Page 83 of She Didn't See It Coming
Lizzie feels the blood drain from her face, the dizziness rush in. She doesn’t want them to see what she’s posted on there. But she realizes they probably already have. That’s why she’s here.
Detective Salter opens a buff file folder resting on the table in front of her. She lifts a piece of paper and studies it for a moment. Then she looks at her. “Does the name Emma Porter ring a bell?”
Lizzie freezes. She can’t speak.
“You know,” Detective Salter continues, “I thought there was something a bit odd about you, Lizzie. You were so interested in finding your sister. But it didn’t seem like the normal, healthy interest of a loving sister. You were eager to be part of the investigation. You wanted to come along on the search. You suggested the dog. That’s how we know you’re Emma Porter. Because you couldn’t resist pointing it out to the Facebook group. And to Detective Kilgour and me too.”
Lizzie just shakes her head, silent and afraid.
“You have quite an interest in true crime,” Salter says. “I remember our little chat about the Elisa Lam case.” She pauses, tilts her head at her. “So you went online, and started posting in the group about your sister’s disappearance, and then her murder.” She looks down and reads from the sheet of paper.“ ‘A woman has just gone missing from a condominium at 100 Constitution Drive. Police are on the scene. Stay tuned for updates!’ ”She looks across at her. “Why did you do that, Lizzie?”
“I—I thought maybe we could help solve it.”
“But you didn’t tell your parents about what you were doing. Why?”
Lizzie whispers, “I thought they wouldn’t approve.”
Now the detective leans closer to her. “And why wouldn’t they approve, Lizzie?”
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Lizzie feels her face harden. “They wouldn’t approve of my going online and talking about Bryden’s murder. They would find it tasteless, unforgivable. They wouldn’t understand.”
“Why would they feel that way, if you’re only trying to help?” Lizzie doesn’t answer. “Is your parents’ approval so important to you?”
Lizzie glares back at the detective. “No, but I don’t want to hurt them unnecessarily.” She adds, “They’ve always disapproved of true crime. They think it’s—disgusting, unhealthy. ‘Prurient,’ my mother says. So I mostly hide it from them.”
“Did your sister share your interest in true crime?” the detective asks.
Lizzie shrugs. “No, she was more like my parents. She preferred more edifying things, like visiting art museums.”
“It must be especially awful for your parents, then, living through this, like something you’d see on Netflix.”
Lizzie pauses. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Maybe you think they wouldn’t approve of the fact that you seem to enjoy it so much, discussing your sister’s murder online.”
Lizzie feels her face burn. “I wouldn’t say Ienjoyit,” she protests. “She was my sister. I want to know who killed her.”
“I’ve read everything on that Facebook group,” Detective Salter says. “And do you know what struck me?”
Lizzie can’t bring herself to look at the detective’s face. She can feel the sweat prickle in her armpits, is swamped in fear and shame.
“It struck me that maybe you were enjoying it a littletoomuch.”
Lizzie shakes her head. “No.”
“I think you enjoyed beingin the know. Pretending you knew someone in the police, so you could leak information without giving yourself away. Did that feel good, Lizzie?”
“No.”
“I bet it did.” The detective regards her, then nods at Kilgour. And now suddenly Detective Kilgour is reading her her rights, as she sits frozen in front of them. When he’s finished Salter asks, “Do you want a lawyer to be here with you?”
Lizzie considers it briefly. “No.”
“Okay,” Detective Salter says, and continues. “I read your post from last night.” Now she leans forward again and picks up the sheet of paper and reads aloud: “ ‘all they had to do was knock on her door, force their way in, and hold a plastic bag over her face until she was dead. Easy enough to do, if you’re strong enough. If you take her by surprise. If she’s not expecting it at all and turns her back on you.’ ”
Lizzie stares back at the detective, unable to speak, to defend herself.
