“She planned that.”
Officer Houston’s smile was patronizing. “I’m sure she did.”
I considered calling Nina and then reminded myself that even if I weren’t mad at her, asking a vampire to bail me out of jail for murder was a flawed plan. Bringing Nina to the police station would draw unnecessary attention to the Underworld and plus, she was a vampire—which would also bring unnecessary attention.
But I was desperate.
“Can I call someone else?”
Officer Houston just shook his head, threaded his hand underneath my arm, and led me to booking.
My eyes were wide and moist and my throat was dry as I was strip-searched, fingerprinted, and subjected to three rather unflattering mug shots.
Officer Elia Gonzalez was escorting me around the premises now—she was a pinched woman with slicked-back hair, a deep frown, and a Napoleon complex.
I looked at her and tried my best sisterly grin. “Look, Officer Gonzalez, this is all a big misunderstanding.”
“Are you saying Officer Houston isn’t doing his job correctly?”
“No, no, I would never say that. He’s been more than”—I frowned down at my cuffed wrists—“adequate. And I know how it must have looked, me there in Mr. Matsura’s apartment. It’s an honest mistake.”
Officer Gonzalez studied me, arms crossed in front of her chest, one hip jutted out. “Uh-huh.”
She put one hand on the small of my back and used the other to lead me down a long, sterile hallway to an electronically monitored door that said HOLDING CELLS. She dialed in her code and a loud buzz signaled the open door.
“But I’m innocent!” I exclaimed.
Officer Gonzalez’s expression didn’t change as she led me through the door. “Everyone is.”
I tried to struggle away. “No, no—I’m serious. You’ve got to believe me. This is a setup. I don’t even know if this really happened. Has anyone gone back and checked on Mr. Matsura? He’s probably alive. She can make you see things!”
“Well, whoever she is, she’s making Mr. Matsura see the inside of the morgue.”
I blinked back tears. “I’m being framed!”
Officer Gonzalez stopped, her thick-soled black shoes squeaking on the tiled floor. “Really?” Her eyebrows went up.
I took in a relieved breath. “Yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I tried to tell Officer Houston, but he wouldn’t believe me. I am being framed.”
Officer Gonzalez dipped into her pocket and used the key to click off my handcuffs. I rubbed the red rings left on my wrists.
“Thank you. I know who’s framing me, too. I don’t know where to find her or really, how to contact her, but her name is Ophelia and—”
I stopped in midsentence as Officer Gonzalez put one hand on my shoulder, pushing me gently backward. I took a few steps and she slammed the barred door in my face, clicking the lock.
“Everyone is innocent,” she said.
Chapter Fourteen
I shuffled my feet and felt the prick of heat as the terror slipped down my spine. I was in jail. A holding cell, yes, but still—jail. I knew what went on in prison. I had seen Oz, the final episodes of Prison Break. I opened my mouth; felt the lightness in my head as I started to hyperventilate.
“Put your head between your knees.”
I whirled around.
“Sit down. Come on, sit down and put your head between your knees.”
I gaped at the woman relaxing on the hard metal bench behind me. She was older, probably in her late forties, with a bubbly head of slick black curls and a kindly face. Sitting primly in her housecoat and slippers, she gave off a comforting cookies-and-milk vibe. The woman slid aside, patted an open spot on the bench. I sat next to her and crumbled over, my hair swinging against the concrete as I shoved my head between my knees and tried to take deep, calming breaths while also trying not to suck in the stale air of the holding cell.
“I’m not supposed to be here,” I mumbled, feeling the tears slip over my nose and plop onto the ground.
The woman patted the back of my head calmly. “None of us are,” she said.
I sat up and looked around, for the first time noticing the other women in the cell. Two girls were chatting in the back corner, dressed in thigh-highs and barely there dresses, giggling as though they were at a frat party instead of in a jail cell.
“They’re regulars,” the woman on the bench said, following my gaze. “That’s Ella and Asia,” she said.
The two girls looked at me and gave brief smiles; both were heavily made up with cheery bright red lips and streaky eye makeup in colors not found in nature.