The Rag and Bone Shop by Robert Cormier

Her brother was my friend.”
    Jason grimaced at the deception. Brad Bartlett was not his friend but he did drop by Brad’s house. How else could he describe Brad? If he wasn’t a friend, what was he? Someone he went to school with. Which was what he should have said.
    “Didn’t you also visit her at school recess sometimes?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then you did more than just drop by her house to visit her brother.”
    “Yes, I guess so.”
    “You guess so?”
    “No—I mean yes.”
    Jason was confused again.
    “Were you attracted to her?”
    Trent had carefully chosen the moment for that question, knowing that it would upset the boy. He also didn’t believe it would lead anywhere. Sarah Downes had reported that there had been no evidence of sexual assault or molestation. But Trent had to judge for himself. And the question had to be asked and the answer noted for the record.
    The boy drew back, his mouth tightening. “What do you mean?”
    “She was a pretty little thing, wasn’t she?” Trent asked. Purposely suggestive.
    “Kind of.”
    “Did you ever think of showing her some affection?”
    “Like what?”
    “Touching her, perhaps. Kissing her.”
    The boy’s eyes widened in surprise, his mouth twisting in revulsion. Hands, feet, body, all spasmodic in protest. Not defensive in any way. Everything asserting his innocence.
    Which Trent had to be quick to acknowledge.
    “Don’t even bother to answer, Jason. I know that you didn’t have improper thoughts about her. Pardon me for making such a suggestion.”
    “I think I’d like to go home now,” Jason said, squirming, thrown by all the questions and especially the new ones about Alicia Bartlett.
    He half rose from the chair.
    “You’re free to go whenever you want, Jason. I appreciate all the information you’ve provided. You don’t realize how important you are to the investigation, not only for your observations but for your knowledge of the people involved. And I find your answers fascinating.” Each word calculated.
    Trent gestured. “There’s the door.”
    The boy hesitated, half out of his chair, glancing at the door and back at Trent. Trent could do nothing to prevent him from leaving but he also knew that as long as the subject felt free to leave he was less inclined to do so. He knew that something else could be happening. There often came a moment during an interrogation when a bond, a strange sort of alliance, came into being between the subject and the interrogator.
    “I know how tired you must be getting, Jason,” Trent said. “I know it’s hot in this office and uncomfortable. But a little girl is dead, she was your friend, and I think we can help the situation by working together on this.”
    The boy sat back, but on the edge of the chair, clearly undecided about what to do.
    “I really need much more from you than what you observed on Monday. You’re in a unique position to help.”
    Placated by the mildness of Mr. Trent’s voice and the possibility that he could actually be a real part of the investigation, Jason asked: “How can I help? When that cop came to my house, he said that you only wanted to ask about what I saw on the street Monday. And I didn’t see anything.”
    “Right. But I was told that if you showed that you had more knowledge than that, I had the authority to go further. And as you and I have talked, I’ve realized how much more you can contribute, how much more you can help.”
    “But how?”
    “By providing inside knowledge, information that I, as an outsider, and even the police, can’t possibly know.”
    “Like what?”
    “You’re familiar with all the important aspects of the case, Jason. Alicia’s house, the neighborhood, the brook, the woods.”
    The boy sighed as he considered what Trent had said. Finally, he nodded. “Okay.” Then tensed himself, hands on his knees, body bent slightly forward. The signs of compliance.
    Trent knew that the game of cat and mouse was over.
    We now go down to