Healing Sands Read Free Page A

detective asked.
    Jake shook his head and kept his gaze on the table. With his hands in his lap, he began to pick at a mole he’d always had on his wrist.
    â€œThe truck struck Miguel Sanchez and then pulled forward and stopped. Did you just sit there while he was unconscious on the ground?” Detective Baranovic reached his fist across the table, and for a mother-bear instant I thought he was going to punch my son, but he used it to lift Jake’s chin.
    Jake’s dark blue eyes were blurred with fear, and moisture had gathered beneath them, though from sweat or tears I couldn’t tell. Otherwise, he was as pale and still as one of his father’s statues. So was Dan.
    Jake tried to pull away, but the detective’s fingers held his jaw.
    â€œI just want to look at you, son.” He dropped his hand. “You don’t strike me as racist. But you see, we have a pigmentation situation here. Miguel Sanchez is a U.S. citizen. When a white boy comes in and deliberately runs him down, people start making noises about something racially motivated. Now—” He gave a tight shrug. “I can’t do much about the fact that all the evidence points to you as the perpetrator of this crime, which I see as attempted homicide—”
    He put his hand up to me before I could get my mouth open, but I grabbed Jake’s arm anyway. Jake pulled away, leaving me with a vise grip on the sleeve of his black sweatshirt.
    â€œTalk to him, Jacob!” I said. “You’re being accused of murder!” Jake shrugged.
    Baranovic stood up, hands on the table, and loomed over Jake. He wasn’t big, but his presence was. “So you’re telling me you don’t give a flip about this kid, is that it?”
    Jake shook his head.
    â€œThat’s not it, or you don’t care?”
    â€œThat’s not it.” Jake’s voice shot up into the hormonal, adolescent atmosphere and disappeared. He was so frightened I could hardly stand it.
    â€œJake, please,” I said.
    â€œMrs. Coe—”
    â€œHe’s terrified! I’m terrified! Why don’t you let me talk to him alone—”
    â€œNo.” Dan put his hand on the back of Jake’s neck as if he were retracting him from a brood of vipers.
    â€œAm I going to have to ask you both to leave?” Baranovic didn’t raise his voice, but his tone had an edge that could have sliced a rock.
    I put my hand over my mouth and waved him on.
    â€œIf this was somehow an accident,” he said to Jake, “or Miguel provoked you in some way, you need to tell me. That will make it a lot easier on you when I take this to the juvenile prosecutor. She’s going to decide whether to file formal charges, and if she does, then a fitness hearing will determine whether they try you as an adult in regular court. If you go in there like this—showing no remorse, with no explanation . . .” He pulled up from the table. The muscles on the forearms below his rolled-up sleeves were taut. “It’s going to go as badly as it can possibly go.”
    Jake said nothing.
    â€œSo what happens now?” Dan said.
    â€œWe have the option of sending him to county juvenile detention until his hearing, but normally we only do that with youth who are at risk for re-offending or for nonappearance in court. I can release him into parental custody.” He looked back and forth between us. “You folks decide who I’m releasing him to. I’m going to need some paperwork filled out.”
    I stared at Dan until he let go of Jake and got to his feet. “I’ll take care of that,” he said.
    He patted Jake’s shoulder. “You okay, buddy?” Was he okay ? Who was okay when they were being charged with attempted homicide in a hate crime? Did he look okay ? The boy was sweating so hard he was about to evaporate, and probably wished he could.
    At least Jake didn’t assure him he was just fine,