Chapter 4
Emma locked her gaze on the detective as the woman and the police chief emerged from the woods.
She’d heard the police chief was tough but a nice guy, and he’d lived up to that expectation when she met him an hour ago.
But the detective . . . a woman detective. Emma didn’t know what to make of that.
Detective Marshall was tall, nearly as tall as the police chief, and carried herself with just as much confidence.
Her coat and scarf made her look as if she’d just stepped out of a high-end store.
Not the Carhartts and Wranglers Emma was used to seeing.
Her bright-blonde hair was a shade Emma had never encountered in person, and she’d felt as if someone were shining a spotlight in her face when the detective first spoke to her.
She suspected the woman’s dark-blue eyes had missed nothing.
Not Emma’s hand-me-down coat.
Her boots with holes.
Her baggy sweatpants.
At least the coat hid the big safety pin that tightened the waist of her sweats.
It’d been icy cold when Emma had set out from her house. She’d bundled up with the warmest clothes she could find. She ran a self-conscious hand down her single braid, which she’d pulled over her shoulder. She’d been fiddling with the braid the entire time Officer Cooley talked.
He’s nice.
But Emma didn’t trust him.
Law enforcement was not to be trusted. Ever. Even the polite police chief.
Emma remembered her father’s warning. “When they want something from you, they’ll be as slick as spit, nice as pie. Don’t fall for it. You don’t have to answer to them. They have no authority over you.”
But I know I did the right thing when I called the police about the body.
She could hear her father now. “Shoulda minded your own business, girl.”
Emma knew he’d be furious if he found out she’d spoken with the police.
But someone died.
It can’t be wrong to let them know.
She needed to get out of there and get home ASAP. She’d been nauseated since she saw the dark body.
The smell.
That was once a person.
Her stomach roiled again.
“You look hungry,” said Officer Cooley. “I’ll find you something to eat.”
“No!” Emma clamped her teeth together.
“Ahhh,” said Cooley in an understanding tone. “Yeah, that sight’ll turn anyone off their feed. It’ll fade.”
The woman detective and the police chief came closer. Detective Marshall’s direct gaze scanned Emma again. “Emma,” she said. “I’d like you to come with me out to the vehicles, so we can talk.”
“Okay.”
“You’re not required to talk to them!” Emma wished she could block out her father’s voice in her head.
Instead, she picked up her black garbage bag of cans and followed the detective.
They passed through the party site and up the dirt path to the road.
The two of them were silent, but the cans clanked inside her bag, seeming abnormally loud.
Emma stopped at her bike and set down the bag, but the detective motioned her to keep following.
“You can come back to those in a minute,” she said. The locks to a big SUV clicked and the detective opened the back passenger door. “Have a seat.”
Emma froze.
Where is she taking me? Is she going to cuff me?
“Relax. You just look like you need to sit down,” said the detective in a kind voice. “Hang your legs out the side, the door stays open. We’re not going anywhere.”
Emma studied her face.
I don’t think she’s lying.
She hoisted herself up to the seat and sat, dangling her legs out as the woman had suggested. Emma hadn’t realized how badly she needed to sit down and exhaled, slumping. Letting the stress of the last few hours dissipate.
“Can I see your driver’s license, Emma?” asked Detective Marshall. She rested an arm on the open door and crossed one foot over the other as she stood.
Emma stiffened. “I don’t have it on me. I’m eighteen, I swear. I do have a license, but it’s at home. I don’t bring my purse when I bike.”
“Understandable. Tell me what you were doing and what you saw after you set your bike down.” The detective pointed back at Emma’s bike in the dirt.
They just want to know what happened. It has nothing to do with me.
Someone is dead.
She told the detective what had happened. The cans. The mess left at the party site. The jackrabbit.
“You didn’t see any people?”
“The only person I saw this morning was Anita Forkner. But that was a ways down the road. She stopped her car to talk to me.” Emma wrinkled her nose. “She’s not the type to party in a place like that.”
“Then who does come up here?”
Emma shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“You described it as a party site. So you must have known about it.”
“I think it’s pretty obvious what happens there,” said Emma.
“You’ve been here before.” Blue eyes met hers. The detective uncrossed her feet and stood up straight.
She’s got to be almost six feet tall.
“Not to drink!” Emma clarified. “People at school have bragged about coming here to drink and fool around. Not me.”
“Give me some names. Who said they party here?”
Emma pressed her lips together. She’d walked right into that trap. “I don’t remember.”
The detective rolled her eyes. “Of course you do. I’m not looking to arrest anyone for underage drinking. I want to talk to people who might have seen something, or maybe they can identify that man lying dead in the woods.”
Indecision filled Emma’s chest.
Don’t talk to the police.
But that man’s family deserved to know what had happened to him.
Emma looked down, hoping to find an answer in the gravel. There wasn’t one. She muttered some names. The detective wrote them down, asking her to spell a few of the last names.
Guilt filled her gut.
I don’t owe them anything. Most of them are jerks anyway.
“You won’t tell them who gave you the names, right?” she asked hopefully.
“Of course not,” promised the detective. Her smile showed perfect teeth.
You can’t trust the police.
“Can I go now?” Emma stared over at her bike and cans.
“Tell you what,” said the detective. “I’ll give you a ride home, and you can show me your driver’s license. I don’t have room in my vehicle for the bike, so I’ll get Ben Cooley to drop it off.”
Emma was speechless.
I can’t ride in a police vehicle. What if someone sees me?
At least the detective’s SUV didn’t have Deschutes County Sheriff emblazoned on the side.
Detective Marshall was silent for a long moment as Emma tried to come up with an answer.
“The bag of cans can come with us,” said the woman, studying her intently.
Emma blinked. She’d completely forgotten about the cans. “Okay,” she said grudgingly. She slid out of the vehicle to go grab her bag.
My dad will kill me if he finds out about this.