I was beginning to stand up to my mom, but my father was harder to defy. His good intentions held all of his own life’s ruin. Arguing with him was like picking a fight with a limping dog.
Right then our phone rang and I swiped it from the wall, plugging my other ear and hunching over.
“Gray eyes?” It was HP’s voice, deep and rich. I turned so that Mom couldn’t see me. “Meet me in ten minutes outside your house.”
“But I can’t; I haven’t even—”
“Do it later. We’ll sleep when we’re dead!”
I hurried out, as Dad’s and Mom’s eyes tracked me in disbelief.
When I think about that morning now, Detective Novak, I wish I’d said more, done more to defend my own future. Because if you don’t protect that, who’s going to do it for you? Oxford University, England, was never my pick; and yet it forged pathways going forwards that crept and thickened like vines. I’m not saying I know what’s happened to Saskia, Detective, but I do know this: she only exists at all because of me.
chapter
* * *
5
Novak’s let me talk with hardly an interruption, allowing me my forum, my monologue. I didn’t expect him to stick to that deal. From time to time he’d glanced up when I paused, but as soon as I spoke again his focus had returned to the page, where he’d carried on scribbling with his dented pen. Now, though, he stops me. He’s making a bid for the reins.
“So there’s no doubt, then. It is a love story.” Novak sticks his middle finger into his ear and twists it like he might dislodge something serious. Perhaps it explains his inability to listen properly.
I grab the bottle of water he brought me and crack the lid, drinking thirstily. “Like I said, Detective Novak, what love story ends in a police station interview room?”
“You’d be surprised.” He buttons his suit jacket. “What about Romeo and Juliet? I heard that doesn’t end well.”
“Not for the lovers.”
“Are you saying Saskia’s dead?” he asks.
We lock eyes. Everything’s a game with this guy. The words aren’t out of my mouth before he’s jumping on them, turning them into something that suits his little checklist. I’m telling him what happened—as much as I know of it. But guys like him want a story they’ve heard before and they only ask questions if they already know the answers.
“What makes you think Saskia’s Juliet?” I ask.
He clicks the end of his ballpoint pen in and out, in and out.
“What about Jane Eyre? Do you like that novel, Angela?”
My stomach tightens. He’s been in my room; he’s seen my bedside table. How else could he know to ask about that book? Novak’s a guy who is good at watching and copying. But you know what? I’m good at watching, too. I can spot a fake. He hasn’t read the classics, and for all Novak’s studied meticulousness, there’s toothpaste on his tie, smudged, like he rubbed at it with his thumb on the drive to work.
He steeples his fingers like a church spire. “Angela, are you the crazy one? Have you been locked away in the attic all these years?”
“In Jane Eyre it’s the wife who’s crazy and burns the whole house down, Detective. I’ve never been anybody’s wife.”
He scribbles notes while I sit with my arms crossed.
“Carry on.” He reels his forefinger at me as if winding invisible thread and then reaches down into a briefcase he’s had at his feet all morning. It’s almost two o’clock. He pulls out a pear and something wrapped in waxed paper and places them gently on the table in front of me. Within the folds of the paper is a sandwich with the crusts cut off. Some kind of fish paste lingers in the stagnant air. He slices up the pear with a pocketknife and offers a sliver to me.
“No appetite?”
“You’d better write that down in my file.”
“You seem a little agitated. Would you like to tell me why that is?”
“I don’t know why I’m here!” I hadn’t meant to shout it. I take a deep breath. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I mean—am I in trouble or am I just helping you? Jesus, have you seriously searched my house?”
He rubs his hands together like he’s watching television and this is his favorite bit.
“We brought you in under PC—probable cause. At this point, we’re just talking and you’re not the only one we’ve brought in. You’re not charged with anything.”
“So I can leave?”
He takes a silver pocket watch out of the breast pocket of his suit. How pretentious. He flips the silver lid open, then snaps it closed again. “Let’s say you can leave in roughly eighteen hours.”
I cover my face with my hands.
“Keep going with your . . . story.”
“What is it you want to know?”
He sighs. “Let’s talk a little more about Saskia. You know her quite well, don’t you? Despite the fact that you’re talking about everyone except her?”
I look up at him, my face hard.
“I mean, it says here you shared a residence in Cove with both her and HP recently, and for several weeks. Can you confirm that? Your name isn’t on the title of the house. His is.”
“Yes. I shared a house with HP.”
“I’m sure there’s an interesting story behind that. You graduated eight years ago, so you’re twenty-six—am I getting that right? And you do have your own address in town?”
I nod. “My parents owned a small house—I mean, an extra one. They had two places. I was living in the smaller one for the past six years or so, but my parents got divorced recently, so my mother moved in with me.”
“Does your father still live in Cove?”
“Nope. After the divorce, my dad sold our old family home and took off for the coast to get away from my mother’s endless judgment. I don’t really know how he’s doing. He calls now and then to check I’m okay.”
“Are you?”
“More okay than he is.”
Novak licks his thumb and forefinger. “So while your mother moves into the smaller house, you move into Mr. Parker’s?”
“HP offered me his spare room so I could have some space until my mom felt better. She can be high-maintenance. Have you met her yet?”
“So yesterday, when Saskia disappeared . . .” He looks up. “Where were you?”
“Like I already told the other cops, I was home last night. With my mom. Detective Novak, I really don’t think Saskia’s even missing. She’s probably staged this whole thing to get attention.”
“What is it about Saskia that makes you feel competitive?” One of his eyebrows sits higher than the other.
I stop myself, breathe. “She’s a fake. She lies about everything. I knew it the minute I met her.”
He stretches luxuriously. “I see. So tell me a little bit more about all that.”
My shoulders slump forwards and I cover my face with my hands again. It’s impossible to finish a conversation with this guy. After a few seconds I look up. “Is HP here? Do you have him in one of these rooms?”
“We’re speaking with several people. And we think you’re protecting somebody. If you’re not telling us everything, you put yourself in a dangerous position. Have you considered that?”