Page 13 of Welcome Home
I’ve been faking smiles for the past nine years. I’ve mastered the art. “Yes, of course.”
She doesn’t ask me to follow her, but when she turns stalking away, it’s clear I'm expected to. I'm a good girl, a law-abiding citizen with nothing to hide. Why wouldn’t I follow her into the depths of a police station I have zero chance of making it back out of if I make even the slightest of mistakes? A male officer swivels in his chair, eyeing me with half-lidded eyes as she leads me through the gaggle of metal desks. I offer him a warm smile, only receiving a quiet snicker in return. His eyes not leaving my ass as I pass him. The smell of stale coffee and about a dozen different colognes assault my nose as we reach the back wall where a group of officers’ chat around a breakroom table. An older hardened looking man, I recognize as the police Captain is dressed in white, his heavy lined face cast in an ever-present frown. He glares at the detective in front of me. The warning, if not downright resentful look in his eyes force mine to the dark-skinned woman. She dips her head in a nod I would’ve missed had I not been staring directly at her.
What was that about?
She looks annoyed by the time we make it down a small hallway, lit by unfortunate florescent lights. “Go ahead and take a seat in here, Mrs. Neilson. I'll go gather my things. Would you like something to drink? The guys just put on a fresh pot of coffee.”
I highly doubt that. “I'm fine, thank you.” I murmur, dread filling my stomach as I sit myself at the far side of a small white table in a cramped gray room. Not a single rug, plastic plant, or stock picture hung up to lighten the place. This isn’t my first time here; each visit was equally unpleasant. At least those times I hadn’t had the weight of my dead husband’s lookalike surprising me in the shower and vowing his loyalty to me. My nerves are only exasperated by the woman casting me a tight smile and nod before she closes the door behind her, heading back into the hall. I take a deep breath, flexing my fingers in my lap underneath the table. Reminding myself of the camera to my right, in the upper corner of the room. Hoping I'm not coming off half as nervous as I am, despite the fact that I can practically feel her eyes through the lenses, I force myself to release my purse I was clutching in my lap. Opening up my posture as I lean back slightly in the seat. Placing my bag down to my right. Closed off people have something to hide, open people are just that.
Open.
You have nothing to hide, Cora. Your husband is at work, probably getting bitched out by the board of trustees as we speak. I wonder how fake Oliver is handling it. Will he be as skilled as the real one when it comes to spinning elaborate webs of lies? Each end nicely tied up, just enough truth mixed in to make it believable. They won’t fire him, suspend with pay perhaps, but they need him. Oliver is one of the most skilled trauma surgeons in the Southeast. I don’t know why I care. He’s not my problem. Not long term anyway.
I jump slightly when she rushes back in. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am.”
“It’s fine. I was off in my own little world for a moment.”
Fucking hell, I should’ve brought my lawyer.
“I want to start by saying you are here voluntary, for questioning so we can close the case of your formerly missing husband and you are free to leave at any time. Do you understand?”
I nod, which clearly isn’t good enough for her as she continues to stare at me. “Yes. I understand.”
“Good, good. You are in no way under arrest, but as I'm sure you remember from our previous interviews, I am required by state law to read you your Miranda Rights.” This time she accepts my nod before continuing. “Mrs. Neilson, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, an attorney will be provided for you. Do you understand your rights as I have read them?”
“Yes. I do.”
Another tight smile. “Great, now that’s out of the way, let’s go back through your original statement. Take me through those first few days again.”
“With all due respect Ms. Rappert-“
“Detective.” She corrects her hand tightening on the pen she’s holding.
I take a deep breath. “Detective Rappert, I’ve already given you my statement more times than I can count. I allowed you to question me for several hours on multiple occasions. You tore through my cars and home twice. I see no reason to go through it again. I came today to make a statement regarding Oliver’s return. As you can imagine, I'm dealing with a lot at the moment.”
She sets her jaw hard, widening her shoulders at what I can only assume is an attempt to seem bigger than she is despite us being roughly the same height. She ignores me. “In your original statement, you said the last time you saw your husband was the morning of April… the twentieth, on your birthday.”
“Yes.”
“Was anything different about that day? Anything that stood out to you?”
“No.”
“It was your birthday; you mean to tell me your husband didn’t do anything special for you? Not even wishing you a happy birthday before he left for work that morning?”
“He did.”
“He did what, Ms. Neilson?”
I grit my teeth. “He wished me a happy birthday.” It’s a lie. A small one I don’t even understand why I make.
She only nods, writing something down. “You said nothing was different. That’s considered different, Ms. Neilson. Or did your husband wish you a happy birthday every morning?”
I meet her eyes, fighting against the urge to dip in a slew of profanity. “Of course not.”
She doesn’t look away from me as she sits her notepad down. The pen she laid on top of the yellow paper rolls off onto the table, coming to a stop before she speaks. The silence is fat, each second a stalemate to who will fill it first. I know the silence is purposeful and it has its intended effect. I'm nervous and I just fucked something up.
“Cora, I'm going to level with you here. In your previous accounts of that morning, multiple times you have stated he did not wish you a happy birthday. One other time, the day you made the missing report, you told the officer he did and then now. So, did he or did he not wish you a happy birthday on the last morning you saw him?”
