‘OK, so what was it that you saw?’

‘Well, let me give you a little bit of background first,’ Marlon began. ‘About four weeks ago there was some sort of problem with one of the telephone poles out on the street. The one just outside number eight-four-five-six, to be precise.’ He pointed north. ‘All the phones around here were dead.’

‘Yes, I remember that,’ Ms. Sloan interrupted again.

Before continuing, Marlon looked at her as if to say: Just let me speak, Mom.

‘OK,’ he carried on, ‘late that afternoon, a couple of AT&T engineers came by and fixed everything. I saw them working on the cables up at the top of the post.’

Hunter nodded but said nothing, allowing the kid to continue at his own pace.

‘What to me seemed strange,’ Marlon continued, ‘was that two days later another engineer was back here, working on the same telephone pole.’

Garcia frowned. ‘Why did you find that strange?

Marlon readjusted his glasses one more time. ‘Well, first, because there was no problem with the phone lines anymore. The problem had been fixed two days earlier. Second, because this engineer was by himself, using a telescopic ladder to get to the cables at the top of the post. It’s a pretty high post. The AT&T engineers that were here before him had a basket-crane truck.’

Garcia peeked at Hunter, who kept his eyes on the kid.

‘And then,’ Marlon continued, ‘about a week or so ago, that same lone engineer was back working up on the same telephone pole. Again, with a telescopic ladder, not a basket-crane truck, but this time I saw him leaving.’ Marlon paused, maybe for effect, maybe to take a breath. ‘He wasn’t driving an AT&T van, or any company van. He was driving a Yukon that was parked on the other side of the road. It was just like Mom’s, but his was black. He placed the ladder on the roof rack and took off.’

‘About a week or so ago?’ Hunter asked.

‘Yes,’ Marlon confirmed. ‘I think it was about two or three days before the police came knocking the first time.’

This time Hunter and Garcia exchanged a semi-concerned look.

A loud crackling noise came from the radio attached to Officer Woods’ belt. He quickly reached for it, while getting up.

‘Please excuse me, ma’am.’ He turned toward the detectives. ‘I’ve been waiting for some information to come in. This will be it. I’ll wait for you outside.’ He addressed Ms. Sloan again, who was about to get to her feet. ‘It’s OK, ma’am, I can see myself out.’ He turned and left the room.

Hunter resumed his questioning. ‘Did you manage to get a good look at this engineer?’

‘I only saw him from the back, while he was up on the post,’ the boy answered with a disappointed look. ‘He was tall, like the two of you. And he wasn’t fat, like the two AT&T engineers.’

‘Was he skinny, muscular?’ Garcia this time.

‘I couldn’t tell. He was wearing a jacket.’

‘An AT&T work jacket?’

‘I can’t remember, but I don’t think so.’

‘How about hair color?’

Once again, the kid shook his head, disheartened. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t really see it. He was wearing a baseball cap. I wasn’t really paying much attention to him or anything. It didn’t really look like he was doing anything wrong. I only thought of it because the officer who just left came asking. The only non-residents I’ve seen around the street in the past weeks were the AT&T engineers, this third engineer I told you about, and the police. That’s it.’

Everyone understood where the kid was coming from.

‘How about his vehicle?’ Hunter asked. ‘You said it was a black GMC Yukon?’

‘Yeah, it was.’

Hunter saw Ms. Sloan consulting her watch one more time.

‘And you said it had roof racks,’ he asked.

‘Yeah, it did.’

‘Did you notice anything else about the car at all? Like... were there any big bumps or scratches on the bodywork? Bumper or window stickers? Anything you can remember, really.’

Marlon looked down at his hands. ‘No, sorry. Only that it was a black Yukon.’

Hunter and Garcia exchanged one more look. There was nothing else they needed from Marlon or his mother, who was now looking rather impatient again.

Both detectives got up, thanked Marlon and Ms. Sloan, and made their way to the door. As Ms. Sloan saw them out, Hunter turned to face her.

‘The therapist session you’re taking Marlon to now, is that for his social anxiety and panic disorder?’

Ms. Sloan frowned at Hunter, mainly because she was surprised by his accurate diagnosis. Her next few words were a lot more guarded than before.

‘Yes... it is.’

Hunter glanced at Marlon, who was standing just behind his mother. He had heard the question and now looked a little embarrassed.

‘How long now?’ Hunter asked. ‘How long has he been going to therapy?’

A deeper frown from Ms. Sloan this time.

‘I’m sorry, but I fail to see how that is any of your concern, Detective?’

‘It hasn’t helped a great deal, has it?’

Ms. Sloan looked offended.

‘You should stop with the therapist,’ Hunter said.

Behind his mother, Marlon came close to a smile.

‘Excuse me?’ Ms. Sloan said.

‘You should stop with the therapist,’ Hunter repeated.

‘And why on earth would I want to do that?’

Hunter’s gaze found Marlon before returning to the boy’s mother. ‘The sad truth is that therapy and shrink visits are mainly hogwash. It’s in their financial interest to keep their patients coming back. Marlon’s condition is a lot more common than you might think, Ms. Sloan. And though you might think you’re helping by being overly protective of your son, you’re not.’

Ms. Sloan glared at Hunter. Anger crept into her eyes.

He ignored her look and addressed Marlon. ‘Every week, just try to walk a block outside your comfort zone, Marlon, however far that might be. If you can’t manage a block, try half a block. Find a park bench and have a seat. When your breathing calms down, ask a passing stranger for the time. Next week, ask two. The week after that, three. Next month, walk another block outside your new-found comfort zone, and repeat what you did before. Before you know it, you’ll be making new friends and the whole anxiety thing will be behind you.’

Ms. Sloan’s glare morphed into an intrigued stare.

‘You don’t need a therapist’s mumbo-jumbo to crack this thing, Marlon. You can do it yourself. One small victory at a time.’