Bodies and blood everywhere. And crab legs.
I look away.
“Take a look at those again,” the woman says.
I shake my head.
He lifts an image of me behind the driver’s seat at the Crossbow mansion’s gate when I tried to get in. “You are here, on scene. Was the rifle in the trunk?”
They think I did it.
I look in the other direction, avoiding the images they’re shoving in my face. I need a lawyer, but they haven’t offered me one, and I can’t afford one. My lawyer handles divorces. This is beyond his pay grade. In fact, it’s beyond most lawyers’ pay grade.
“We recovered a pistol from your apartment,” he says. “We know you know how to shoot.”
I suppress laughter. They know as well as I do that a sniper rifle and a pistol that I got from my dad for self-defense and never fired aren’t the same thing.
“Bitch, talk!” The detective walks up and grabs my ponytail, tilts my head back, then slams my forehead against the table. I immediately feel a lump forming, and the pain in my nose makes my eyes water. Tears spill out of my eyes.
Blood trickles out of my left nostril. I sniffle and throw back my head to stop the bleeding. Tears roll down my temples. My chin quivers. I’m crying again. If she hurts me again, I’ll break. I know I will.
“Take a look at the images again,” she orders.
I do as she asks. Since she almost flattened my nose, my eyes are watery, and now I can’t see. I want to glare at her and tell her to fuck off, but I fear she’ll slip on the brass knuckles hanging from her belt and use them on my face.
It’s easy to be brave when you have nobody to lose. I have a life that I like, however fucked it is, and I have my dad and my daughter who would miss me. So no, I don’t glare or otherwise provoke the already agitated detective.
Blood drips from my nose onto the picture.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
She walks behind me and presses the barrel of her pistol against the back of my head. This is it. If I don’t answer her, she’ll shoot me. I examine the picture. This one isn’t gross like the others. This is a picture of Massio and some people dining in a…restaurant, maybe. I’m not sure.
“Can you spot Massio Crossbow?”
“Yes,” I whisper. My throat is parched.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I lick my lips.
“Yes, Detective Ramres.”
I repeat after her.
“Do you see anyone else you recognize?”
Most Selnoans would recognize Massio’s face. I shake my head.
“Second image.”
It’s the same spot but taken from a different angle. It’s a close-up of a man in his thirties with a five o’clock shadow. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt under a suit jacket. His gaze is focused. Intense. He kind of reminds me of the man I ran over. He also looked at me like that once. If looks could kill, this is the killer look.
I never want anyone to look at me that way again.
“I don’t know him.”
The male detective points to a brunette sitting across from Massio. She seems uncomfortable, maybe even frightened.
