Chapter Twenty Three #2
The interrogation room is smaller than I expected.
More of a side room off the main area, an open blind giving me a view of the officers milling between desks and assessing a white board that displays Laura’s photo.
I can’t look at it, or I might burst into tears and crawl beneath the desk to rock back and forth.
I lower myself into the metal chair as indicated, the scrape of it against the linoleum too loud for my tender head.
“Can we get you anything? Coffee or pain relief?” A woman in uniform asks. She smiles sympathetically at the wince, noting how I tend to my temple at any opportunity. I hold out the wire and produce my phone.
“Are you able to charge my phone? There’s someone I’d really like to get a hold of.
” The officer nods, heading out of the room and leaving me alone.
I sink my head onto the desk, mentally trying to build a timeline.
I remember Laura playing beer pong, remember her laughing.
I didn’t see her drink anything, I don’t remember who she spoke to.
There was a redhead I could probably point out, but the two cops who sit opposite me don’t seem to care for any of that.
“Hi Megan, I’m Detective Holden. This is Officer Kinge,” the portly man gestures to a slimmer and much younger one to his right. I lift my head fully, taking in the youthful features and tight curly hair, before nodding gently.
“You were part of my investigation last time.” He offers me a small smile, producing a notepad and pen.
I vaguely remember Kinge questioning me and popping into the hospital room a few times to tell me there had been no update on Harrison’s location.
He was always gentle with his words, but I don’t want gentle now.
I just want the truth. “Can you tell me what’s happened? ”
“A call came in during the early hours of this morning stating they had witnessed a drunken Laura Hopkins being dragged into a pick-up truck. She was putting up a fight, but the man holding her was much larger and stronger. The eyewitness is in another room, giving a statement as we speak.”
“And y-you think this man was Harrison?” I ask, beginning to shake once again. I was hoping this has all been a misunderstanding, but an eyewitness changes everything. Makes this all the more real.
“We aren’t certain this is Harrison’s MO, but given there’s been a second kidnapping on the same campus within the space of a year, we need to consider the connection,” Kinge tilts his head. “Have you had any contact with him since he went quiet? Any letters, emails, sightings?”
“No,” I answer immediately, maybe too quickly. My hands clasp in my lap. “There’s been nothing.” I know that’s not helpful, but it’s the truth. Holden scowls openly whilst Kinge presses on with a gentler approach.
“No anonymous messages? No new social media accounts attempting to contact you? Anyone you’ve noticed following you?”
My skin prickles. I think of the times I’ve felt eyes on me across campus.
The way I sometimes double-check over my shoulder on the pitch to make sure those around me are familiar.
The security cameras Thiago insists on monitoring.
There’s been paranoia, sure, but nothing concrete.
I shake my head, feeling even more useless.
Laura is out there, reliving my nightmare, and I still can’t offer any sort of assistance.
“What about the fire at the stadium? Did that incident feel targeted towards you?”
My gaze sinks towards the table, my hangover colliding with the taste of ash locked in my throat from that day.
“It was set near the women’s locker room, but I couldn’t say. Fire isn’t really Harrison’s deal.”
“What is his ‘deal’?” Holden pushes, leaning his forearms on the table. I stare at his knotted fingers rather than the doubt in his face. I get it, he’s the bad cop, but I’m not the one under investigation here. I’m just trying to help.
“When he took me, it’s because Frederick ordered it. They were cell mates. From what I understood, favors were traded, and I was one of them. He delivered me to Frederick, and then I didn’t see him until…”
“Until he shot Frederick point-blank in the head,” Holden finishes.
I simply nod. He’s read the case file. I don’t need to relive the horrors I’ve seen, but Holden seems to think differently.
“You’ve never explained what happened in that house.
What changed for Harrison to defy his cell mate?
The only person who knows what took place is you, a missing convict and a dead man. ”
“I don’t remember,” I lie through gritted teeth. I haven’t spoken about what happened in that house because I don’t understand it. I can’t come to terms with it. The pair facing me clearly know I’m holding back, but thankfully, we move on.
“Let’s approach this from a different angle,” Kinge interjects.
The eye roll Holden tries to suppress tells me all I need to know about the dynamic before me.
The old dog who likes to do things by the book and the young newbie who is trying to adopt new strategies.
For that reason, I lean towards Kinge, ignoring his partner entirely.
“We’re struggling with motive. It’s our job to eliminate the suspects rather than pin it on them.
Is there anything you can tell us that will eliminate Harrison from our investigation? ”
I sit back now, twisting my lips. A light knock on the door announces the female officer from before.
She pops in to give me the coffee and pain meds I didn’t ask for, but I’m wholly grateful.
Tossing the pills into my mouth, I sip the coffee and let the warmth settle low in my belly.
A part of me hates that I get to enjoy these simple pleasures while Laura is fuck knows where.
“I suppose it’s odd that Laura and I were together when we entered the party last night.
If it were random, why her?” I wince. Kinge nods, writing notes and presenting new questions.
Finally, we get into the finer details. What time did we arrive?
When did I last see her? Did I leave alone?
I answer what I can, sipping the drink clutched between both hands.
Holden pitches in with unhelpful comments that I mostly ignore where I can.
“The Calloway parties are notorious for trouble. Not the kind of place I would leave a young, na?ve freshman to fend for herself.” Shame burns through my cheeks, bringing color to my face. Kinge maintains my eye contact, rooting me to the room.
“I can see this has shaken you. Take your time, and when you’re ready, we'll have a car take you back to your dorm.”
“That’s it?” I frown, slowly sitting upright. “I can go?”
“Unless there’s anything else you can tell us,” Kinge replies hopefully.
My eyes dart around the room, trying to dig something up.
Trying to be useful, but there’s nothing.
All I’m doing is taking up their precious time when they could be out there, searching for her.
I shake my head and Kinge visibly deflates.
No one feels his disappointment more than me.
Even if Harrison has been present, I’ve been too self-absorbed to realize it.
Talk about a relapse in my recovery. I’m taken straight back to the hollow shell of a girl who sat in a hospital bed, and then a rehab facility, overridden with shame, guilt and rage.