Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [111]
The hot anger in her mother’s voice brought Yasmine back to reality. She dried her tears on her shirtsleeve. She said, “What do you want to know?”
Sohala said, “I want to know everything!”
Yasmine’s voice was tiny. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”
Sohala’s burning fury melted into pity. “You okay?”
The girl nodded.
“No one touch you?”
“No. I’m okay.”
“That’s all that matter. Talk to the policewoman. Then we think together about what lies to tell your father so he won’t die.”
“You’re going to tell Daddy?”
“I have to tell him something. Why else would you live with Aunt Sofi? But not right away. You want him to have heart attack?”
Her voice was high and thin. “No.” She looked down. “Thank you, Mommy.”
“I do it for Daddy, I don’t do it for you!” A pause. “Well, maybe a little for you.” Sohala’s eyes went wet. “Talk to the lady now.”
When Yasmine nodded, Wanda turned on the tape recorder.
Watching Oliver chat with Kyle Kerkin over the video monitor, Decker saw that the teen was on the thin side with a developed chest and wiry arms. He had a big nose, thin lips, acne, and a face framed by shoulder-length brown hair. Decker didn’t see any defiance in his demeanor. His posture was upright, his hands folded on the table. His voice was on the soft side and nasal. He wore a plaid shirt jacket, currently draped over a chair, with a black T-shirt, Levis, and sneakers. He looked up when Decker came into the interview room. He crossed his arms over his chest and slouched in the chair, his right leg bouncing up and down.
Decker sat next to the teen and introduced himself.
“You’re Chris’s foster father, right?”
Decker was confused. “Chris?”
“Yeah . . . right. The guy today. He said his name was Chris. Then he said it was something else. I don’t remember what it was.”
Decker didn’t clarify anything. “I understand you’d like to talk to me.” The kid’s leg continued up and down, up and down. “Detective Oliver will talk to you. I’m just here to listen.”
“I’m not an idiot, you know,” Kyle said. “I know I’m taking a big risk here. I haven’t called my parents yet, although they’ll know pretty soon. And I know it’s stupid to talk to you without a lawyer. The thing is, I’m putting myself on the line. I need this one shot to make this go away.”
No one spoke.
Kyle said, “I mean, I know it’s not going to go away unless you make it go away.”
Still no comment.
His eyes on Decker. “Look, sir, I will do anything you want. I’ll answer any questions you want. I will tell you everything, and I mean everything, as long as you keep me out of this. I mean, I know I might have to be a witness or something because I was there. But I swear to God, I didn’t do anything. I mean, yes, I borrowed the gun from my father and gave it to Dylan, but I had nothing to do with this morning. Nothing whatsoever. When I showed up, it was already a fait accompli.”
When the kid stopped talking, Decker turned to Oliver. “Have you read Mr. Kerkin his rights?”
Oliver said, “I did. I have the signature card.”
Decker said, “We’re open to hear anything you want to tell us.”
“Like I told you, Kyle,” Oliver said, “this is your one chance to give us your side of the story.”
“Look.” Kyle moved forward. “I watch The First 48. I know the drill. You want a confession. I’m not here to make a confession. I didn’t do anything. But, yes, I was there. That much I’ll say because there’s no sense denying the obvious. I know I’m in deep shit. What I’m telling you is I’ll do anything you want. I’ll say anything you want. I just want out.”
Oliver said, “Why don’t you start at the beginning. What happened this morning?”
“I gotta get some kind of guarantee first. I got into Wharton.” His eyes watered up. “I’m not going to let some fucking asshole ruin my life.”
Too little, too late. Decker said, “Who’s the fucking asshole?”
Kyle was gnashing his teeth, his jaw working overtime. “Dylan Lashay. He’s a real psychopath, and I don’t use the term lightly.” A pause. “I guess you’re wondering why I hang with him.”
“I’m a little curious,” Oliver said.
Kyle made a swipe