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MALLORY
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Despite my mind not wanting to shut up, I managed to fall asleep and stay that way all night. I got a decent amount—four hours—considering how late it was, and woke up to my alarm without pressing snooze. My morning goes by in a blur. I do my job just as is required of me.
Dr. Pratt is working this floor, but we have been so busy that he hasn’t had a chance to approach me directly. Good! I am glad. There is no part of me that wants to relive our lackluster date from this past weekend.
My feet drag as I exit the last patient room of this hour’s rounds. Good thing I am working on the oncology floor today. These people are too lethargic to complain. My head is down as I approach the nurse’s station. Everything around me is just background noise.
“Mal? Hello. Earth to Mal?” Berkley says from behind the counter. We haven’t had much time to socialize during this shift and I feel bad, but now is not the time.
“Berkley, I just can’t right now.”
Her throat clears. “Mal. There is someone here for you.”
“What?” I look up and find Officer Jones staring at me.
“Can I help you?” my voice quivers with the question.
“No, you cannot help me, but you can come with me,” she answers. “Mallory Moore, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent...” she goes on, reading me my rights while pulling my arms behind my back and securing my wrists in cuffs. She does this in view of my coworkers, Berkley, Dr. Pratt, and any patients who happen to be lurking about. No qualms to her. This isn’t her life that is falling apart on display.
“What am I being arrested for?” I squeak out while she shoves me into the elevator. An older man enters the elevator with us just before the doors close. He stays facing me. He is short, much shorter than anyone else in this metal box. His suit is wrinkled. It looks as if he has been wearing it for days. Is he with Officer O’Dell and Jones or just some random, unwelcome spectator?
“Do we really need to spell it out for you?” the man asks.
My arms strain against the metal restraints holding them. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”
“My name is Detective Mitch Sloane. I am investigating the recent murders.”
“Detective Mitch Sloane? That’s made up, right? I mean, no one actually has that name outside of the fictional world.” I look around and see that no one openly agrees with me, which means they probably secretly agree with me.
***
No one tells me anything on the ride over here, so I stopped trying to ask. As soon as we arrived at the station, I call my parents, but they don’t answer the house phone. Before Helicopter Jones can see that I am making another call, I quickly dial mom’s cell.
“Mal, where are you?” My mother sounds distraught.
“Mom, I know you are a couple of hours away, but I need you.” They still live in San Marcos where I grew up. “I never ask you for anything, but I have no one else to call. I have been arrested.”
“What station are you at?” she asks.
I tell her where and before she can hang up, I add, “Mom, I didn’t do anything. I’m scared.”
“It’s okay. We will be there soon. We’re already on our way.”
I know that is just something she needs to say to comfort me, or herself; I don’t know. One thing I do know is that once she gets here, she can set this right. She might be able to get Mad here and fess up to it all.
“My mom is coming. She will get me a lawyer.” I set the receiver down and stare at Detective Sloane.
“Good, then we will wait,” he states, then starts to exit the room.
“Wait! Aren’t you going to tell me why I am here?”
Detective Sloane turns back to face me and takes a seat. “Are we doing this now? I thought you wanted to wait for mommy’s lawyer?”
I really don’t like this guy. Can we bring back Officer Jones?
“Look, that could be awhile, and I have a right to know why you had to make a scene at my workplace.” The tears are trying their hardest to escape, but I won’t let them.
“I believe Officer Jones showed you a surveillance video. She said we had forensics dissecting the image, trying to figure out who the person could be?” I nod. “Well, we know.”
He sets down the folder that had been tucked under his arm and flips it open. Sitting on top is an almost clear photo. He turns it in my direction and waits.
“No...” The word leaves my lips before I can stop it. “This can’t be. This is photoshopped or something.”
“I can assure you that it is not,” he states. “Photo recognition identified this as a match to you. So, you ask why you are here. Mallory Moore, you are being charged with double homicide. This footage places you at the scene of two murders the night it happened.”
“I... it was.”
He stops me. “I highly recommend that you wait for that lawyer. Anything you say here now could be used against you.”
I don’t know much about the law, but I know he is lying. Anything I say now could be inadmissible.
“But it wasn’t me. There has been a huge mistake. You have to go find my sister and ask her. I don’t know how to reach her, besides checking my apartment, but you can’t miss her. She looks just like me!” I scream, and here come the tears.
Detective Sloane does not acknowledge my breakdown. “So, this sister, you said her name is Madeline Moore. She is your identical twin?”
“Yes,” I stammer. “We are not close, but she needed a place to stay and has been with me for almost two weeks. I have a heavy work schedule and never see much of her. I know that I wasn’t there. Shawn and I broke up months ago. Amy and I never spoke again after she left. I didn’t know where they lived or even that they were together.” I stop to wipe my nose on my sleeve and take a deep breath. This guy hasn’t even offered me a tissue.
“Look, you can check my phone and my laptop. I have not been in touch with either of them.”
“Oh, we are already on that.” The detective looks like he is trying to hide a smile. Does he think this is funny?
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“We got a search warrant signed early this morning. You were already at work when we retrieved your laptop from your apartment.” His expression looks joyful. Are you kidding me? “Forensics have uncovered quite a bit from your laptop. They are searching your phone for deleted information as we speak. We also found the sweater and tee shirt you were wearing in this picture.” He taps the picture, making me look at it once again. That could be any sweater!
“You want to keep talking, or should we continue this conversation when your lawyer shows up?” If I wasn’t in handcuffs right now, I might just slap this A-hole.
I say nothing. “That’s what I thought,” he says and stands to leave. This time I do not stop him.