‘We don’t know yet, Joe,’ Hunter explained. ‘But the information I need from you can help us figure that out too.’
Joe paused. Another good sign. Hunter jumped at the chance.
‘Maybe I could try to make this a little easier for both of us,’ he suggested. ‘Instead of you telling me all that has happened back when you were a young kid, how about I ask you a few specificquestions and you can just reply “yes” or “no”? It might make things a little easier. What do you think?’
Another prolonged silence.
‘OK. Let’s try that.’
Thirty-Three
Inside the UVC Unit’s office, Captain Blake’s lips pursed at Hunter, as she gave him an ‘I’m impressed’ look.
‘Way of digging yourself out of a hole, Robert,’ she whispered.
Hunter caught Garcia’s attention with a gesture, before indicating the board and the list of injuries that Terry Wilford had suffered during his torture phase.
Garcia quickly retrieved it and placed it on Hunter’s desk.
Before he could start, the sky outside cracked with thunder so loud that it sounded like a bomb had gone off just outside the PAB.
‘What the hell was that?’Joe asked.
‘Thunder,’ Hunter replied. ‘We’re just about to get one of our famous tropical downpours over here.’
A second later, raindrops the size of rifle bullets began pelting down against their office window.
‘And here it is,’ Garcia whispered.
‘OK, Joe, I’m ready. Can I start?’ Hunter asked.
‘I guess.’The reply came with an exhaled breath.
‘You broke both of your arms when you were a young boy, am I right? Maybe when you were around ten or eleven years old?’
There was a pregnant pause, as if Joe hadn’t heard the question properly.‘Umm.’The doubtful lilt was back in his voice.‘Yeah, that’s right. I fell off my bike.’
Hunter and Garcia exchanged the same ‘yeah, right’ look.
Trauma, when instigated by fear, tended to embed its roots deeper into the human mind, making it harder to overcome. Most people, battling those types of traumas, would, more often than not, hold on to certain fears long after their threat was gone, allowing them to affect their lives for years to come… sometimes for life. Joe had run away from his father five years ago and he now knew that Terry Wilford was gone and would never be back, but it seemed that his mind was still holding on to the fear of being hurt… the fear of punishment. His mind was still holding on to an untruth, created to protect Terry, not Joe.
‘Was that what your father told you to tell everyone?’ Hunter asked. ‘That your arm injuries were the result of you falling off a bike?’
Joe stayed quiet.
‘Joe,’ Hunter tried again. ‘I understand why he would do that. I also understand how terribly difficult this is for you. I know that what I’m asking you to do right now is painful… the memories I’m asking you to tap into are tender and full of hurt… and if there was another way, believe me, I would’ve gone down that path, but there really isn’t one, we’ve looked.’ He paused for effect. ‘The only way that this can work, Joe, is if you tell me the truth. There is no danger anymore.’
Another flicker of a lighter. Another long drag of a cigarette.
‘What do you wanna know, Detective?’
Hunter drew in a deep, silent breath. ‘Did your father do that to you? Did hetwistyour arms until they broke?’
Silence always had the magic power of stretching time, making it feel longer. The one that followed seemed to last an eternity.
‘Just “yes” or “no” will do, Joe. I don’t need any details.’
‘How could you possibly know that my father did that to me?’Joe asked, his voice faltering again.‘I never told anyone what really happened. I didn’t even go to the hospital back then. There’s no record of it. And how do you know that he twisted them?’
