The Neighbor - Lisa Gardner [57]
For the first time, Ree responded, her forehead crinkling into a tiny frown. “Why not?”
“For one thing, there are special rules for talking to boys and girls. Did you know that?”
Ree edged closer, shook her head. Her toe touched the pink flower. She seemed to study the rug.
“Well, as I mentioned outside, this is a magic room, and there are four rules for talking in a magic room.” Marianne held up four fingers, ticking off. “One, we only talk about what really happened. Not what might have happened, but what really happened.”
Ree frowned again, moved a tiny bit closer.
“Do you understand the difference between the truth and a lie, Clarissa?” Marianne reached into the toy basket, came up with a stuffed dog. “If I say this is a cat, is that a truth or a lie?”
“A lie,” Ree said automatically. “That’s a dog.”
“Very good! So that’s rule number one. We only talk about the truth, okay?”
Ree nodded. She seemed to get tired of standing, taking a seat just beyond the flower rug, her bunny now on her lap.
“The second rule,” Marianne was saying, “is that if I ask you a question and you don’t know the answer, you just say you don’t know. Does that make sense?”
Ree nodded.
“How old am I, Clarissa?”
“Ninety-five,” Ree said.
Marianne smiled, a bit ruefully. “Now, Clarissa, do you know how old I am? Have you asked or has anyone told you?”
Ree shook her head.
“So really, you don’t know how old I am. And what are you supposed to say if you don’t know something?”
“I don’t know,” Ree filled in obediently.
“Good girl. Where do I live?”
Ree opened her mouth, then seemed to catch herself. “I don’t know!” she exclaimed, a trace of triumph this time.
Marianne grinned. “I can tell you’re very good in school. Are you an excellent student?”
“I’m very pre-pre-cushush,” Ree said proudly. “Everyone says so.”
“Precocious? I fully agree and I’m very proud of you. Okay rule number three. If you don’t remember something, it’s okay to say you don’t remember. So how old were you when you first walked?”
“I’ve been walking since I was born,” Ree started, then caught herself as she remembered rule number three. She let go of her stuffed bunny and clapped her hands gleefully. “I DON’T REMEMBER!” she shrieked with delight. “I. Don’t. Remember.”
“You are the best pupil I’ve ever had,” Marianne said, still sitting cross-legged on the rug. She held up her four fingers. “All right, star student—last rule. Do you know what rule four is?”
“I DON’T KNOW!” Ree shouted happily.
“You are so good. So, rule four, if you don’t understand something I say or ask, it’s okay to say you don’t understand. Capisce?”
“Capisce!” Ree yelled right back. “That means ‘I understand’ in Italian! I know Italian. Mrs. Suzie’s been teaching us Italian.”
For a moment, Marianne blinked her eyes. Apparently, even in a forensic interviewer’s world, there was precocious, and then there was precocious. Frankly, D.D. was having a hard time keeping a straight face. She slid a glance in Jason’s direction, but he had the same blank look on his face. Light switch, she thought again. He was in the room, but shut off.
That made her think of a thing or two, and she found herself scrawling a quick question on her notepad.
In the interrogation room, Marianne Jackson seemed to recover herself. “All right, then. You know the rules. So, tell me, Clarissa—”
“Ree. Everyone calls me Ree.”
“Why do they call you Ree?”
“’Cause when I was a baby, I couldn’t say Clarissa. I said Ree. And Mommy and Daddy liked that, so they call me Ree, too. Unless I’m in trouble. Then Mommy says, ‘Clarissa Jane Jones,’ and I have until the count of three or I get the timeout stair.”
“The timeout stair?”
“Yeah. I gotta sit on the bottom step of the staircase for four minutes. I don’t like the timeout stair.”
“What about the little gal you’re holding? Lil’ Bunny. She ever get into trouble?”
Clarissa looked at Marianne. “Lil’ Bunny is a toy. Toys can’t get in trouble. Only people can.”
“Very good, Clarissa.