Sophie (The Boss 8)

“And you shouldn’t try to hide things in an investigation,” Jenna added as a friendly reminder.

We answered questions about El-Mudad, and his girls, where they were from, their ages, what their parents did, where they went to school, their immigration status… It was so invasive.

“I feel like we’re sharing this information without their permission,” I said quietly, more to Neil than to the social worker, as she paused to move on to the next section of the interview.

“Perhaps El-Mudad should be here, since this now involves his children, as well,” Neil suggested.

Jenna nodded, smoothly processing our words and responding while simultaneously scanning her laptop screen and tapping keys. “I’ll want to speak with him alone when we’re finished here, and then I can stop by their school. I’ve already spoken to Olivia at hers.”

A squealing brake noise filled my brain. Olivia would be fine; she’d talk to anyone about anything with gusto. But the girls? “Wait, you’re going to speak to them at school?

They’re going to get pulled out of class by someone in a suit who’s come from the government? Can you see why that might be an issue for immigrant children named Amal and Rashida Ati?”

That subdued her. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t think of it that way. I can interview them here.”

“I’ll tell El-Mudad,” Neil said, stalking off toward the bedroom.

Left alone with Jenna the social worker, I didn’t know what to say. She waited until Neil had left and asked, “May I call you Sophie?”

“Sure.” I could give a shit what this woman called me. I wanted things wrapped up as quickly as possible.

“Thanks.” She gave me that encouraging smile again. I was beginning to hate it. “Sophie, do you feel safe in your home?”

“Until about twenty minutes ago, yeah.” I quickly added, “I’m not referring to Neil or El-Mudad. I’m talking about the invasion going on here based on a completely unfounded allegation.”

“I understand—”

“You don’t understand,” I interrupted her. “You’re sitting on the other side of this thing.”

“But I’ve been on Olivia’s side,” she said firmly, all friendliness gone, replaced solely by her mission. “I’ve been the child who needed someone to ask hard questions. That’s why I ask hard questions now. And it would be a lot easier for all of us, the children included, if the adults here could put their anger aside and realize that we’re working on a common goal.”

Damn. I didn’t have anything to say to that.

“Let’s talk about drug use in the home,” she said, moving smoothly forward.

“We already told you. There is no drug use in the home.” I folded my arms over my chest. “Like we said, Neil did have a drug problem and a drinking problem, and those got worse when his daughter died. Like they do.” Talking about it behind his back felt icky.

“But have you ever found drugs hidden in the home? Perhaps in a drawer or a bookcase?”

That was specific. And eerily accurate.

Valerie.

Realization exploded through my furious brain and shattered my heart. Valerie had helped me clean out Neil’s little stashes when he was in the hospital after his suicide attempt. She knew about them.

Why would she do this?

“I have,” I answered flatly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Jenna said.

“You’re not going to find anything here today. So, I’m not asking this because I’m worried. I’m asking this because I’m trying to understand why the person who made this call would have made this call. And I’m not going to ask you for their identity. I know you can’t tell me. I just want to know what would happen if you decided today that Olivia is in a bad situation.” I added, “Which she is not.”

“It all depends on whether or not I felt the child was in immediate danger. If I’d walked in here and found cocaine on the coffee table, I would have considered that an obvious case of endangerment. I would have petitioned the court for an ex parte order to remove the child.”

“And she would be remanded to a relative before a foster home, right?” I stared Jenna down, so there was no way she could bullshit me.

She didn’t answer fast enough for her non-committal, “Sometimes,” to qualify as a denial. “Tell me about the drugs you found in the home. Where were they?”

“Hidden places. This was before Olivia could even walk, by the way. Between pages of books. Tucked into old prescription bottles in the medicine cabinet in a guest room. I can’t remember all of the places. Nothing in the kitchen or the nursery, obviously.” Maybe not obviously, considering the other cases Jenna must have handled. “Nowhere that Olivia could have accessed them at that time.”

The emotional whiplash of being torn between truly understanding the horrors lurking out there in the world, feeling intense sympathy for this woman who had to deal with them, and resenting her presence as that of a dangerous enemy suddenly broke me. Fatigue weighed down my shoulders.