Bernard did not look at the photograph again. He looked at Leo. The boy’s finger still rested over Charles Mercer’s face, pressing hard enough to bend the memorial program beneath it. Outside the interview room, someone rolled a cart along the hallway. The wheels rattled over a threshold and faded. Leo flinched anyway.
Bernard kept his voice low. “When you say he’s the bad man, what do you mean?”
Leo pulled his hand back. “You said I didn’t have to tell.”
“You don’t.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“Because I want to understand what you need from me.”
Leo looked toward the dark observation window.
Maria had arranged the meeting carefully. A child-advocacy specialist waited nearby, and the detective assigned to Emily’s fire had agreed not to enter until Leo gave permission. No one wanted the boy questioned by six different adults until his memories became something he could no longer separate from their questions.
Bernard placed both hands on the table where Leo could see them.
“You asked for me,” he said. “I came. That’s all I’m promising right now.”
Leo swallowed.
“He came to our house.”
“Charles?”
Leo nodded.
“How many times?”
“I don’t know.”
Bernard did not ask again.
The boy picked at one corner of the memorial program. “Mom didn’t like when he came.”
That was more than Bernard had expected.
“What happened when he did?”
“They talked where we couldn’t hear.”
Leo’s mouth tightened.
“Except I heard.”
Bernard waited.
“Sometimes.”
The advocacy specialist, Dr. Elena Park, entered quietly after Maria signaled through the glass. She was small, gray-haired and unhurried. She pulled a chair to the side rather than sitting opposite Leo.
“Would it be all right if I stayed?” she asked.
Leo shrugged.
Elena treated the shrug as permission but not enthusiasm.
“You can stop whenever you want,” she said. “And if someone asks you something you don’t know, saying ‘I don’t know’ is a good answer.”
Leo nodded.
Bernard leaned back slightly, letting Elena take over.
“Tell me about a time Charles came to your house,” she said.
No accusation. No mention of the fire.
Leo stared at his folded hands.
“It was raining.”
“Tell me everything you remember about that day.”
“Mom was making noodles. Mia spilled juice.”
He glanced up, as though checking whether these ordinary details mattered.
Elena nodded for him to continue.
“Then somebody knocked really hard.”
“Who opened the door?”
“Mom.”
“What happened next?”
“Grandpa came in.”
The word sounded mechanical.
Bernard noticed Leo did not say my grandpa.
“He was wet. His shoes got the floor dirty. Mom told us to go upstairs.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Then I came back down.”
“Why?”
“Noah’s bottle was in the kitchen.”
Elena asked, “What did you see?”
Leo’s face changed.
Bernard recognized the look. It was the same look he had seen in mirrors as a child when adults asked him to describe something he wished he could forget.
“Mom was by the sink. Grandpa was really close to her.”
“How close?”
Leo pushed his hands together until the fingers touched.
“And what were they doing?”
“Talking.”
“What could you hear?”
Leo repeated the words slowly.
“He said, ‘Give it to me.’”
Bernard’s pulse quickened.
“Did he say what ‘it’ was?” Elena asked.
“No.”
“What did your mother say?”
“She said she didn’t have it there anymore.”
Bernard glanced toward the observation window.
Maria stood on the other side with Rachel and Detective Andre Wilkes.
None of them moved.
Leo continued. “Then he said she thought she was smarter than everybody.”
His voice had become flatter.
“Mom told him to leave.”
“What happened then?”
“He hit the counter.”
“With his hand?”
Leo nodded.
“There was a cup. It fell.”
“Did it break?”
“Yes.”
“What happened after that?”
“Mom saw me.”
The boy’s breathing grew shallow.
“What did she do?”
“She told me to go back upstairs.”
“And Charles?”
“He smiled.”
Bernard’s stomach tightened.
Elena did not react visibly. “Anything else?”
Leo whispered, “He said Mom was teaching us bad manners.”
A long silence followed.
Bernard wanted to ask ten questions at once.
Elena asked none.
Eventually Leo said, “After he left, Mom locked every door.”
“Had she done that before?”
“She always locked them.”
“Was anything different that time?”
Leo nodded.
“She pushed the kitchen table against the back door.”
Bernard looked down at his hands.
Emily had been afraid inside her own house.
Elena allowed Leo a break. Maria brought crackers, and Bernard opened one of the packets because Leo seemed unable to manage the plastic seam without tearing it apart.
For three minutes they talked about nothing.
Then Leo said, “He came another time.”
Elena’s expression remained neutral. “Tell me about that.”
“It was nighttime.”
“Before the fire?”
Leo froze.
The words had come too quickly.
Elena corrected herself immediately. “Tell me about the nighttime you remember.”
Leo looked toward Bernard.
“He was outside.”
“Charles?”
Leo nodded.
“Where were you?”
“In my room.”
“What did you see?”
“Lights.”
“What kind?”
“Car lights.”
“Then what?”
“I looked out.”
Bernard’s chest tightened.
“There was a black car by the road. Mom went outside.”
“Did you see who was in the car?”
“Grandpa got out.”
“What happened?”
“They talked.”
“Could you hear them?”
“Not all of it.”
“What did you hear?”
Leo shut his eyes.
“He said Mom had one more chance.”
Bernard heard Rachel shift behind the glass.
“Anything else?” Elena asked.
“Mom said she already sent copies.”
Copies.
Bernard felt the word land in the room.
