Jalen knocks at the window, so we reluctantly climb out, but Cameron does not let go of me for even a second, so we walk hand in hand into the station to face whatever comes next.
Although not completely unexpected, it is still physically painful when we are buzzed inside and immediately separated so thatCameron and Jalen can go with Detective Cartwright to give a statement. At least I can take comfort in that, because Detective Cartwright is clearly looking out for Cameron’s best interest, and I feel confident that he will vouch for him throughout the process. I am not alone for long, because Ollie, Val, and Leah arrive a few minutes later to give their statements, and we finally get a chance to talk.
“I still can’t believe she’s gone,” Val says, summarizing our collective shock.
The way she leans into Ollie, under his arm that is wrapped protectively around her, makes me wonder if their solo dart game was enough to assuage her reservations about him, or if their recent closeness is more due to the shared traumatic experience too.
“I keep playing it over and over in my head, wondering if there was something I could have done to prevent it,” Leah adds, and we all nod in agreement.
“Has Judith arrived?” Val asks me.
“No, I got here just a minute or so before you guys got here, so she’s probably still on her way.”
“I should have waited to offer her a ride, too, but I honestly forgot about her,” Ollie admits apologetically.
“She said she was local, so she probably has her own car,” Val says, giving him a reassuring pat.
An officer who looks to be in her forties with slicked-back brown hair approaches, so we pause our conversation. “Hello, everyone. Thanks for coming. My name is Officer Pettit, and we have rooms set up for each of you to give your statement. Follow me this way, and we will get you in and out of here as soon as possible.”
The others step forward, but I hesitate, still undecided.
“Drew, you coming?” Leah asks when she notices that I am no longer beside her.
I bite the inside of my cheek as the others stop to look at me, including Officer Pettit. “It’s totally up to you, ma’am,” she says. “You are under no obligation to give a statement at this time.”
I look around at the mostly empty lobby and think back to Cameron’s words, that my statement probably wouldn’t help, but I decide to go with them anyway, just in case.
“I’ll come,” I say, and fall in line behind the others.
Chapter thirty-two
UNRAVEL
Val,Ollie,andLeahare dropped off at their interview rooms first, which Officer Pettit makes sure we understand arenotinterrogation rooms. We have to journey a little further into the back of the station for my room, which is just a small conference room.
I settle into a rolling chair around the rectangular table, and Officer Pettit props open the door when she leaves, which puts me at ease. I start to slowly unravel, though, when I am forced to sit with nothing but my thoughts for almost an hour without anyone coming by to check on me. Just when I am about to backtrack through the maze to return to the lobby and say I’ve changed my mind, a baby-faced detective breezes into the conference room.
“Sorry for the wait, Miss Bailey. We are a bit short-staffed tonight.” He smiles and then goes straight for the coffee carafe. “I’m Detective Jonathan Harvey. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you.” I thought officers had to be in the force for a while before being promoted to detective, but Harvey doesn’t look a day over twenty-one.
“Probably for the best. Coffee’s not very good, anyway,” he says, while actively pouring himself a cup, and proves his own warning with the wince that accompanies his first sip. “So, tell me what happened, ma’am, from your perspective, so that we can get you on your way.”
I take a deep breath and try to settle my bouncing knee as I launch into my description of events but limit it to the portion of the night after the power kicked back on.
He nods throughout my story, shaking four packets of sugar and three pods of creamer into his Styrofoam cup and then takes the seat across from me before trying the coffee again. He cringes harder this time, even with the added ingredients, and uses a napkin to wipe a few drops from his sparse mustache.
“Tell me about the last time you interacted with the deceased, Miss Bailey. Did she seem off at all to you?”
I try to ignore the dull pain that has begun pulsing through the cut in my thumb over the last few minutes and consider which details are relevant to the investigation.
“Ollie, Cameron, and I had a conversation with her about the generator,” I say, deciding that is probably more than sufficient.
“What was her mental state like at that point? Did she seem sad or depressed? Or even strangely upbeat?”
His questions indicate a suspicion of self-harm, which I hadn’t considered yet. My mind immediately went to it being an accident, and the suggestion weighs heavily on me. “She was unhappy about how the retreat was going.”
He abandons his coffee to smooth his tie and leans back in his chair. “And why was that?”
