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Ashlyn returned to the living room.
She sat down beside Tain and looked at Nick. “I know this won’t be easy, but you need to reassure him that this isn’t his fault.”
“I told you to keep your bloody mouth shut,” Nick snapped as he glared at his ex-wife, his lips curling into a snarl.
“They were supposed to stay together.”
“Who the hell is the parent? He’s eight years old. For Christ’s sake, Connie.”
“Here we go, always blaming me for everything. I deal with them day in and day out. At least I don’t have to deal with your shit anymore.”
“Listen, you two aren’t helping. And if you keep this up, I’m personally going to call social services again and have them do a child removal and see that Nicky goes to a foster family that isn’t going to heap abuse on him.” Tain pointed at Connie Brennen. “As it is, you have a hell of a lot of explaining to do already. Your ex-husband can contest the custody arrangement and likely take your children away from you for good. Don’t tempt me to testify on his behalf.”
Nothing but the distant hum of cars could be heard for a few moments, and even then it wasn’t much of a hum. Tain glanced at the clock, finally realizing how late it was.
“I don’t think there’s anything else to night. Mrs. Brennen, it’s likely best that you go home now,” Tain said as he stood.
Connie glanced at her ex-husband, who kept his eyes directed at the coffee table and didn’t extend an invitation for her to stay. After a moment she stood up, walked to the door and pulled it open without a word, stomping down the steps as the door slammed shut behind her.
Ashlyn took a card from her pocket. “If you need anything, Nick, call.”
He looked up then, his eyes brimming with unshed tears as he took the card from her hand, nodded and looked away.
     
Craig knocked again. This time he heard soft footsteps in the hall, followed by the sound of a deadbolt being retracted. Then a voice, muffled at first before coming into focus.
“Let me, Sara.”
The door opened as far as the latched chain would allow, and Craig held up his ID for scrutiny. The man, who Craig guessed to be about his own age, pushed the door shut and then opened it fully.
“Matt McPherson,” the man said, offering his hand. Matt had a firm grip.
“Constable Craig Nolan.”
He followed Matt down the hallway, into a bright, open kitchen and dining area. A woman sat at the table, her hands wrapped around a mug, a thick sweater pulled around her body. She looked up.
Her blue eyes were overshadowed by dark circles, her cheeks gaunt. Even though she was sitting down, Craig could see that her clothing hung limply on her frame, as if she’d lost a lot of weight recently, and not weight she’d needed to lose.
“Constable Craig Nolan. I believe we spoke earlier on the phone.”
She nodded as Craig pulled out a chair and sat down across from her.
“I realize this must be very difficult for you, Mrs. McPherson. I’m not here to pressure you or to make things worse.”
“I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t…” She swallowed. For a moment he saw nothing but her auburn hair tumbling over her head, and then she looked up as she hastily brushed her tears away before offering a short, hollow laugh. “There’s nothing you can do that would make this worse.”
Craig wished that were true, but he knew it wasn’t. It was amazing the comfort people could find in a lie.
Matt came to the table and sat down, a cup of coffee in his hands. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t even think to ask. Can I get you a cup?”
“That’s okay. Really.” He paused.
The woman across the table from him looked up. “You want to know what happened?”
“To start, when did this happen? You said you haven’t been eating or sleeping, so I gather it’s been days.”
“Try weeks,” Matt said. “She wouldn’t even tell me.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here, Matthew.”
“You aren’t here, are you, Sara? It’s like