6. What Junie Drew
The advocacy center had soft chairs and a box of crayons and a woman named Priya had introduced as the forensic interviewer, someone trained to ask nothing and everything at once.
Rosalind and Okonkwo watched from behind the one-way glass, where the room on the other side looked exactly like a room and not at all like what it was.
"Can you draw me your house?" the interviewer asked. "Any house. Whichever one you want."
Junie drew slowly. A square. A triangle roof. A door.
"Who lives there?"
A stick figure with brown loops for hair. Then, after a long pause, a second figure, taller, standing just outside the door frame rather than in it.
"Who's that one?"
"Daddy's brother." Junie's crayon didn't stop moving, small circular scribbles that weren't really a picture of anything. "He has a room in the back. I don't draw that room."
"That's okay. You don't have to."
"It's not for drawing." Her voice was flat, rehearsed-sounding in a way that made Rosalind's chest cave in. "That room is a secret."
"Was anyone else ever there? Outside, maybe? While you were in the house?"
Junie's crayon paused over the paper. She added a small rectangle in the driveway of her drawing — a car — and inside it, a tiny circle for a head.
"Daddy waited in the car," she said, so simply it took a moment to land, the way the worst things always did. "Sometimes. When it was late."
The interviewer's face didn't change at all — years of training holding perfectly still — but Rosalind, on the other side of the glass, had to bite down on her own hand to keep silent.
A few minutes later the session paused. The interviewer stepped out into the observation room, closed the door softly behind her, and looked at Okonkwo before she looked at Rosalind.
"There's something else," she said quietly. "Junie mentioned a phone. She said someone in that house used to take pictures."