The child psychiatrist was brought in. She was a professor at so fancy university. A woman in her late thirties, she had no children of her own. She sat down and watched the tapes and read through the diary.
"This is very helpful," she said. "I will try to talk to her about everything but we need to separate her from her mother."
She pointedly looked towards us. "You're thinking that her mother will try to intercept the conversation?" I asked.
"Yes, she has written what was done to her so her mother must have said so things to keep her from spilling to the police. We need to separate the two. You can interrogate the mother and I can talk to the child. When I get a full account of everything that happened, I will file charges against the mother as a dical representative. We can get them completely separated that way."
"And after that? I will have to diagnose her, probably put her on dication and re-interview her several tis." That sounded like a lot of work.
"Thank you. Do you want to start?" I asked. The lady nodded.
"Okay, we need to take her to a cozy room and not one of the interrogation rooms," she announced. I took note of her demand and nodded. I turned to Nash.
"Can we take the side staff-room for a bit? I'll set up the cara and everything." I pleaded. I wanted to do right by this child.
"We'll clear out the room in no ti." Everything was settled and Carol was taken to the room. She took one look at and then shook her head in disapproval.
"I want to talk to her," she said stubbornly pointing towards . I stood stunned and waited for her to say sothing else.
"You don't like ?" the psychiatrist asked.
Carol shook her head. "I do like you. You sll nice but she betrayed ." Her eyes were accusing.
I betrayed her? How was that?
I knelt down beside her, my face right in front of her. "How did I betray you, Carol?" I asked softly.
"Your eyes. They are like mine, so I told you a little. But you told everyone." She pouted.
"My eyes are like yours?" I enquired. I kind of knew what she ant. My gaze was often disconcerting. One psychopath could sense another and one tornted soul another. Now, the question was... which one did she sense?
"Yes, I saw your eyes at the cri scene. That's why I wanted to talk to you." She sneered. "You even brought hot chocolate. So, I thought."
I looked helplessly at the psychiatrist. "If you want Evie to sit in, we can arrange that," she said helpfully. My eyes widened for a fraction of a second and then I too nodded, back in control. I inford Sebastian of the change in plan and then went back inside the room.
"Sit beside her," the psychiatrist insisted in a whisper. "She identifies with you. I'll ask her more about why she feels that way, okay? Don't be shy and help her this once." I stared.
"Thank you for letting in. I wanted to learn how to interview kids, too," I admitted. The psychiatrist smiled.
"From what I saw, you have the bases covered. You are warm and caring and don't accuse them. You ignited her curiosity and coaxed her to talk. You did the best you could." Albeit, I had done it poorly.
I bowed and then brought up the warm blankets I had found. Carol was sitting on the couch, looking around the room like the curious child that she was.
"Do you want a blanket?" I asked. Carol looked at it for a second and then nodded. I put it over her legs and smiled at her.
"Can you bring so soda, too?" she asked. I could see why soone would follow her without thinking she was harmful. The small body, weak limbs, and keen eyes made you want to trust and protect her. For a young boy to blindly follow, it made sense.
"We already gave you a cup, rember?" I gave her a cup of hot cocoa. She took it and frowned. She didn't thank . Which was okay. It was okay that she felt no gratitude for small things. She shouldn't with the life she had led. She deserved to get the world handed to her.
"Let's begin, shall we?" the psychiatrist asked. The cara had already been rolling. I sat beside Carol, a little distance between us. She looked at curiously and scooted closer. I threw a glance towards the psychiatrist and she gave a cautious nod.
"What is your full na?" she asked. Carol didn't stir. It took two more tries for her to speak.
"Carol Myers," she said.
"My, what a beautiful na you have. Who nad you?" The tone was conversational, but the reply nothing but.
"I don't know. I don't think my mother gave it to ." She shrugged.
"Why do you think that?" the psychiatrist asked.
"She never pays much attention to . I remain in my room or go out to play most of the ti."
"She doesn't pay attention to you? Why do you think that?" It was standard procedure. The questions were textbook so that we could get the difference between what the child thought was true and what was reality. Having read the diaries, we had so insight into what had happened to her.
"She's locked up with those n all day long," she hissed. "She barely cos out and when she does, she asks to follow her." She hung her head.
"What do you eat then?" the psychiatrist asked.
"She usually leaves a piece of bread, milk, and banana from . I eat that." My jaw ticked. That was true. Social services had checked the fridge. The food was scarce, so stale bread, expired milk and bananas were all they found. From neighbors, they knew that Grace rarely left the house and often had delivery boys bring over takeout food in between her sessions.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?" she asked.
"I did. I told the neighbors but they couldn't do anything. They sotis invited over to their house for als." She paused. "They offer you als once or twice but then they get scared that you will have als with them every day, so they stop helping you. The pity in their eyes makes angry."
She balled her little hands into fists.
"And the n in the house?" the psychiatrist broached the topic with hesitation.
"Filthy," she sneered. "They know nothing about manners. They co in at all tis of the day and never stay for long." And there it was... the reluctance to speak. She had spoken about the follies of her mother but never spoke of the n. Why was that?
"You don't like them, I see..." ten more minutes of going in circles and she started to speak about how she had seen them in different states of undress, the way they had touched her or hit her.
"I don't want to see a man ever again!" she claid. So, this anger towards the whole sex had what led her to murder. Kids because they didn't have the strength to hurt her. But how did she know she had an urge to kill? That was the question.
"And your mother? You don't hate her?" The question was asked softly.
Carol remained silent for a solid mont. "I don't hate her. She's my mother. At least she lets stay at ho and feeds sothing. She didn't kill ..." she trailed off. A spark of interest passed both the psychiatrist and my mind. Now, this raised a question which we could interrogate the mother over. It was definitely not over the statute of limitations, so.
"What do you an she didn't kill you?" The thing about kids was that they didn't understand the law. They didn't understand that sothing that happened long ago or didn't succeed was still considered a cri.
"My mom fed these crushed pills. You know, she would put them in my milk and I would feel so woozy all the ti." She shook her head at the mory.
"Were you sick? Was that why she was giving you the dicine?" the psychiatrist asked, leaving out all signs of horror from her voice.
"No, I wasn't sick. She said they were vitamins." She looked down at her hands. "My mom took one every night and I read that they were for sleeping."
"Did you see her put them into your milk?" she asked.
"Yeah. She would put in a lot of pills at once. She used to grind the dicine, so I always knew she was putting it in."
"And when it made you woozy, you still drank it?" She shook her head.
"Sotis, the dicine would knock out and I would wake up after a long ti. So, I stopped taking the milk for a while."
So, the mother had been experinting with dication. Because it was sothing she took every day, no one would suspect her. They would think the girl was curious and had ingested too many pills. Grace had dozed up on the pills to make it look seamless. Pure evil.
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