“I will, Savannah. Just cooperate with the officers, and I’m sure they’ll figure out they have the wrong person.”
My thoughts were racing as the officers led me down the back stairs and out onto the street. Two police cars with flashing lights were parked at the curb in front of the building. The female officer stopped me and asked me to spread my legs. As she patted me down, I couldn’t help but glance up at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the conference room, one wall of which faced the street. My coworkers had their foreheads pressed to the glass as they looked down at us, watching me get searched for weapons like a dangerous criminal. My vision began to blur as tears flooded my eyes.
The other male officer opened the back door of one of the squad cars. The female officer nudged me forward. “Ma’am, in your condition, it would be best if you cooperate and get into the car yourself.”
I swallowed a sob and awkwardly lowered myself into the car. As I sat numbly in the back seat, thoughts popped off in my head like fireworks. Max had obviously failed to talk Madison and Nora out of pressing charges. But another troubling thought shoved that one out of the way—what did they mean by “the disappearance of Jenna Martin”? Dread crept into my bones as I thought of all the unanswered calls and texts from the past couple of weeks. The most recent response I’d gotten from Jenna was the Starbucks photo she’d texted me nearly two weeks ago, with no accompanying message. Since then … silence.
Where was Jenna? Had something happened to her?
What in God’s name was going on?
CHAPTER23
AT THE STATION,it was damn near impossible getting out of the squad car with my hands bound behind my back and my belly pressing down on me like gravity.
Once inside, I went into a kind of daze. I could feel the officers leading me through the precinct; placing my fingers on a glass fingerprinting screen, one by one; taking my photo while forcing me to hold a sign and turn this way and that. They took my phone—the only possession I had on me at the time, my purse still sitting beside my desk at the office—and had me remove all jewelry, and place both in a clear plastic bag.
Eventually I was led to a small room that contained nothing but a bare table with three rusty, metal chairs. I sat facing a wall with a large mirror. My handcuffs had been moved to the front of my body, thank God, and were connected to a chain woven through a ring on my side of the table, allowing me to move a little more than before but preventing me from getting up. I was obviously in some kind of interrogation room.
There’s no telling how long I sat there, alone. Tears kept coming. Finally, the sole door to the room opened, and two people walked in—one man and one woman, both dressed in plainclothes. The man wore a gold badge on a chain aroundhis neck; the woman wore hers on her hip, fastened to her belt.
“Ms. Mitchell, I’m Detective Roth, this is my partner, Detective Harris,” the man said.
They proceeded to ask me questions about my family, friends, and job. Then they moved on to my love life. “Ms. Mitchell, who is the father of your baby?” Harris, the female detective, asked.
“Max Hunter.”
“Tell us about your relationship with him.”
I told them about the brief, casual affair Max and I had at the beginning of the year.
“And then what happened?”
I explained about finding out I was pregnant, and how I’d gotten back in touch with Max to give him the news.
“And how did that go?”
“Fine, at first. We were both shocked and a little stressed by the news, but Max seemed excited about the baby. He was just nervous to tell his girlfriend—well, his wife.”
“You didn’t know he was married at the time?”
I frowned. “No. Even when we were together, all he told me was that he’d recently broken up with someone.”
“So, you told him you were pregnant, and he told you that he’d just reconciled with his wife, Madison, since the last time he saw you?”
“He never saidwife. But yes—he said they were working on some of their issues and giving things another try. He said they hadn’t moved back in together yet, but that things were going well so far.”
“And how did that make you feel? Were you upset? Jealous?”
“No! I mean, it definitely made things awkward—I worried that she would be threatened by me. But I told him from the very beginning that the baby didn’t need to change things for either of us. He could be with Madison. All I wanted was afriendly co-parenting relationship, so we could do the right thing for our child.”
“And when did you first meet Madison?”
I told the story from the beginning. Again. How many times had I told it? What were my chances of them believing me?
By the time I reached the part about the baby shower, the detectives’ eyebrows were sky-high. Harris scribbled notes in a pocket-sized notebook.
“Do you have proof of any of these allegations—the vandalism to your vehicle, the spy app on your phone, the camera in the vase?” Roth leaned back in his metal chair and crossed his arms at his chest.
