Free The Rag and Bone Shop by Robert Cormier Page A

caffeine probably percolating through his veins, nodded, eagerness bright in his eyes. “Okay,” he said.
    Trent regretted the loss of intensity and concentration but was confident that he could easily lead the boy into the heart of the interrogation.
    “Earlier, we covered your actions during the first part of the afternoon. Your sightings of the postal carrier and some youngsters. Did you observe anyone else on your way to Alicia Bartlett’s house?”
    Jason lowered his head in an effort to concentrate, his eyes half closed, trying to envision what Main Street had looked like that hot afternoon.
    He recalled a few cars passing by, the sun flashing on store windows, the Walk sign at the intersection of Water and Main Streets, a young girl pushing a baby carriage, but all of it muted, quiet, like watching a movie without sound.
    “Nothing,” he said. “Nobody in particular. I mean, a few people but nothing outstanding.” Then added: “Nobody out of context.” Glad to be using one of Mr. Trent’s phrases.
    “Good,” Trent said, indicating his approval. “Then, on to Alicia’s house. And now we must be careful, Jason. I want you to be specific about that visit.”
    Trent watched for the boy’s reaction to this sudden switch from his observations in the town to the scene at Alicia Bartlett’s house. He saw the boy look away, as if suddenly troubled and doubtful. Have I moved too soon? he wondered.
    Jason was regarding the blank wall, as if he could find the answer to his question there. The question: Was this the moment to tell what he hadn’t told the detective? About Brad and Alicia and how they seemed mad at each other on Monday, not only about the puzzle but about something else.
    “Brad, her brother, was there on Monday swimming with his friends in the pool,” Jason began.
    Mr. Trent looked at him quizzically. But didn’t say anything.
    “They seemed to be fighting,” Jason said. “I mean, not really fighting but mad at each other.”
    Mr. Trent was still silent, which encouraged Jason to go on.
    “I had a feeling something was wrong between them, that maybe Brad had done something to her.”
    Trent listened patiently, waiting for the boy to make his point but realizing that he was struggling to express himself. Trent’s attention was drawn to the boy’s hands, active, fluttering, moving away from his body as if trying to express what he was attempting to say. Trent leaned forward a bit, knowing by the movement of his hands, his entire body, that the boy was revealing the truth, whatever the truth might be.
    “Brad was always teasing her,” the boy said. “He teased everybody. But he was, like, more than teasing her on Monday.”
    The boy’s eyes half-closed again, an indication that he was fully concentrating, trying to pin down a memory or bringing vital information to the surface of his mind.
    “She said to him, ’Haven’t you done enough today?’ Something like that.”
    The boy sighed, a huge sigh, and blew air out of his mouth as if he had just delivered a monumental message.
    “Why didn’t you tell the detective about this?” Trent asked.
    “I don’t know. I didn’t think it was important. Alicia and Brad were always . . .” The boy shrugged, losing his struggle to find the proper words.
    “Bickering?” Trent supplied. “Arguing?”
    Jason nodded. “That’s right.”
    “Why did you think the exchange between them that day was so different?” Trent asked.
    “It wasn’t, I guess,” the boy said. “That’s why I didn’t mention it to the detective.” Then, looking directly at Trent, an appeal in his eyes: “Do you think it was important? Did I do something wrong?”
    Trent tried not to show his surprise at the boy’s remarks. Astonishingly, the boy seemed to be suggesting that the girl’s brother was somehow implicated in the girl’s murder. That they quarreled on the day she was killed, which could provide a motive. Trent recalled that the brother had an