“Well, I’m writing down what you’re saying.”
“Who’s gonna see that?”
Judy hesitates. “For now, just me,” she says. “And possibly my colleagues in the BCI. But eventually, it’s possible that it could be used as some kind of evidence. And that would be a public record.”
T.J. nods. For a moment, Judy wonders if she’s going to clam up, stop talking.
She puts the pen down. Instantly, T.J. looks comforted.
“What about Barbara’s relationship with her parents?” says Judy.
T.J. thinks for a long time.
“I don’t know if nonexistent is the right word,” she says, at last. “But it’s close.”
Judy pauses. Stalling for time.
“Is that the reason she got close to you?” Judy asks, quietly.
She knows better than to show her whole hand, at this point. She wants to see what T.J. will say on her own.
“Maybe,” says T.J.
“How close would you say you were?”
“Well, that’s difficult to describe.”
“Let’s start here,” says Judy. “I know she came to camp this summer. Was that her idea, or yours?”
“Hers,” says T.J. “All hers. She wanted to get out of the house. Didn’t want to go to the big party they were planning.”
“Why do you think that was?”
T.J. takes a deep breath. “You know how much money the Van Laars have, right?”
“I have some idea of that. Yes.”
“You know they sent their daughter off to boarding school last year with two outfits and no winter coat? You know they give her no spending money?”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Either they don’t remember,” says T.J., “or they don’t care. I’m the one who comes around. I bring her extra food for the weekend, bring her books and records she likes. I drive down there anytime I can. I take care of her. No one else does.”
“While she was at camp,” Judy says, “how many times did you see her?”
“Well, every day,” says T.J. “I saw all the campers every day. I’m always around, you know. Always fixing something, planning something, whatever it is.”
“And at night?”
T.J.’s gaze goes back to the wall to the left of Judy’s head.
For some time, there’s quiet in the cabin.
“Investigator Luptack,” says T.J. “I think I know what you’re implying.”
T.J. scoots to the edge of the bed, puts her hands on her knees. Leans forward, looking directly at Judy now.
“I know what people say about me down in the town. Maybe they’ve even said it to you during your investigation.”
Judy keeps her face blank.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I dress a certain way, is what I mean. I talk and walk a certain way.”
“All right.”
“Barbara is like a little sister to me,” says T.J. “Prob’ly the closest thing I’ll ever have to a kid of my own, if you want to know the truth. I love her. But not in the way you’re implying.”
Judy lets T.J.’s words sit in the air as long as she can.
Then she says, quietly, directly: “We have an eyewitness willing to testify that they saw Barbara going into your cabin in the middle of the night. Every night.”
It’s the first time, as an investigator, that she has ever challenged someone she was interviewing.
It’s also the first time she’s ever bluffed; she has no idea whether Christopher will go on the stand. Whether his parents will let him.
For a moment, T.J. turns red; her whole face flushes, and then her neck, and then the top of her chest.
