9. Liz
LIZ
I’M NOT SURE what I’m expecting when the door to the interrogation room opens again.
(Is it an interrogation room? That’s sure what it feels like, although I’m sure the cops have some kind of polite name for it now.) Detective Norris walked out the door about ten minutes ago, after the woman in uniform who brought me a water came in and whispered something in his ear.
Whatever it was, it pissed him off so much that he knocked his own chair over when he stood up.
He left about two minutes later, and I can’t say I miss the guy.
He really thought he had me figured out, and I fucking hate being treated like that.
Like some kind of stereotype. I can see it all through his eyes, obviously.
I’m not an idiot, and I know the fact that Ben and I have been texting on and off for nearly six months makes me look really bad.
Thirsty, even. But it’s so much more complicated than that, and he hasn’t even given me a chance to explain myself.
I feel like I’m already on trial, and I don’t even know what the charge is yet.
Don’t you? I hear the voice in the back of my mind, but I shut it down. Now is not the time.
Because the door is opening again, and in walks someone who is definitively not Detective Norris. Or anybody I’ve seen around the station at all. She looks like an extra on one of those TV shows about billionaire businesspeople, and I have no idea what she’s doing here.
“Elizabeth Stratton?” she asks, taking a seat and sliding over a McDonald’s bag. It smells so good, I think I might throw up.
“Um—”
“It’s not a trick question. You get the Egg McMuffin either way.”
Tentatively, I open the bag and look inside.
“Is there a hash brown in here too?”
“Yup.”
I look from the bag to the large dark eyes of the woman sitting across from me.
I still don’t know who she is, and I have no reason to trust her any more than I trust Detective Norris, except for the fact that she doesn’t creep me the hell out.
And she brought me food. And like it or not, I’m starving.
It’s increasingly clear that I’m not getting out of here anytime soon—especially if they just brought in someone new to take over the questioning—so eating a little something can’t hurt.
“You sure I can just… have this?” I ask.
“Yes. I’m sure. And I’m Detective Budd, by the way. Sloane Budd. I’m here on special interest from the state.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, something like that. Listen, I know it’s already been a long morning for you, and I also know that you’re not of much use to me unless you’ve been fed and watered.
Hence the peace offering, if you want to call it that.
I just want to shoot straight with you from the start.
And my hope is that, once you’ve had some breakfast, you and I can have a conversation a bit more productive than the one you were having with Detective Norris.
So, what do you say? Do we have a deal?”
“I don’t know if there’s much else I can tell you about what happened that I didn’t already tell the other guy.”
“That’s fine. I’m not going to be asking you the same kinds of questions.”
I should definitely care about what this woman is saying.
She’s in from the state, although I can’t imagine why, and if she’s taking over, then clearly something has gone wrong.
More wrong than it already has, anyway. But if I’m being honest, I’m too tired and hungry to care right now.
She’s right; I’m not much good to anyone if I can barely see straight.
Not that food is going to solve that. After last night, I honestly don’t know how I’ll ever see straight again.
“Stop looking at the bag like I poisoned it,” Detective Budd says. “Either eat it or don’t, but you should know that me bringing you food doesn’t mean that I’m predisposed to further favors.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, and even I’m surprised at the lack of irony in my voice. Whoever this woman is, I respect her a hell of a lot more than the assholes in the local PD.
So, screw it, I’m eating the McMuffin. And the hash brown. And I’m even going to drink the shitty coffee that comes along with it. (Sellout, I can hear Sadie saying, giving me crap for slumming it on the coffee front when I’m such a pretentious barista now.)
It takes me all of about two minutes to inhale the entire contents of the bag.
I honestly didn’t realize how hungry I was or that I could even manage to eat again after last night.
I wonder if that’s how it’s going to be—having no idea how I’m going to do the basic shit in my daily life without Sadie and then just… doing it. Barely thinking about it.
A wave of guilt washes over me. Good. I shouldn’t be doing anything without feeling guilty. I shouldn’t be breathing without feeling guilty.
“Okay,” Detective Budd says, giving me the dignity of swallowing my last bite and washing it down with a sip of scalding coffee. “So. Food for the truth. Now that you’ve had the food, why don’t you start telling the truth?”
“I’ve already told Detective Norris everything he wanted to know.”
“Yeah… Funny thing about him, he wanted to know all the wrong things.”
“How do you know?”
“I read his notes. You’re pretty damn feisty, by the way. I respect that. No one here has given you a reason to trust them, and you’re just acting accordingly.”
“So, what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you suggesting that I should be trusting you instead of the local guys?”
“This is a murder investigation, Miss Stratton. To be frank, you shouldn’t be trusting anyone.
I certainly don’t, and that includes you.
So, you make up your own mind about whether or not you’re going to trust me.
If it helps, I read your file, and it sounds like the two of us have something in common when it comes to our childhoods.
My family dynamic wasn’t exactly a shining paragon of domestic bliss.
You make of that what you will, but what I can promise you is that I’m here to listen to you.
What happens after that depends a lot on what you have to say. ”
I nod. That makes sense. And even if mentioning her own shitty childhood is just a tactic, at least it’s a tactic I can appreciate.
Girls like that—like me, like this detective, if she’s telling the truth—know how to do what it takes to get by.
That’s not something most people can understand if they haven’t been through it themselves.
So maybe Detective Budd will really listen. Maybe I can tell her everything.
Or almost everything.