The Drowning Child

60

Ren went back to Tate PD and told everyone about Seth Fuller and the fentanyl story.

‘I believe Seth,’ said Ren. ‘But what I don’t get is why John Veir didn’t say it to us the night of the fire – it would have bolstered his case.’ She turned to Ruddock. ‘Have you heard anything about dealing in BRCI? I mean, they must be doing a thorough investigation, considering Merrifield is out there.’

‘No,’ said Ruddock. ‘But I can make inquiries.’

‘He’s been gone ten days,’ said Ren. ‘There’s no way he hasn’t had help somewhere along the way. Someone is harboring him.’

They all nodded.

I think I’m stating the obvious...

‘Let’s call John Veir in again,’ said Gary. ‘To rattle him. We won’t mention the video from Lister Creek until we have more, and until we can get Alice Veir in here too, face to face.’

Half an hour later, John Veir was sitting in the interview room, his fingers linked, his head bowed. Ren and Ruddock walked in. He looked up at them, tolerance and challenge flickering in his eyes.

‘OK,’ said Ruddock, sitting down, ‘looks like there are a couple of things here that you neglected to mention to us, John.’ His manner was warm, non-threatening. He made John go through everything about the day Caleb went missing, about the night Aaron Fuller died, about the day he dropped Caleb off at Rose Dennehy’s. He repeated the facts as he had first given them, then collapsed back in his seat.

‘Is that OK?’ he said, raising his hands up. ‘Everyone happy with that? Can I go?’

‘Can you go?’ said Ren. Not before I punch you in the face. ‘I’m sorry, but we’re here to try to find your son, and we’re doing everything we can. Is this tedious for you? Does it sound like a terrible thing? I can’t understand this. It’s like you’re angry with us, when we’re here to help you—’

‘You’re accusing me!’ he said, rising from his seat.

‘Sit down, Mr Veir,’ said Ren.

‘Don’t patronize me—’

‘We’re not accusing you of anything,’ said Ren. Yet.

Deep breaths. ‘Why don’t we all just take a moment?’ said Ruddock.

There was a knock on the door. Gary stuck his head in. ‘Chief – I’m sorry to interrupt. If I could have a word with you, please?’

Ruddock stood up. ‘Excuse me.’ He nodded to John and Ren, and left the room.

Oh, John, you have no idea what’s about to go down here.

Ren sat in silence, watching John Veir staring at his fingernails. Instead of Ruddock, Gary walked back in, stood beside Ren, right in front of John Veir, then slammed his good fist down hard on the table.

John jumped.

Ding, ding. Round One.

‘You need to start telling us the truth,’ said Gary, his voice booming. ‘We know you know the truth, and you need to start talking or things are going to get a whole lot worse for you.’

Jesus Christ, Gary is scary.

I may want to fuck him.

Eye on the prize.

‘I told you,’ said John. ‘I’ve gone through – over and over – what happened that Monday morning. Nothing has changed since the statement I made. It’s all there.’ He had lowered his voice, taken the edge off the tone.

‘Well, I need you to go through it again,’ said Gary. He sat down.

‘I know you’re looking for inconsistencies,’ said John, ‘but there are none. I’ve told this a million times now.’

‘And we’re ready to hear it again,’ said Gary.

John Veir looked like he was about to blow. But he went through the details again, and they were the same. Gary cut in at the point where John Veir ran up the stairs to get Caleb to hurry up.

‘You walked in on your son in his bedroom,’ said Gary. ‘You had called up to him several times, he had ignored you, you were late for work, he didn’t care, he was disrespecting you, something he was increasingly doing, something you had called him out on many times. And it infuriated you. You grabbed him—’

‘I did not lay a finger on him,’ said John.

Steely. Calm.

‘You didn’t mean to hurt him,’ said Gary. ‘You shook him, he lost his balance, he fell...’

‘No, sir.’

‘He struck his head against the wardrobe, or against the bed, he fell back on the floor—’

‘No, sir. That is not what happened.’

‘You knew it was too late,’ said Gary. ‘You’d gone too far. You panicked. You knew you couldn’t tell your wife what you’d done. You took your son’s cell phone and you called your sister. You asked for her help. You asked her to talk you through what you should do—’

‘There’s no way my sister would—’

‘Then you went up into the attic, you took down your sleeping bag, you placed your son’s body inside, carried him down the stairs, into the garage...’

Tears welled in John Veir’s eyes.

Tears of... what? Guilt?

‘No!’ said John. He wiped away the tears. ‘That is not what happened. My son walked out of our house on his own two feet. He—’

‘You opened the trunk of your car and placed your son’s body inside,’ said Gary. ‘You closed the trunk. You were now late for work. Your only option was to show up at three p.m. and say that you got the shift time wrong. You could have called in sick, but that would have set off alarm bells.’

John shook his head. They all sat in silence. Moments passed.

‘And that’s it,’ said John. ‘You don’t know any more. Where did I put the body? Where is that sleeping bag now?’

In the landfill site?

‘In fact, where is there any evidence for what you’re saying?’ said John. ‘You talk about my sister? Well, you better watch out for her. You better watch out. That’s all I’m going to say.’

‘You tell me where the body is,’ said Gary. ‘And where that sleeping bag is.’

‘I don’t know anything about the sleeping bag,’ said John. ‘I have no idea why that’s not there.’

And the body?!

‘And I hope to God there’s no body,’ said John, his eyes boring through Ren as if he had read her mind. ‘You think I want to think about that? Are you that fucking cruel?’

Gary recalibrated. ‘I can see that you’re a good person, John. You’re an honorable man, you fought for your country, your boss respects you a lot. Apparently, you’re a disciplined and fair corrections officer. You like to be in control. I understand that. But I also understand what happens when things get out of control, when the pressure gets too much, or just when someone doesn’t have respect for the things you value. Caleb was twelve years old – it’s a difficult age.’

‘I agree with you,’ said John. ‘But that doesn’t mean I did anything to my son.’