I looked at Detective Harris.
He was staring at my mother now.
“What does he mean?” I asked.
My voice did not sound like mine. It sounded hollow, like it had traveled through a long tunnel and barely survived the journey.
My mother pressed a tissue to her mouth. Her eyes darted once toward Madison.
Madison shook her head quickly. Too quickly.
“No,” Madison said. “He’s confused. He hit his head. Kids say things.”
But Detective Harris did not look confused.
He stepped forward, his voice low.
“Mrs. Carter, when was the last time you spoke to Daniel Carter?”
“Two weeks ago,” I said. “On video. He said he was in Germany.”
The detective’s jaw tightened.
My stomach dropped.
“What?” I demanded. “What are you not telling me?”
Before he could answer, Noah’s small hand moved again. He pointed not at my mother this time.
At Madison.
