"They don't know you. For all they know, you DO talk like that. Read it over and let us know if you have questions."
It's actually written like a script with the police listed and then me. The answers are all really short with no explanation.
"They're going to ask me more," I say. "There's not enough detail."
"They can't force you to say anything. If they ask you something that's not in the script you tell them you don't know or you don't remember."
"So I lie."
"Everyone lies, including the police. They'll say and do whatever they have to in order to close this case, lock away the killer, and put the public's mind at ease."
"Then why are they reopening Andrea's case? Why don't they just let everyone think it was an accident?"
"The girl's parents are demanding the police look into it again. The new evidence was sent directly to Andrea's parents because whoever sent it wanted to make sure the police would reopen the case. Otherwise, as you said, they'd likely say it wasn't worth upsetting the community again and would toss the evidence in a file, never to be seen again."
Brock comes out of the house, holding a stack of papers. "I believe these are yours," he says, setting them in front of me.
"What's this?" I ask.
"A printout of what's on the screen," Ms. Wietz says. "We sent it to Brock to print. Spend the next hour or so memorizing it."
"Hour? That's all the time I have?"
"You might have more," Ms. Wietz says, getting up from her chair. "But to be safe, do as much as you can in an hour. The police aren't going to wait much longer. And the longer you wait, the guiltier you look. If you have nothing to hide, you won't fight them when they ask to speak with you. That's another thing. Be pleasant."
"Pleasant? My boyfriend was arrested and a girl from my school was murdered. Nobody would act pleasant after that."
"By pleasant, I mean don't raise your voice or become confrontational. Simply answer their questions and get out of there."
"Aren't you going to be with me?" I ask, getting up.
"Yes, but I won't be talking. You need to be the one giving answers."
"We should go," Mr. Daniels says to her.
"Braden is waiting in his room," Brock says.
Ms. Wietz picks up her leather bag and motions me inside. "Start studying. We'll leave after I talk to Braden."
"I won't be ready." I hold up the stack of paper. "This is way too much to memorize."
"You'll be fine," Brock says, putting his arm around me. "I memorize scripts twice that size in half the time."
"Because you're an actor. I'm not."
"But I'm your uncle, and your father is an actor. Acting is in your blood." He lets me go. "Go inside and practice. If you need me to read lines with you, let me know."
Read lines.He acts like I'm rehearsing for a play. This all seems so wrong. I don't know anything about how crime investigation works so maybe this is normal but it's not normal for me. Even if I memorize this, I still feel like I'm going to screw up and say something I shouldn't. But if I do, I'm sure Ms. Wietz will step in and stop me before I say too much.
An hour later, Brock is at my door.
“We need to go,” he says. "They want to see us at three."
"Are you serious? I'm not ready! What am I supposed to wear?"
Brock goes to my closet and pulls out a pair of black pants his stylist got me that I've never worn, a white button-up shirt, and a pink cardigan. He hands it to me. "Put this on and wear the low black heels."
"I would never wear this," I tell him.
