It was a case that immediately struck a nerve with everyone who cared about children. People were outraged at the very suggestion of sexual abuse. The allegations had been made in ’83. The pretrial investigation was still ongoing three years later. But rumors about how the children involved were being interviewed were bringing more than a little doubt about the veracity of the testimony being elicited—at least among psychologists.

Improper suggestive interviewing techniques could easily mislead and confuse small children, rendering their testimony unreliable—to say nothing of potentially causing psychological damage to the children.

Maybe she knew more about this than she realized, Anne thought. But she still felt like she was working without a net.

Haley had colored a page of chickens all red. Was that because of all the blood she must have seen the night she and her mother were attacked? Or did she just like the color red? Or had there been red chickens at her home out in the country?

“Why are your chickens red?” she asked.

Haley just shrugged and turned the page to a picture of kittens.

“I have kitties,” she said. “At my house.”

“You do?”

“When can I go home?”

“You’re going to come and stay with Vince and me for a while.”

“My mommy will miss me. Can my kitties come and stay too?”

“Hmmm ... I don’t know,” Anne said. “We’ll have to see about that.”

“When Mommy says that she means no.”

Anne smiled and stroked a hand over the little girl’s unruly mop of curls.

“Hey, would you draw a picture for me?” Anne asked, reaching for the tablet of blank paper. “Would you draw me a picture of your house and your kitties?”

“Okay. I like to draw.”

She chose a brown crayon and started her rendition of a mamma cat and her babies. In the background she drew her house. Far off to one side of the page she drew a large black figure with red eyes.

“Who is that?” Anne asked, holding her breath for the answer.

Haley shrugged and colored the grass yellow.

“Is this a person?” Anne asked, tapping a finger below the imposing character looming off to the side.

Haley nodded.

“Does this person have a name?”

“Bad Monster,” she said, and then looked up at Anne. “Are there kids at your house?”

“No. Do you have other kids for friends?”

“Sometimes Wendy comes. She’s eleven. That’s more than four. That’s more than seven. When I’m seven I’m gonna ride a bike.”

“Good for you.”

“Big kids ride bikes.”

“Does your friend Wendy ride a bike?”

“Uh-huh. Her mommy is Sara.”

“Sara Morgan?” Anne asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“I know Wendy,” Anne said. “Does Bad Monster have a name?”

“Bad Monster,” Haley repeated impatiently. “Can Wendy come and play with me?”

“Maybe,” Anne said. “We’ll see.”

“Uh-oh.”

Anne chuckled.