Thread of Truth, стр. 13
“I'm very sorry,” I said to her.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice hoarse.
Tom gestured toward the sofa across from the one Alice was sitting on. I took a seat. He sat down next to his wife, placing his hand on one of her knees. Tears slid down her cheeks and she put both of her hands on top of his, as if trying to find something to cling to.
Tom cleared his throat. “So. I...can you...”
“I retraced the route,” I told him, saving him the trouble of trying to get the question out. “I worked my way up Torrey Pines Road, then went back and did it again on foot. I walked the path and I was checking the brush. There were a couple of areas where I thought it was possible that a bike might've gone off. I checked them. I found Desmond in one of them.” I paused. “I can give you more details about what I saw, but I'm not sure that it will help.”
“Had he been there long?” Tom asked.
“Impossible for me to say,” I told him. “I'm sure the investigators will have more information about that.”
Tom nodded, staring at the floor, his thoughts elsewhere.
I remembered the moments after Elizabeth was taken from our front yard. There was panic, then confusion, then hope, then despair. It wasn't quite the same as what the Lockers were experiencing, but I remembered the numbness that alternated with the sharp pain as I tried to process what had happened.
“The person on the phone,” Tom said. “She told me she thought it was a hit and run.”
“She told me the same thing.”
“Who does that?” Alice whispered. “Who hits someone and leaves them for dead?”
“Is that what it looked like to you?” Tom asked. “Hit and run?”
“I'm not really qualified to give you a professional answer on that,” I told him. “There are a lot of things that go into recreating the scene that will give them a better idea of what happened.”
Tom studied me for a moment. “Okay. Can you give me an unprofessional answer then? Your gut. Does it say the same thing?”
It was a tricky area to get into and it made me uncomfortable. On one hand, I hadn't thought it looked as clear-cut as Swanson had made it sound when she and I spoke. There were a couple of things that bothered me. But, on the other hand, I didn't want to give Tom and Alice Locker any false hope. Their son was dead and no matter what I told them, that fact would remain unchanged.
“Please,” Tom said. It was impossible to ignore the pleading in his voice. “Just an opinion. I'm not looking to hold you to anything.”
I shifted on the sofa. “It's really hard to say. I don't know enough about accident aftermaths to really assess what I saw. I can tell you that the back wheel of the bike looked...off. To me. It was pretty badly damaged, and it struck me as more damage than a quick hit and run would do. I also thought he was a little bit further off the path than what we'd find with that kind of accident, but I have no way of knowing how fast Desmond or the car that hit him was going. I used this same word with the detective I spoke to, but there are a lot of ‘variables.’” I paused. “So I'd really caution against taking anyone's word about anything at this point. It's pretty early to make any kind of determination about anything.”
Tom nodded again, lost in thought.
“I know this is hard,” I told them. “I'm sorry I don't have better news.”
Tom freed one of his hands from Alice’s grip and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not your fault.”
“Desmond was an excellent rider,” Alice said.
I nodded, unsure of what to say to that.
She unfolded her legs and set her feet on the floor, but kept hold of her husband's hand. “He took a course last summer on rider safety. He knew that that route could be dangerous, so he was extra cautious riding it.” She looked at her husband. “Do you remember he walked the whole thing before he rode it?”
“I thought he was crazy for doing it,” Tom said. “But, yeah. I remember.”
Alice thought for a moment before looking at me. “I'm having a hard time believing he would've put himself in a position to be hit by a wayward driver.”
“The path is right next to the road,” I pointed out gently. “If the car was coming from behind, it would've been hard for him to avoid that, no matter how careful he was being. I have no doubt that the accident wasn't his fault, but I'm not sure there's much he could've done against a driver who wasn't paying attention the way they should've been.”
She sighed and looked away, and I was left not knowing what to say or do. I’d been in this situation a few times before, not being able to give parents the information they so desperately wanted – it went with the territory of looking for missing kids – and it never got any easier.
Tom cleared his throat and I turned my attention to him. “I have a proposition for you,” he said.
I waited.
“I don't have much faith in the police,” he admitted. “I think Alice and I laid all that out when we hired you.”
I responded with a slight nod.
“That lack of faith still remains even though the circumstances have changed. I'm not sure I believe they'll really be able to figure out what happened to our son.”
“I think you should give them a chance,” I told him. “They have the resources and at the risk