14. Ben #4
“Yes. Jayne got there a few seconds before I did, but she seemed kind of frozen or in shock or something. I didn’t know what else Mason was going to do, so I just lunged at him.
He got in a few good swipes at me before I was able to get the knife away from him and Jayne grabbed it from the floor.
He didn’t stop, though. I thought he was going to kill me.
So we fought, and I got him pinned to the ground, but he was still struggling, and so I…
I strangled him, Detective. Because it was either him or me, and I sure as shit wasn’t going to let it be me. ”
“And where was Jayne during all this?”
To be honest, her response catches me off guard. I was expecting a little bit more sympathy. Maybe even a hand extended across the table. But Sloane Budd appears to be all business.
I finally look up again. “To be honest, I blacked out a little bit, but when I got myself back together, Mason Vreeland was dead, and Jayne was holding Sadie. I don’t know if she was already gone by then, but I ran over to them, and I held Sadie too, and I just…
I told her that I loved her. That it would be okay, that she was safe. ”
There are tears welling up behind my eyes now, and I let them fall. Best for Detective Budd to see it, to see this side of me too. It will help erase that I called her a bitch a few minutes ago.
“I lied to her, Detective,” I say. “Because of course it wasn’t going to be okay.
She might not have even heard what I was saying, but I couldn’t let her die without telling her I loved her.
Without telling her that she wasn’t alone, and putting my arms around her, and just… being with her in that last moment.”
I’m not sure what I’m expecting Detective Budd to say. Something sympathetic, maybe? Something thoughtful and kind that ends with some version of the phrase “you’re free to go”? Women are supposed to have a sixth sense about these kinds of things, aren’t they—emotions or whatever?
“Thank you, Mr. Carrera,” she says simply. And nothing else.
“Um…” I let a few minutes pass before I speak again, waiting for her to add to that statement. She doesn’t. “What happens next?” I ask finally.
“Next? Well, that depends on the continued conversations I need to have with Miss Stratton and Miss Cooper.”
“I don’t understand. What does that have to do with me?”
She heaves a sigh, as if speaking to me is a burden. I ball my hands into fists. God, I hate it when people are disrespectful like that.
“It has to do with you because I need to know that your stories line up. You and Miss Cooper are the only witnesses we have to exactly what happened between Sadie and Mason, and by your own admission, it seems like Miss Cooper is the one sober witness we have. I understand Miss Stratton didn’t arrive at the barn until a few minutes after all this had happened. ”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s right. She was the first one who came running when Jayne started screaming. But I wouldn’t trust her account of the night if I were you.”
“Oh, no? And why is that?”
I shrug. “Because she’s a liar.”
The detective arches an eyebrow at me. “That’s a bold statement, Mr. Carrera. Perhaps bolder than you realize. Do you mean that she is a liar, or that she is a person who tells lies?”
What the hell kind of question is that? What am I, a psychiatrist?
“I mean what I said. She’s a liar. I’m not trying to be a dick about it.
Obviously, you know what happened between me and Liz.
But she wouldn’t leave me alone after that, even though she promised Sadie she would.
And she makes a big deal about how she stopped drinking after the party last year, but she was drunk last night. ”
“Are you certain of that?”
“I was with her and Sadie for most of the night, and we were all drinking. Liz was no exception. Honestly, I was kind of grateful when Jayne showed up to get Sadie, because Liz was supposed to be her ride home, and she clearly wasn’t going to be in a state to drive.
Guess that should have been the least of my worries, huh? ”
“You couldn’t possibly have known what was going to happen, Mr. Carrera. But thank you for sharing these details with me. It’s very helpful.”
Finally, a statement that sounds like it could actually mean the end of this interrogation.
Because I don’t care what the police call it—“questioning” or whatever.
It was an interrogation. I know enough about how girls are all obsessed with true crime to know that they always think the boyfriend did it.
Well, I’ve said what I have to say to this woman. And she can’t prove that everything last night didn’t happen exactly the way I say it did.
“You’re free to go, Mr. Carrera,” she says after a beat. “For now. Thank you for your time. I’m sure your father is anxious to get you home.”
I find myself staring at the green tape on the floor just one more time. Marking the moment. Staying in the present. No need to look forward, and sure as hell no need to look back.
“Thanks,” I say finally.
I can feel Detective Sloane Budd’s eyes following me as I walk out the door.