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“I understand, but—”
“And since you want to know, I’m just gonna straight-out tell you. It was hot last night, and my boy doesn’t do well in the heat. He had a bad attack of asthma. Last thing he’d want to do is go down the street and hurt someone.”
While his mother raged, Jamal said nothing, just sat with his back rigid, his shoulders squared, maintaining his dignity in silence. Jane could not take back the question, a question she would have asked any teenage boy who lived in a neighborhood where there’d been burglaries. Who knew the victim and had been inside her house.
Her next question would be even more hurtful.
“Jamal,” she said quietly, “because you’ve been inside Sofia’s house, your fingerprints may be there. We need to exclude yours from any unidentified ones we find.”
“You want my fingerprints,” he said dully.
“It’s just so we know which ones we can discount.”
He gave a resigned sigh. “Okay. I understand.”
“An evidence technician will be here to collect them.” She looked at his mother. “Your son is not a suspect, Mrs. Bird. If anything, he’s been a very big help to us, so thank you. Thank you both.”
“Yeah.” The woman scoffed. “Sure.”
As Jane stood up to leave, Jamal asked: “What about Henry? What happens to him?”
Jane shook her head. “Henry?”
“Her fish. Sofia doesn’t have any family, so who’s gonna feed Henry?”
Jane glanced at Frost, who just shook his head. She turned back to Jamal. “What do you know about goldfish?”
