Chapter 15
My face stung the entire walk back home.
Of all the ways I’d pictured my reunion with the Hopelys going, getting bitch-slapped by Mrs. Hopely had never made the list. I should’ve expected it, though. I understood why Mrs. Hopely hated me, especially now that I was living out a similar nightmare with Hazel. Empathy hurt like hell.
My phone vibrated in my pocket as I approached the back door.
I had several texts from Marta and Flannery. A few others from “friends” back in the city and some journalists I knew on an acquaintance level. I scrolled past them all until I found the ones from my family. It was weird. It had been years since I’d actively waited for texts from any of them.
Suzannah:
I tried to call you but it went to voicemail. Detective Pullman called. They want to talk to the family again. The entire family. We’re meeting at the station in Royal Palm Beach now. Come when you can.
Mom:
Do you ever answer your phone?
I could practically hear my mother’s grating, condescending tone. I texted Suzannah back first:
Are you still at the station?
She texted back immediately.
Yes and please hurry. Your mother keeps asking about you and she’s driving me insane.
I’d been there enough times over the years to know where the sheriff’s office was without directions. Didn’t matter how long I’d been away. The building was nestled in the same parking lot as a Denny’s.
I was nervous to talk to the police again.
In a perfect world, I’d share everything I now knew with them.
But they had bungled the investigation so badly last time, and I didn’t have a suspect to provide yet.
I needed one if I was going to bring them all of this.
Especially because it directly contradicted what I’d written in my book, given that I was looking for a suspect that was not Gary Hopely.
To tell them everything now would just make me look like a liar.
The police station had been renovated since I was last there. Gone were the warm wooden counters and sleek white furniture, steel fixtures and glass in their place. It had the same vaguely clean, tropical smell as the rest of the local government buildings.
My mother was sitting beside Suzannah in the lobby, whispering anxiously. I could see her hands moving quickly. They both looked up when I approached them.
“Thank god,” my mother said sarcastically. Her eyes were bloodshot, with leftover mascara smudged underneath them. She looked like she had been crying all day.
“Sorry,” I said, doing my best to be considerate, though I wasn’t sure if she deserved it. “I had my phone on silent.”
Her lipsticked mouth puckered for a minute, as if she wanted to comment, but chose not to. “Well, it’s good you’re here. Detective Pullman wants to speak to you. He’s in there with your brother now.”
Suzannah grimaced. “I’d rather him than the other one. Detective Newbury was being so rude today.”
My mother looked tense but didn’t say anything. She gave me a long look I didn’t understand.
“Where’s Dad?” I asked, looking around.
“He’s still speaking with Detective Newbury,” my mother replied.
“They’ve been in there forever,” Suzannah complained.
My mother looked past her, eyes still stuck on me. “Listen, Rose. After they talk to you—”
She was cut off before I could wonder what she was about to say, or ask about the change in her tone toward me.
Suzannah got to her feet as Tommy came through some central white doors with Detective Pullman behind him.
Tommy looked annoyed. I could see the shadows under his eyes.
He walked straight over to Suzannah and grabbed her by the hand.
“I wish you’d let us talk some more,” Detective Pullman said. He was wearing a khaki suit today with no tie, more relaxed. He also looked tired. “It only helps the case.”
“Helps who?” Tommy asked, so sharply it took Suzannah by surprise. “If you want to talk to me again, you can send a subpoena.”
Tommy turned to me. “Rosie, If I were you, I’d call that lawyer of yours.”
I flinched at Tommy’s tone. It sounded so unlike him.
“Walter?” I asked. I had Will’s lawyer on retainer, but I didn’t think I’d need to call him for this. His time was best spent on Will’s case.
“Call him,” Tommy said again, roughly grasping Suzannah’s hand. He looked at our mother. “We’re going to the house.”
“I’ll stay here for now,” she said quickly.
Detective Pullman was looking at me. “Rose, we’d like to talk to you for a bit. If you have a moment. You are more than welcome to call a lawyer if you choose, but this is about finding your sister. That’s all.”
It was lies. I never believed a word the cops said anymore, but I also didn’t want to waste any time. Besides, I could handle the likes of Pullman.
I went to follow him down the hall, but my mother grabbed my arm. “If you need me, text me,” she said firmly. “I’m going to wait for you.”
