Page 21 of Swerve
And then my phone rings.
Knox
“We forge the chains we wear in life.”
—Charles Dickens
WITHOUT QUESTION, he knows why this task has been assigned to him.
It isn’t a task any of the other detectives want to take on. Questioning the sister of a teenage girl who has vanished with no apparent trace. Pretending to be sympathetic without letting her know she’s under suspicion.
But he doesn’t mind.
If she had anything to do with it, he is happy to help nail her.
They’d spoken on the phone for a minute or less, agreeing to meet at her house. He’s waiting at the front door when she pulls into the driveway. The seen-better-days BMW sedanis a surprise given the neighborhood and the house.
He gets out of his black Jeep, noting the startled look on her face when she spots him. He pulls his badge from his shirt pocket, holding it up so that she can see it through the window of her car.
She gets out, relief etched in the lines of fatigue around her eyes.
He walks over and sticks out his hand. “Detective Helmer with the Metropolitan Police Department,” he says. “I have a few more questions about your sister, if you don’t mind.”
“Yes,” she says, “of course. Would you like to come inside?”
“Sure,” he says, noting the white coat she’s wearing, the scrubs beneath. “You’re a doctor?”
She leads him toward the front door. “Second-year psych resident at Johns Hopkins,” she says. “I tried to go into work this morning, but couldn’t get any farther than the parking lot. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to go back to normal as if my sister isn’t missing.”
She unlocks the door, swings it open and waves him in. An enormous yellow cat greets them in the foyer, its meow tinged with outrage.
“That’s Pounce,” she says. “Mia’s cat. He’s upset that she hasn’t come home.” Her voice breaks on the last word, belying the casual way in which she has imparted the information.
“How do you know?” he asks.
She turns to him, a question in her eyes.“What?”
“That he’s upset about it.”
The question seems to surprise her, but she explains with, “Mia found him when he was a kitten. He’s never been away from her. He sleeps with her every night. I just know.”
He realizes she’s measured her response, can see that it is difficult for her not to label him a complete idiot.
“You and your sister both like animals?” he asks, doing a quick assessment of the living room, noting the family photos, two large ones of possible parents on a far wall. The rest seem to be only of her and Mia.
“Yes,” she says, studying him intently. “We both like animals. You don’t?”
The enormous cat chooses that moment to demonstrate the logic behind his name, launching himself from the back of the nearby sofa to latch onto the front of Knox’s right leg, nails hanging on his suit pants.
“Pounce!”
Emory Benson grabs for the cat, but he’s latched on with no intention of letting go. She squats in front of him, doing her best to disengage the cat’s claws from his leg. The nails give the cat leverage though, and he sinks them in, penetrating pants and skin.
“Pounce, let go!” she demands, and as if he knows he’s crossed the line, the cat instantly releases himself.
She swoops him up in her arms, apologizing. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten in to him.”
“That’s okay,” he says, reaching down to rub his leg.
