“You're dickin’ us around. What's a watch on a pink purse got to do with anything? Are you going to quit the crap and tell us what happened?” The young cop shot out of the corner and slammed a palm down on the table in front of my face.
Like someone screaming at me was new. “We're getting there,” I said.
The young cop looked pissed. Too bad. The big cop looked like he might not trust me. If he'd keep listening, he'd catch up. Or if he didn't, I didn't much care.
“David was like my dad. A doormat. But I think my dad gave up on wanting her to love him. Or got enough of it. I don't know if it makes any difference. But he let her walk all over him.”
I looked at the young cop, who was back in his corner. “Is he out there? My dad? You called him, right? Did he even come back?”
The big cop answered. Wanting to keep control in his hands probably. “He's here. Looks like a truck wreck. I don't think he understands. Hell, I still don't understand.”
I started jiggling my leg and looking around the room. Suddenly anxious and jittery. “I know this is off the wall, but it's been bugging me. Do you know if Cass's name is actually Cassandra? I mean, wouldn't that be the final touch of irony? Cassandra was the prophetess of doom.”