Need her? I stared at her in disbelief. We could barely get through a regular conversation anymore without sniping at each other. But she was staring at Pullman with a maternal ferocity I hadn’t seen in years.
She was worried. For me.
I felt like I was fourteen again as I sat down in the empty interview room. It was the exact same one I’d been in the day they found Alexandria, though the walls were freshly painted now and the furniture was new. There was a camera in the top-right corner, the little light indicating it was on.
Pullman sat down in front of me, settling himself in a casual way that looked anything but comfortable. “Would you like something to drink? Water or a soda?”
I snorted. “Wouldn’t you rather hand me the swab for my DNA? This conversation will be much easier without all the pretense.”
He smiled then, a real smile, dimples and all. “While I admire the directness, I was just being considerate, Rose. I don’t need your DNA. And if I did, there would be no need for a swab. I would crossreference it with your brother’s.”
I didn’t say anything. I just narrowed my eyes and watched him.
“So you don’t want anything to drink then?”
“I want you to tell me why I’m in here.”
He nodded. “That’s fair. The reason I’ve brought you in here is because, as I’m sure you already know, after the first forty-eight hours of someone being missing, the chances of finding them safe and sound become much smaller.”
I felt my breath hitch and did everything in my power to not let it show.
Of course I knew that. Everyone knew that. But hearing it in this context, referring to my missing sister, made me want to throw up.
“When we get to this point, where a search is still ongoing but not providing us with the leads we’d like, we have to go back to brass tacks. We need to find out who would want to hurt Hazel, and why.”
“You think she’s dead then,” I said, my voice firm and cold.
Pullman looked taken aback. He fidgeted. “Unfortunately, with a case like this, it’s a possibility. Not definite, obviously—”
“But it’s what you think.”
He sighed, looking genuinely sorrowful. “Yes, that’s what I think.”
I didn’t feel the sob coming before it suddenly ripped through me.
I was usually better at keeping myself together.
On television. With the police. I was quick to anger, but I always tried to keep the tears to myself.
But hearing this detective talk so easily about my little sister being dead sent me over the edge.
Two fat tears slid down my cheeks before I could stop them.
“Would you like a tissue?” Detective Pullman asked.
“Fuck you,” I snapped, wiping at my eyes. “And your fucking opinions.”
I knew it wasn’t fair. I had asked. And I’d known what he was going to say, but still I hated that he’d made me cry.
He looked immediately regretful. “I’m sorry, Rose. I shouldn’t have said that.” He shook his head. “I was trying to be honest with you. I read your book. It was very to the point. I thought you’d appreciate a more straightforward approach. But that was unprofessional. I’m sorry.”
He slid a box of tissues my way. I grabbed one from the box. “So you read it?” All the local cops knew about it, but I figured there was probably some boycott on actually reading it.
The detective paused and offered me a gentle smile. “Of course I did. It’s a big deal here.”
I rolled my eyes, the implication clear.
“Based on the subject matter, I didn’t think I was going to like it, but I’ll admit, you know how to tell a story.”
I leaned over the table slightly. “I’ve been told.”
His mouth twitched, a little amused. “I always wondered,” he said carefully, “how much fact-checking you did?”
I narrowed my eyes. “First of all, I lived it. I am a walking, talking, breathing fact-checker. And second of all, it’s fiction. I’m not legally obligated to fact-check anything.”
“‘Fiction,’” Pullman mimicked air quotes. “Right.”
“Can we get back to whatever you need to ask me?” I pressed.
Pullman turned to the side to reach for his notebook in his bag. He was barely thirty, but from the side, with his buzzed haircut, he could have been younger than me.
“I know we touched on this a few days ago, but now that you’ve had some time to marinate on it, do you have any idea who could have hurt your sister? Anyone, for any reason?”
“None that you’d take seriously.”
“Humor me,” Pullman asked, leaning back in his chair. His face had softened a little.
“I told you guys the first time we talked. If something did happen to Hazel,” I said, making sure the if was a big one, “maybe it’s because that person has already killed someone here and gotten away with it.”
There was a screech as Pullman’s metal chair scraped across the concrete floor so he could lean closer to me, his elbows on the table. He was completely focused, his eyes boring into mine.
“Let’s say I believed you,” he said softly.
“‘Let’s say’?”
“That Will is innocent,” Pullman said. “And you have been right for all these years and someone else killed Alexandria. Let’s say that’s the case.”