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MALLORY
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What is going to happen here? I think while entering the police department. Why did I even agree to come here? The place is busy for a late evening on a weekend. People litter the entry area and halls. I make my way to the front desk; the guard does not seem happy with their job duties. Okay, so we would all rather be somewhere else, including the people that work here.
“Can I help you?” the clerk asks, without looking at me.
“I am here to see Officer Jones. She is expecting me.”
“Alright,” he announces, still not looking up. “What’s your name?”
“Mallory Moore. She told me to come. I’m a little late.
“Yeah, yeah. Have a seat. Someone will be with you soon.”
I don’t have to wait long. Officer Jones pushes through the main doors and calls out, “Moore?”
“Here,” I announce, like a student eager to make their presence known on the first day of school. Waving my hands like a moron. “Sorry, I’m coming,” I state, gathering my things and following her through the door. While trying so hard not to screw up, I feel like I have messed up even more.
Officer Jones ushers me into a small room and tells me to sit at a plain table with only four chairs sitting around it. This is not intimidating at all. We are good. I can handle this. I plant my ass into the steel seat and ask no questions.
“You are late!” Officer Jones announces.
My mind goes haywire but comes up with something believable. “I know. I’m sorry. I am on call for the hospital and sometimes, time outside of that realm slips away from me.”
“Tell that to my four-year-old who is waiting for me,” she proclaims. “You have made me miss story time because of your issues.” She looks a little old to have a toddler.
My lips are sealed, trying not to say another word that might piss her off even more.
A thought suddenly occurs to me. “Should I have a lawyer?”
She huffs, crosses her legs, then stares at me with those slitted eyes. “That depends. Are you guilty of something?” No, I think. “Because we are only asking questions today. You are not under arrest. Not yet, anyway.”
“Okay.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Everything you told us about your whereabouts for the last week, check out. However, there is still a lot of time not accounted for. We do not have an exact time of death for Shawn and Amy, but the coroner has narrowed it down to a time when you say you were at home, alone.” Her voice sounds very accusing, and this causes me to squirm.
“I’m at home alone a lot. I live alone. Honestly, I don’t know what else to tell you. That has always been my schedule. I work long hours and need my sleep.” Her look tells me that these excuses are no concern of hers. She only wants the facts and proof behind them.
“I know that life all too well.” Silence ensues while she removes a folder from her pile of papers and reveals a small tablet. Powering it on, she makes me wait while searching for something. When she finds what she is looking for, the tablet is turned my way. “I want you to watch something for me.”
A grainy black and white video fills the tiny screen. Wait, no, it’s not black and white, just filmed at night, which makes it hard to see any color on the screen. A figure walks across the street, their back to the camera. The figure disappears onto a porch of a house that looks a lot like the one from the news footage I watched two days ago. The house that Amy and Shawn apparently shared.
“I don’t get it. What am I watching?” I ask.
“Just keep your eyes on the screen. Wait for it,” Jones directs.
She does not fast forward. She makes me wait out the entire twelve minutes. While cars whiz by, a man walks his dog, and a group of kids ride by on their bikes before the figure from earlier exits the house. It’s a girl. I can see her long hair now flailing in the wind. Her top was bright before entering. Did she change while inside? She keeps her head down, never looking up at the camera. Does she know it is there? Is she hiding for a reason? Is this the person who killed Shawn and Amy?
Officer Jones pauses the video. A still of the woman’s profile sits frozen on the screen. “This footage was caught on a security camera across the street from Shawn Walker’s house on Tuesday night. Do you know who this girl might be?” Jones questions. Her tone tells me she might already know the answer to that question.
“No. Should I? You can’t even see her face.” It could literally be anyone.
Jones leans back in her chair and places her hands across her knees. “Just thought I would ask. At a glance, I would say it could be you. Then again, all you white girls look the same. There is some software that helps with facial recognition. Forensics is working on identifying this person as we speak. They can clean it up and match the face to any person in the database. It just takes some time.”
“What do you need me for? Sounds like you have it all under control,” I state, a little irritated now.
“Best to ask around before going through the trouble. I mean, we will still check everything, but it helps if we can narrow the search. This brings me to another matter. Weren’t you supposed to bring your sister with you today?”