Leo opened his eyes.
“Then Grandpa looked at the house.”
“At anything specific?”
“The camera.”
Bernard stopped breathing.
“What camera?”
“The one by the garage.”
“And what happened after he looked at it?”
“He left.”
“When was this?”
Leo’s lower lip trembled.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s all right.”
“It was before Mom died.”
Elena nodded.
Leo added, “Not the same night.”
Bernard felt something in him release slightly. He had been afraid the boy was about to place Mercer at the house during the fire itself.
“What do you remember about the night your mother died?” Elena asked carefully.
Leo’s chair scraped backward.
“No.”
“That’s okay.”
“No.”
Bernard rose halfway before forcing himself back down.
Leo gripped the table.
“I don’t want to.”
“You don’t have to.”
“He’ll know.”
Bernard spoke before he could stop himself.
“How?”
Elena looked toward him, warning in her eyes.
But Leo answered.
“Because he always knows.”
The room became very quiet.
Bernard lowered his voice. “What does that mean?”
Leo stared at him.
“Mom changed her phone.”
No one moved.
“She said he still knew stuff.”
“What stuff?” Bernard asked.
“Where we went. Who she talked to. When she met that lady.”
“What lady?”
“I don’t know.”
Elena raised one hand slightly, stopping Bernard from pushing further.
Leo looked exhausted now.
His shoulders had folded inward. The child who had held four younger siblings together all morning suddenly looked exactly seven.
Elena ended the interview.
Detective Wilkes did not question Leo. Instead, he entered afterward, crouched beside the boy and said only, “You helped us today. You don’t have to help anymore tonight.”
Leo studied him.
“Are you police?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“No.”
“Police tell people stuff.”
“Sometimes we have to. Sometimes we don’t.”
Leo considered that.
Then he asked, “Do you have a gun?”
Wilkes glanced at Bernard.
“Yes.”
“Does Grandpa?”
Wilkes did not answer immediately.
“I don’t know.”
Leo looked disappointed by uncertainty.
Bernard understood.
Children wanted adults to know things.
That evening Rachel filed an emergency motion requesting that Charles Mercer have no direct or indirect contact with the children while the investigation continued.
Mercer’s attorneys responded within ninety minutes.
They denied every allegation.
By nine thirty, Bernard sat in Rachel’s office while she read their filing aloud.
“‘Mr. Mercer categorically rejects the suggestion that ordinary familial disagreements are being distorted into allegations of intimidation.’”
Bernard stared at the window.
Rachel continued. “‘Mr. Mercer further denies ever threatening Emily Carter and expresses concern that a grieving seven-year-old may be receiving suggestive questioning from adults with an interest in the pending custody matter.’”
Bernard turned.
“They’re blaming me.”
“They’re attacking the reliability of the disclosure.”
“Same thing.”
“No. It isn’t.”
“It will be to Leo.”
Rachel set the filing down.
“That is why you do not discuss Mercer with him unless a professional tells you to.”
Bernard stood.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“You’re not driving to Mercer’s house?”
Bernard gave her a look.
“Good,” Rachel said. “Because I was prepared to take your keys.”
He reached the front door before his phone rang.
Maria.
Again.
Bernard answered immediately.
This time her voice held no urgency.
“Emma won’t sleep.”
“That happens.”
“She wants the bear fixed.”
Bernard stopped.
“Captain?”
Maria was silent.
“What did you call it?”
Bernard realized his mistake.
“Nothing.”
“You called it Captain.”
He closed his eyes.
“I used to know that bear.”
“Bernard.”
“I told you. It was Emily’s.”
“You never said its name.”
“She called it Captain.”
Maria exhaled.
“Emma apparently calls it Cap.”
Bernard leaned against the wall.
Somewhere inside him, grief moved in a way he could not name.
“Bring it tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll fix the head.”
The head had not been recovered from the fire.
Emma knew that.
She only wanted the torn neck closed.
The following morning Maria brought the bear to Bernard’s workshop after obtaining permission from the temporary-placement supervisor.
Emma had supplied instructions.
“Don’t make him look new,” Maria said.
Bernard almost smiled. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“And don’t wash him.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“And the button stays.”
“The button definitely stays.”
Maria set Captain on the workbench.
Bernard touched the faded fabric with two fingers.
The bear was smaller than he remembered.
Everything from childhood was.
He selected yellow thread close enough to the original fabric to disappear without making the repair look fresh. Then he began folding the torn neck inward.
His needle struck something hard.
Bernard stopped.
He touched the stuffing.
There was an object inside.
“Maria.”
She looked up from her phone.
“What?”
“There’s something in here.”
She crossed the workshop.
Bernard widened the opening carefully without cutting any original stitching.
Gray stuffing emerged first.
Then his fingertips found metal.
He pulled out a tiny brass key.
A plastic tag had been looped through it.
Faded black numbers were written across one side.
317.
On the reverse were three words.
HARBOR SELF STORAGE.
Maria stared at the key.
Bernard looked at Captain.
The stitching around the hidden pocket was not his.
It was newer.
Emily had opened the bear sometime after they were separated, placed the key inside and sewn it shut again.
She had hidden something where she believed Charles Mercer would never think to look.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: A storage locker held the history Emily had been building in secret, including proof that Charles knew she was preparing to expose him
Five children were about to be divided among strangers, and Bernard Vance had nine days to prove one man could become their home
Part 5 of 15
