My heart jumps. That’s all I need—for Percy to convince law enforcement thatshe’sthe victim.
After the troopers briefly confer with each other, one departs with Percy and the ambulance crew, and another returns to the kitchen. Trooper Gallagher and the oldest of the two remaining men stay in the living room. He asks Sam to take a seat on the couch, and Gallagher ushers me into the dining room. As soon as we’re inside, she pulls the pocket doors closed behind us.
She’s an attractive woman, tall and seemingly in great shape, with dark red hair secured in a tight bun and eyes the same color as the tie of her bright blue uniform. She motions for me to have a seat at the table and then lowers herself into a chair across from me. After taking down some basic information, she asks me to describe what happened.
I start with being woken by the smell, then heading downstairs to discover Percy in the kitchen, and from there I backtrack, describing the other weird incidents—because I want to be sure she understands how unhinged this woman is. I mention Jamie’s death, the ongoing investigation, and Percy’s involvement with Jamie. Then I return to tonight, how Percy threatened both Sam and me with a knife and how she said Jamie deserved to die.
Gallagher appears to listen carefully, asking me a couple of questions now and then for clarification and taking notes with a ballpoint pen. From the kitchen I hear the intermittent scuff of the third trooper’s shoes, and I sense he’s taking photos or gathering evidence or both.
“Sounds like a harrowing night,” Gallagher says when I finish.
“Yes, very.”
“Just so I’m clear: How many times did you strike Percy West in all?”
“Uh, twice. The first time was on the arm and all it did was make her angrier. She stepped closer to Sam with the knife, so that’s when I hit her in the head.”
As I’m speaking, I assure myself that what I did was completely justified and in self-defense, but still, I’ve never intentionally injured anyone before, and it rattles me.
“And you sustained no injuries yourself?”
“Not unless you count being terrified.”
Gallagher takes a minute to thumb through her notes, peering intently as she reads, and then glances back at me.
“You said you came downstairs at around three,” she says. “You didn’t wake Mr. Morgan?”
A warning bell sounds in my head—this might be a question I need to answer cautiously.
“No, because I thought it was just another weird occurrence in the house, which I wanted to figure out. I never imagined someone was actually downstairs.”
She nods with her lips pursed, seeming to understand. But I know I can’t take that for granted.
“And about how long were you alone with Ms. West before Mr. Morgan joined you?”
“Probably no more than ten minutes—though it felt like an eternity.”
“And what is your relationship to each other?”
At that moment I’m suddenly struck with a sense of how the experience I’ve just described might appear to an outsider: In the middle of the night, two thirtysomething professional types summon the police to a house that neither of them owns, where a younger woman is lying dazed and hog-tied on the kitchen floor. There is no sign of forced entry. The only weapon is a knife from a wooden block on the kitchen counter. And there’s a scented candle burning on the table. God, they could easily think it’s a threesome gone horribly wrong.
I can’t let the police doubt what transpired here, not only because it would be bad for Sam and me, but then they might not hold Percy responsible for Jamie’s death.
“We’ve been friends for a few years,” I say, “but things started to shift this week.”
She nods again, her expression neutral. “Okay, I think that does it for now. We’ll need you to come by headquarters later today to give a formal statement.” She slips a card from her pocket and indicates the address where I’ll need to go.
“Thank you—and you’ll speak to Detective Calistro?”
“Calistro?”
“About Jamie Larsson’s death. How Percy West killed him.”
“Yes, he’ll be brought up to date.”
She gives no indication that she appreciates the connection between the two cases, but I tell myself she’s just acting professional—in other words, not giving anything away.
I almost groan with relief when she opens the pocket doors and I set eyes on Sam again, sitting alone on the couch. The trooper, obviously finished with the interview, is speaking quietly into a cell phone on the other side of the room. The other trooper, the one who’d been in the kitchen, seems to have left by now. As Sam hoists himself upfrom the couch, the trooper finishes his call and nods at Gallagher. They wish us both a good night and take their leave.
