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“You don’t look like a federal agent.”
“What about me doesn’t say federal agent? The clothes?”
“Perhaps.”
Brenda smiled.
“It’s like a cop not liking
donuts, yeah?”
The hint of a smile appeared on Mrs. Cumming’s face. It was like the thinnest ray of sunshine between the blinds, but it was enough. It filled Brenda with the hope that she could actually get something out of this.
“Do you want tea?” Mrs. Cumming asked.
Brenda’s first instinct was to decline politely and get straight to business. But on second thought, she accepted. She didn’t have any concrete plan after this interview. The informality would hopefully make the woman more open for a discussion on her son.
Before long, Brenda and Mrs. Cumming sat drinking tea at opposite ends of the sofa.
“So, Mrs. Cumming, tell me about your son, Tim.”
“Well, there’s so much to say, but it all seems so useless now.”
A screen of tears formed on her eyes as memories of her boy cruised through her mind.
“I’m sorry,” Brenda apologized. “But if there were some other way I could do this, I would.”
“No, no, it’s alright,” Mrs. Cumming sniffed, then sipped at her tea.
“Tim was all quiet, growing up as a child. He and his father, my late husband, got along so well, they should’ve just been siblings. He was bright, did well in school, had as much luck with the ladies as his father had—” a smile appeared on Mrs. Cumming’s face as she stared into the distance “—he reminded me of his father so much. His behavior changed though when he lost his father about six years ago. He was quiet for most of the time, but would occasionally get violent and angry.”
“Why was that?”
“I’ve got no idea. He could spark like a flame at very little things. He also began spending time out more often. Sometimes, I won’t see him till the next day. That began more recently.”
“How recently?”
“My God, you’re thorough.”
“That’s my job,” Brenda said, smiling.
“Well,” Mrs. Cumming continued, “if I’m to put a time on that, I’ll say about a year ago.”
“I understand that this must be very tough for you, but the questions I’m about to ask are very crucial to the investigation process.”
Mrs. Cumming nodded, indicating for Brenda to go on.
“Do you know when your son died?”
It took some time for Mrs. Cumming to give an answer. Brenda could see that the older woman was fighting back tears.
“I really don’t know. He went out as usual, and didn’t come back home. I called the police after he’d stayed out two nights. Tim had never stayed out for two nights.”
“And when was he found?”
“Three days later.”
“In the trunk of your car with a note, right?”
