The memory card was still there.
Taped beneath the plastic lining of his pencil case.
My hands shook so badly Mia’s mother had to help me remove it.
We took it straight to the police station.
This time, I did not accept soft voices or careful excuses. I placed Randy’s card, the backpack, and the memory card on the desk and said:
“My son tried to report something. He was ignored. His backpack disappeared. And a child had to bring me the truth on Mother’s Day.”
The officer’s face changed as he listened.
By evening, detectives were at the school.
By night, Mrs. Harper and the assistant principal had been questioned.
By morning, the school’s clean little statement about an “unexplained tragedy” began to fall apart.
Randy had not been a fragile child who simply vanished from this world without reason.
He had been a brave child.
A child who saw wrong and tried to tell the truth.
