“No, that was my last effort at breaking through to HP. I was done.”
He scratches his head, leafing through his file. He’s looking for something, anything, to keep me here.
“Can I go?” It’s time: we’ve reached the finish. And now that the moment has arrived, it seems almost anticlimactic. I was half hoping he’d go up a gear and at least present something of a challenge.
He stands up and puts his hands in his pockets. “You’re kind of a bad person, Angela. Has that occurred to you? You’re driven by hate. That kind of toxicity can really eat a person up, compelling them to do nasty things.”
My laugh is dry. “Okay. Can I go?”
Novak leans against the door. It’s the cat and the mouse all over again. “You have one major problem, as I see it.”
“You’ve got nothing on me.”
“DNA of the missing woman found in your bedroom. Her favorite necklace tucked away in your book.”
“I didn’t put it there. Olive wanted me to have it.”
“That’s going to be hard for you to prove. I have to agree with Mr. Parker when he says your game is over.”
“Arrest me then, Detective Novak.” I lean back so that the chair tips. “In the meantime, where’s my lawyer? I’m not saying anything more until you get me one.”
And then he surprises me. He leaves and returns with a policeman, the man who deposited the plated macaroni late last night. The officer’s cheeks are flushed.
“We have sufficient evidence to suggest you’re involved in the disappearance of Saskia Joanne Parker,” Novak announces, his voice churchy and too loud. “You’re officially being held for longer. You’ve requested an attorney and one will be provided to you. Do you have any questions?”
I tilt my head and shrug.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
chapter
* * *
22
My attorney’s name is Tate. I’m not clear if that’s his first name or his last. He wears tennis shoes with his suit and has a new girlfriend, judging by the number of text messages he’s already received in his first five minutes. He must be fresh out of law school because he’s about my age; he’s short-haired and overweight by thirty pounds, with a blond beard and a signet ring on his right pinkie.
I like him instantly. He sits next to me in the interview room while Novak is across from us with his file. Tate’s cell beeps on the table, hopping it along a few inches.
“Ignore that,” Tate says, but he doesn’t make a move to switch it off.
“Can we pick up where we left off earlier?” Novak mutters, laying paper documents flat and resting his palms on top of them. He looks at Tate like locals look at tourists.
“Yep.” He turns to me. “Are you ready?”
I nod.
“Angela,” Novak begins. “We’ve established you have motive to cause the Parkers harm.”
“Excuse me,” cuts in Tate. “My client asserts she’s caused no harm to any party. Leading the witness.”
“We’re not in court, Tate.”
“No, but you can’t put words in her mouth. Rephrase.”
Novak blows out air into his cheeks. “We’ve established that your client wanted revenge on the Parkers for ‘injustices’ she felt they’d done to her. Is that fair?”
“She exacted her revenge when she attempted to have sex with Mr. Parker. Which, correct me if I’m wrong, Detective Novak, isn’t a crime.”
“But her hatred runs deeper. If she did that, then . . .”
Tate shrugs.
“Angela, did you try to insinuate yourself into the life of the Parkers, to possess everything they’d managed to build?”
“Don’t answer that,” Tate says.
“Didn’t you long to become Saskia? That’s pretty much what you’ve told me. Wasn’t it eating you up? All those years and you couldn’t oust her? When HP threw you out of the house, did you take it upon yourself to lure Saskia with a fake apology, with the express intention of causing her harm?”
“As your attorney, I strongly advise you not to answer that one, either.”
“Angela, somebody coaxed Saskia to a secret location, and she went with full compliance. She organized a playdate for Olive, forgot to take her cell phone with her and didn’t leave her husband a note. That to me suggests it was a meeting she was eager to attend.”
“Is that a question?” asks Tate. “I’m struggling to hear it in among all the conjecture.”
“Where is Saskia, Angela?”
“I’ve no idea,” I say.
“You’re still not upset.” Novak smacks both hands on the table.
“Sure I am. I just don’t like to parade my feelings for strangers. And I’m drained.”
“That’s right.” Tate nods. “Two days of constant questioning can take a toll on a person’s emotional thresholds.”
Novak composes himself. “Where did you spend last weekend? June ninth and tenth?”
“Boston. With Mom. I already told you this.”
“According to Freddy Montgomery’s statement, you stayed with him at the Boston Hotel on Berkeley Street. Did you speak with Freddy Montgomery about your frustrations with the Parkers?”
“Probably. They had just kicked me out of their house.” I glance at Tate.
“And was Mr. Montgomery sympathetic?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
“Isn’t it true that Mr. Montgomery would do anything for you?” Novak delivers the line for Tate’s benefit; he’s already tried that argument on me.
“I think he’s my friend, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Only your friend, or are you sleeping with him? Is he part of your little manipulation game, too?”
“Objection,” says Tate. “Irrelevant who my client sleeps with.”
Novak rolls his eyes and mutters.
“Do you have anything else?” asks Tate. “Unless you have something new—like, say, a body with my client’s DNA on it—I’m going to get my client out of here.”
“Wait.” Novak gets up and walks out the door.
Tate turns to me. “He’s panicking.”
“I know.”
“Sit tight.”
Tate takes a quick call, ending it with a happy sigh as he slips his phone back into his pocket. “Sorry about that. Listen, like I say, we’re talking hours now. I’d say two, max. Let’s just stay a little longer, placate him, and soon you’ll be home free—and you can carry on with your life.”
chapter
* * *
23
I’m bored of this room and I’m bored of these people. Honestly, it seems to me that the only interesting humans in the world are the young ones. Year by year as we grow, a little more imagination rubs off us, like white paint from a fence. By adulthood, all we are is a horde of conditioned washed-out scarecrows, shuffling along with our heads full of hay.
I used to be nicer. When I was a kid, I never joined in with the neighborhood boys who pulled the legs off spiders. I never threw rocks at dogs. I held hands with all kinds of people and trotted alongside them, letting their faces beat down on me like a sun. I was a lot like Olive.