Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [67]
“Just like I told you over the phone. He had pictures of him pointing it and . . .” Her eyes spilled tears onto her cheeks. “Of him holding it to his . . . head. It got me to thinking that probably what happened was just a terrible mistake.”
Marge nodded.
“I don’t understand how such a responsible boy could do such foolish things.”
The paradox of adolescence. Oliver said, “It’s a miracle that more tragedies don’t happen to them.”
Marge said, “You told me that Greg looked stoned or drunk in the pictures?”
“He had a bizarre expression on his face . . . droopy lids, lopsided smile, and his head was cocked to the side. It didn’t look like him. But it was him. That much I can tell you.”
Her eyes flitted between Oliver’s and Marge’s faces.
“That’s why I didn’t return your calls. I didn’t want all this . . . ugly stuff to come out about my son. But once I saw the gun pictures on the laptop . . . I don’t know. I just felt I should let you know . . . although I don’t know why.”
“Your instincts were good,” Marge told her. “Especially now that the laptop was stolen.”
“How did the thief get into your house?” Oliver asked.
Wendy stared at him. “I don’t know.”
“Any windows or doors unlocked or opened when you got up this morning?”
“Not that I can remember.” She was quiet. “That’s very odd. I was so intent on the laptop, I never even thought about how they got in.”
“They?” Marge asked.
“They, he, she . . .”
“And you’re sure nothing else was taken?” Marge asked.
“All my jewelry was still in the box in my bedroom. So I thought maybe they didn’t go into the master. But my purse was still hanging in my closet. All my money was still in my wallet. Plus on the same table as the laptop, I have a pair of silver candlesticks. They weren’t touched. I haven’t gone through things item by item, but it appears that nothing was taken except the laptop.”
Marge said, “Did you happen to find Gregory’s camcorder?”
“No—” Abruptly, she paled. “Do you think there might be those kinds of movies on it?” When neither Marge nor Oliver answered the question, she shook her head in disgust. “Oh God! It just makes me sick to think about it.” She started crying silently. “It hurts me so much that I knew so little about my son. Maybe if I had seen some kind of warning sign, this all would have been preventable.”
Oliver said, “There might not have been obvious warning signs, Mrs. Hesse.”
Marge said, “If it’s okay with you, we’d like to go through your house, including Gregory’s room.”
“What for?” Wendy asked.
“A crime was committed. We want to see how the burglar got into your house.”
“That makes sense. But why Gregory’s room?”
Marge deflected the question. “You showed us these pictures. You obviously want to know more about Gregory.”
Wendy Hesse sighed. “Initially, I thought I did. ”
Oliver said, “I think you’d want to make sure that the laptop doesn’t get into the wrong hands . . . some sicko who could post unpleasant things on the Internet.”
“Oh my word, I never thought about that,” Wendy exclaimed. “Yes, of course. You can come anytime you’d like.” She looked at the detectives with newfound respect, blotting her tears with a tissue. “Thank you so much. I’ll do whatever I can to help you. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back earlier . . . after it happened.”
Marge said, “Don’t give it a second thought, Mrs. Hesse. Does three tomorrow afternoon work for all of us to come to the house?”
“I have a court case, but I should be done by three,” Oliver said.
“I’m okay with three,” Wendy said.
“Then we’ll see you there. If you get a chance tonight, look for Greg’s camcorder.” Marge stood up. “And if you find it, hide it in a safe place.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Yasmine hated when the hands on her new silver watch with the blue face told her it was quarter after seven. It meant she had to go to school.
It was terrible spending so many long hours without him. No matter how much she tried to put him out of her mind, no matter how often she willed herself to be back to the way it was BG—before Gabe—she was lonely and lost and