Page 28 of Liar
What the hell was this about?
I resumed walking, meeting the officers with a smile. “It’s been a while,” I said, glancing to each of them. Declan, meanwhile, seemed to shrink into our room, looking pale, like he was going to be sick.
Fuck. Did something else happen?
Melendez turned her dark stare to me. She looked the same as she did before: her uniform neatly tucked in, her brown hair twisted into a low bun, not an ounce of makeup on her face. Beside her, White only frowned at me.
“We’re actually here for you, Ash,” Melendez spoke. “Can you come down to the station with us?”
I glanced at Declan before answering, “If this is about Ray, I haven’t seen him.”
Melendez nodded. “We have a few questions to ask you. It’d be easier at the station.” Down the hall, some of our neighbors poked their heads out, curious.
Right. Standing in the hallway while talking to two police officers would only create more rumors.
“Sure,” I said. Declan was about to say something, but I cut him off, “It’s fine. I’m sure I won’t be long.” And if this was about Ray, if they’d somehow realized that I’d been in that house with him after Halloween, I was fucked. Had to own up to the consequences.
Having a serial killer as an ex was a serious drag.
“Not long at all,” White replied. She had one hand hooked in her belt, where her badge rested beneath her coat, along with her gun. Her blonde hair was down, braided and off to the side.
I shot Declan a look before leaving with them, and in thirty minutes I sat in a sterile white interrogation room, a familiar sight. A camera hung in the corner of the room, its red light blinking, telling me it was on and recording. A two-way mirror sat near the door to the hall, and I wondered if anyone was watching me.
What the hell was this about?
I shifted in my seat, for a split-second wishing Markus was here. That man was scary as fuck, but he could handle people well, and police even better than that. Wouldn’t want to be caught dead on his bad side, though.
Alas, I was alone. No Markus, no lawyer, no help. I really had to be careful of what I said.
When the door opened, I looked up, meeting Melendez’s eyes. She carried a file, and she let out a sigh as she sat down across from me. “You’re always in the thick of things, aren’t you?” she asked, as if I already knew what this was about.
And I didn’t. I was so clueless it hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I spoke, light and hesitant. I leaned on the table, fumbling with my jacket’s sleeves. “What’s this about?”
“Corey Weinberger.” Melendez pulled a picture out of Corey, the grad student who taught my statistics course. “Do you know him?”
“Yeah,” I said, studying the picture. His cute face looked even dorkier than I remembered it being, plastered with a smile for the camera. This obviously had to be the picture taken by the school for his Hillcrest ID or something. No one ever took a picture like that willingly. “I’m in one of his classes.”
And then I realized Melendez wouldn’t be asking about him if everything was okay. Something happened.
Shit.
“When’s the last time you saw Mr. Weinberger?”
I answered immediately, finding no reason to lie, since there were probably cameras all over the building: “Last night. I went to his office hours. I’m having trouble in class. I don’t really understand the—”
Melendez took the photo of him back, digging through the file as she cut in, “At approximately what time did you last see him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe six-thirty?”
“His office hours are until six. Mr. Weinberger didn’t want to get home?”
“He said it was fine if he stayed late a bit,” I said, suddenly feeling itchy. So very itchy. This was all too familiar; I instantly wanted to be sick. Somehow I knew Corey wasn’t okay, and when Melendez showed me another picture, I knew it for a fact.
Corey was dead.
The picture Melendez showed me now was of him, his body on the pavement in what looked like a parking lot. I couldn’t see a wound, but there was a large bloodstain on the pavement under him. He laid face-down, only his left eye visible with the way his neck was angled…and that eye was still open. Had he even been alive when he’d hit the ground?
