Chapter 7 - I ASK SOPHIE TOO MANY QUESTIONS
My mistake came three nights later.
Sophie woke screaming.
“Suitcase!”
I ran into her room.
She was tangled in blankets.
No suitcase.
No Celeste.
I sat beside her.
She grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t let airplane.”
“I won’t.”
Then I asked:
“What did Celeste say would happen after London?”
Sophie stared.
I should have stopped.
Instead:
“Did she say when you’d come back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Mason say Daddy had to sign something?”
She started crying.
“I don’t know.”
“Did they say Mom’s money?”
“I don’t know!”
Caleb? There was no Caleb. My sister Hannah, who had been staying with us, entered.
“Daniel.”
I stopped.
Too late.
The next morning I told Detective Cole exactly what I had done.
She was not pleased.
“Do not interview your child.”
“I know.”
“Apparently you didn’t.”
“I panicked.”
“That does not help her memory.”
She was right.
Repeated adult questions can shape a child’s account, even without intention.
The forensic interviewer documented that I had asked those questions afterward.
Prosecutors later decided not to rely on any new details Sophie mentioned after that night unless independently corroborated.
My fear had reduced the usefulness of my own daughter’s later statements.
Worse:
It made Sophie feel responsible for solving the case.
At breakfast she asked:
“Did I remember good?”
I felt sick.
“This is not your job.”
“But you asked.”
There.
I apologized.
“Daddy made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“I asked you grown-up questions because I was scared.”
She considered.
“Are you still scared?”
“Yes.”
“Then ask police.”
Correct.
May you like
Four years old.
Better procedure than me.
