“I’ve told the officer everything I know,” I reply, folding my arms and checking the clock on the wall for the tenth time.
I’ve been seated in this bleak, fluorescent-lit interrogation room for hours. I know my baby girl is out there waiting for me with Jeremiah’s mom, who must be reeling from the news of his death and the fact that Adam has been arrested on suspicion of murder.
“I understand, and I know you’ve had a challenging morning. I won’t take up much more of your time.”
Opening the folder, he pulls out some pictures and fans them across the table before me. The images are all of young women with a similar appearance to the nun girl.
“Do you recognize any of these women as the same person you referred to in your statement as Joy? The one you saw leave the club with Mr. Cunningham?” His tone is a mix of curiosity and efficiency.
“No,” I answer honestly. There’s no way they will have an image of her. Joy doesn’t exist. Her name is as fake as my own.
“Are you absolutely certain that the woman you called Joy is indeed the same woman you saw in the trunk of Mr. Cunningham’s car?” he presses, his pen hovering over his notepad.
“Yes, she was a girl from the club that Adam took home,” I say, my voice weary but resolute. I’m repeating myself for what feels like the hundredth time. “I really need to see my baby now. Can we finish this?”
“Almost,” he responds, glancing over my face and then dipping his gaze to my throat. “Do you mind if I ask where your bruises came from?”
Well, damn, I didn’t do as good a job of hiding them as I thought.
Leaning forward, I lower my voice as if fearing it might be overheard, and I’m scared of the consequences of that mistake. “Listen, Detective Scott. Adam has a temper and treats people as property he owns. This included his brother and me. He could get a handsy, if you understand my meaning.”
“Did you ever press charges?” His brow furrows, and there’s a flicker in his jaw.
“And end up like Joy?” I respond with a bitter laugh that catches in my throat. “No, I can’t afford that kind of risk. I have a child to think about.” I swipe at a forced tear that escapes down my cheek, and I see his expression soften, the protective instinct in him surfacing.
“I won’t keep you any longer, ma’am, but I must inform you that this is an active murder investigation. It’s likely we’ll have more questions for you at a later date.” His eyes burn with intensity, emphasizing the gravity of the situation. “Take my card and call if anything comes to mind.”
Looking down at the card, I tap a fingernail over his name.
DETECTIVE DILLON SCOTT.
“Understood.” I nod, trying to remain calm.
When I’m finally allowed to leave, I find Vika in the waiting room with Roza.
“I don’t do this.” She waves a hand, looking down her nose at my precious angel sleeping in her stroller.
“She’s a baby.”
“Exactly, I don’t do babies.” She shudders. “You took your time in there and that man has been staring at me this whole time.”
"I wasn’t at the salon. The police were interrogating me,” I say, my frustration bubbling. Scanning the waiting area, I huff in frustration when I learn who she’s all twisted up over them staring at her. “That man’s badge says chief of police.”
“Well, he’s creepy,” she mutters under her breath, casting a distasteful glance in his direction.
The chief’s piercing gaze feels like he can see right through us. I instinctively move to block his view, positioning myself so he can only see my back. The last thing we need is for him to approach us and start digging into her identity.
“Where is Rosetta?” I frown.
“Is that the grandmother?” she asks, clutching her designer purse like someone is going to try and steal it in a police station.
“Yes,Amelia. Where is she?” I hate using her fake name but keeping who we really are under lock and key right now is paramount.
“She left. Levi called us to come to the station. He said Adam was arrested and they think Jeremiah was killed in a car crash.”
“Yeah, it’s been a shitty day.”
“So…” She’s animated with her movements, and I don’t have the energy for it.