Freaking Madeline! “Yes, I know. I have not seen her all day. Sorry, I tried, but she does not have a phone. I don’t know where she is.”
Her head slowly shakes from left to right. “That is a problem. Do you have anyone else that can confirm you were home on Tuesday night? Or any night after that?”
Thinking back to last Tuesday is hard. Berkley and I hit the margaritas and... “Oh, yes, I do!” My voice is way too loud for the small room, so I bring it down a few notches. “My neighbor, Paul. I hate to admit this, but like I said before, my best friend and I had some after-work cocktails, and I was feeling it by the time I made it home. I didn’t drive, just to be clear. Paul was there. He lives in the same complex and seems to always be around when I don’t want him to be. He can tell you. Paul was waiting for me outside my door when I got home.”
Her expression never changes. She says nothing.
“Do you want his contact info? His number isn’t saved in my phone, but I can get it for you.” So much relief washes through me. I always hated that guy nosing around. His imposing behavior might actually help me now.
“No, thank you. I don’t need it. He wouldn’t answer anyway, considering he is dead,” Jones deadpans.
My mouth is sitting on the table—figuratively, of course—it is wide open, and I have no words. Jones waits for me to get my act together.
I pick up my jaw, clear my throat, and ask, “What?” There goes that high octave again.
“That’s why I was in your complex earlier today. The manager had been trying to reach him. Apparently, he is the IT manager for your complex. When she got no response, she took it upon herself to check in on him. She was the one to find him. It wasn’t pretty. Not as gruesome as what I walked into at Shawn’s place. Just really weird. The point is, he cannot corroborate your alibi for any day, and he is also why you need someone to account for your whereabouts yesterday.” The words bleed out of her mouth and into my ears.
Am I hearing this right?
When I say nothing in response, she goes on, “Your neighbors seem to think you guys were close. We talked to several people, including the manager. They all say that you two were seen together often. Now, from what I have heard here today, you don’t feel close to this guy, Paul, yet I have more than a dozen people telling me otherwise. Who should I believe, Mallory?”
I’m going to be sick. Before I know what is happening, vomit containing nothing but chicken-flavored Ramen spews out of me and onto the table between myself and the officer. It splashes up after hitting the hard surface. I watch Jones close her eyes and mouth as it sprinkles her face and chest.
Great, this is the second time she has witnessed me throwing up. This time, it lands all over her. What will happen next time we talk? Am I just going to walk up and pull a Stan from South Park? Start regurgitating everything in my stomach instead of saying hello? She must hate me.
Several silent minutes pass. Is she waiting for more? I think that is all I have to offer. “I am so sorry. I don’t know what just happened here.”
No words. Jones gets up and fumbles for the door, trying not to open her mouth or eyes in the process. She holds a finger up to me before exiting.
Oh my God! What just happened? She said Paul was dead. Not murdered, right? She didn’t specify. He was young, maybe in his mid-thirties. I never bothered to ask. Hell, I didn’t even know he was in IT or worked for the complex. Paul might have told me, but I never paid much attention to what he said.
What happens now? Are they just going to leave me in here like this? Am I going to be arrested because I don’t have any witnesses to corroborate my whereabouts? Will they put me in a cell while covered in vomit? It’ll be my own vomit as I can’t seem to hold it in around Officer Jones.
No, this cannot happen. I must get out of here.
Standing abruptly, the chair falls on the floor behind me, and moving causes the smell to stir. I am going to be sick again if I don’t get out of here now.
Storming out of the room, I come face-to-face with Officer O’Dell heading my way. He has a rag in his hand. Sorry, buddy. It is going to take a lot more than that rag to clean up the mess in there.
“I gotta leave.” My voice is shaking as I rush past him.
“Wait. I don’t think my partner is done with you yet!” he calls to my retreating back.
“Have her call me!”
I am out the front door and running down the street. I took an Uber here. How the hell am I supposed to get home? When I get outside to the corner, panting. I stop to take a breath and pull out my phone. Seven at night. I could walk it. The GPS tells me it will take twenty-four minutes, I could use the time to think. I smell like a homeless person—that might make me blend in more.
When did my life take this turn? How is this happening?