I wondered how in the hell Sarah’s parents fit into this.
I wondered how Shelby was doing. I hoped she wasn’t out there wondering about me.
Seven o’clock.
“I need help,” I yelled, throwing both boots at the gate without getting up.
A few minutes later, I heard the squeak of footsteps and then Meeks reappeared. He held a bottle of water and a single clementine.
“What’s this,” I said, steadying myself on the wall. I got a little dizzy sitting up.
Meeks didn’t say anything.
I took the water and the fruit. “What’s going on here?” I said.
“Someone should get to your report soon,” he said stiffly.
“When?”
“Soon.”
“What time?”
“Soon.”
“Is Derrow still on duty?”
“No,” Meeks said.
I leaned against the bars and closed my eyes. “You can’t do this,” I said. “It’s illegal.”
“You’ll be brought up on charges or released within seventy-two hours. That’s the law.”
“Seventy-two hours?” I felt like I would undoubtedly be dead within seventy-two hours if I had to stay in here. The reality of the situation was too big to contemplate all at once.
“Yes.”
“You can’t hold someone here for seventy-two hours without food,” I said.
“I just brought you an orange.”
“This is from your lunch and don’t pretend it isn’t,” I said.
At that, he gave me a slight smile. “It is.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
“Can you please tell me what’s going on?” I said.
He looked down at the ground. “Chief Lassiter said he talked to you this morning about not interfering.”
“I’m not interfering.”
“Not right now, you aren’t. But you were. We’re doing everything in our power to find Veronica. We don’t need a civilian getting involved, trying to sneak through fences onto private property—”
“Honestly, enough with the private property! Meeks, listen to me. These women are connected. Kenny Brayfield is the link. Talk to Shelby Evans. She’s seen him hanging around on her street. For no reason. On top of everything else, isn’t that enough to warrant a conversation with him?” I couldn’t remember my elevator pitch. That was why I had needed the pen. I ran a hand over my face, forgetting about the cut on my cheekbone. “You can’t tell me you don’t see it.”
He saw it. But he looked uneasy. “There are different rules where the Brayfields are concerned,” he said.
“Different rules.”
“Yeah.”
“What does that mean?”
Meeks shook his head. He wasn’t going to say any more about that. “Look,” he said, turning down the volume on his radio as it crackled to life on his hip. “You just have to be quiet. They’ll let you go after you’re quiet.”
Then he walked away.
Quiet.
I sat back down and drank half the water in one gulp and felt immediately nauseous. But I peeled the clementine and ate it in two bites. Then I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, a gnawing pit of dread opening up at the center of me. I finished the water, but I didn’t want it. I wanted a drink.
Seventy-two hours.
In seventy-two hours, every trace of Veronica could be gone.
Nine o’clock.
I was physically anxious, my body begging me for an explanation. I retrieved the clementine peels from the sink and studied them to see if there were any more pieces of edible fruit stuck to them. I wondered if eating a clementine peel would kill me, decided probably no. My headache was more likely to finish me off. I experimentally chewed on one. It tasted like shit. I spit it out. I really wanted a drink.
Needed.
It was starting to scare me, how much I needed a drink.
Ten o’clock.
I banged my boots on the gate and yelled some more. My voice was starting to fray.
I counted to a thousand. Then two thousand. I made lists.
New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Houston, Philadelphia, Phoenix, San Antonio, San Diego, Dallas, San Jose, Austin, Indianapolis, Jacksonville, San Francisco, Columbus, Charlotte, Fort Worth, Detroit, El Paso, Memphis.
Royals, Giants, Red Sox, Giants, Cardinals, Giants, Yankees, Phillies, Red Sox, Cardinals, White Sox, Red Sox, Marlins, Angels, Diamondbacks, Yankees, Yankees, Yankees.
Ardmore, Buffalo Trace, Crown Royal, Dewar’s, Eagle Rare, Four Roses, Glenlivet, Heaven Hill, Inchgower, Jameson, Knob Creek, Lagavulin, Midleton, Oban, Pappy Van Winkle, Queen of the Moorlands, Redbreast, Sazerac, Talker, Usquebach, Very Old Barton, Wild Turkey, Yamasaki.
I tried to fill the water bottle up at the sink but could only get a few inches in before the water flowed back out, again because the sink was so small. Fill, sip, fill, sip. My hands were shaking.
Eleven o’clock.
I filled the bottle as much as I could, then touched it to the bars on the cell door and dragged it back and forth. It made an awful noise, jarring but satisfyingly loud. It made me feel like my head was about to cave in, but I kept at it until someone came over, this time a mean-looking guy my age with so much gel in his hair I could smell it.
“Is there a woman on duty?” I said, trying a different approach. I wanted to speak to someone reasonable.
“Huh?” he said. His name tag read Shanahan.
“Is there a woman on duty,” I repeated. “I’m having, you know, woman problems.”
“Like you need a tampon?” he said brightly.
“Yeah,” I said. “Like that.”
“Nope,” he said. “Sorry.”
He walked away but returned a few minutes later with a tampon in a crumpled pink wrapper and thrust it at me sheepishly.
I sighed. I regretted wasting a wish on a tampon I didn’t need. “Hey,” I said. “Can you tell me if there’s news on the missing girl? Veronica Cruz?”
He cocked his head. “From what I understand, you’re not supposed to be asking about that.” But then he said, “Hasn’t turned up yet. We’ve got every agency in the county on the lookout, though.”
They didn’t need to be on the lookout across the entire county. They needed to look a hell of a lot closer than that. I didn’t say anything. I just lay back down and thought about what kind of incendiary device I might be able to make with a tampon, a water bottle, and a clementine peel.
Midnight.
I needed a drink.
I wiped a thin layer of perspiration off my upper lip.
*
My father was showing me how to handle a revolver. I was ten. “You always check to see if it’s loaded,” he said. “Even if you’re sure it isn’t, you always check. That’s how you know what kind of beast you’re dealing with.” He snapped the barrel open and showed me the empty slots. “Now you know it’s a harmless one.” He pointed it at me. Bang, bang.
I woke up as the cell door slammed open and I nearly fell off the bench. A new uniform was shoving a twentyish girl into the cell with me. She was dressed in an impossibly tiny black dress and patent spike heels and she reeked of vodka. It cleared my head for a second, just the smell of it, and I felt better, and then I felt worse.
“Hey,” I said to the cop before he closed the cell door.
He acted like he hadn’t heard me.
“HEY.”