“Mrs. Buchanan isn’t upstairs—”
“Then let me see her. Immediately. And tell me what happened to my stepfather.”
“Sir, she isn’t—”
“Dawes.” The older officer had turned away from Vivian and was looking over the rail. “Go ahead and take him up. Let him talk to the coroner.”
The junior officer barely had time to reply before Cornelius Rokesby was pushing his way up the stairs. Vivian shrank against the banister, her head turned down, her hands curled into the edges of the blanket once more. She didn’t want Buchanan’s stepson seeing her covered in his blood. But he didn’t even glance at her as he went past.
“So, you claim the maid didn’t say what the business matter was?” the younger officer asked, his voice snapping her back to the present.
Rokesby was gone, and they were looming over her again. “Why would she need to tell Mr. Buchanan his own business? Why would she even know?”
“We’re the ones asking the questions, young lady,” the older officer said. His voice was soft, softer than the bluster and brass of his partner. “How many times had you delivered dresses here before?”
“Never, sir,” Vivian said, shifting her hands again. “Mrs. Buchanan’s a new customer.”
“And had you ever met Mr. Buchanan before?”
“No, sir.”
“And yet he sat with you for some time, by your account. Shared a cup of coffee with you, even. Strange thing to do with a delivery girl he didn’t know.” The older officer’s voice grew even quieter. “Tell me, do you often socialize with the husbands of your clients? Husbands you claim you never met before?”
“I don’t claim it, sir. I neverhadmet him before.” Vivian clenched her fists hard enough that her nails bit into her palms, the discomfort reminding her to keep her temper in check. “Like I said, he was sitting in the room when I arrived, and he only spoke to me for a few minutes, including that cup of coffee. He was polite, nothing more. And I was polite, too, because that’s how I am with customers. And their families. And everyone else.” She met his eyes. “Sir.”
“It pays to bepolite,doesn’t it?” The snide voice of the younger officer cut through the air, and Vivian turned in time to see his knowing smirk. “Girls like you don’t make much money, isn’t that so? Gotta makefriendswhere you can if you need a little extra. And from what we heard, your conversation started out soveryfriendly.”
Vivian felt as though someone had punched her in the stomach. “You heard from that redhead, you mean? That girl Lena?”
Something flickered between the two officers as they exchanged a glance. “Just answer the question,” the older one said, sounding annoyed.
“It wasn’t a question, it was a statement,” Vivian snapped, knowing it was unwise. She wanted to jump up and shake them, to make a wild dash for the door. She wanted to lie down and sleep for a week, to pretend it had all been a dream. “That maid was in the room for all of thirty seconds, and I barely even opened my mouth until after she had walked out.” She thought about mentioning that Lena had beenmore than happy to giggle and smile at Mr. Buchanan herself. But she wouldn’t talk trash about someone she didn’t know, not when it could get another girl in trouble. Not even if the other girl had done it to her first. “Like I said, he was polite, and I was polite, and then he left. That was it.”
The two officers exchanged another glance. “All right, stand up.” The younger one nudged her with his toe, and Vivian shot to her feet, mouth half-open to tell him not to touch her.
But before she could say anything, the older one added, “You’re coming to the station with us.”
The words echoed in Vivian’s head. She wasn’t surprised. But they had kept her waiting there so long, without saying anything about taking her away, that she had started to hope they would let her leave after all the questions were done. That hope vanished like a missed step that sent her careening down a staircase in the dark. “I’m under arrest?”
“What kind of dumb question is that?” the younger officer demanded. “Sitting there, covered with the dead guy’s blood? Of course you’re under arrest.”
“But I didn’t do anything. I called forhelpwhen I found him. Why would I do that if I was—”
“You were the last one to see him alive.”
“But I wasn’t. The fella he was meeting with—”
“We’re not a jury, sweetheart,” the older one interrupted coldly. Any protest that Vivian might have made got stuck in her throat, the wordjuryechoing through her head. “So you can save your begging for someone who cares. Now, you gonna be a good girl and come with us without arguing, or are we slapping cuffs on you and dragging you to the car?”
Vivian’s breath was coming in such quick bursts that she felt dizzy. “Tell you what,sir,” she said, knowing that she didn’t have any leverage in that moment and taking the chance anyway, because she didn’t have anything to lose either. When poor girls went to jail, they didn’tusually come back out. “Tell you what. We all know I could make a big stink leaving this place. I could make you haul me out hollering and screaming and getting all kinds of attention from the neighbors that I’m pretty sure Mrs. Buchanan doesn’t want. Or…” She took a deep breath. “Or you let me make one phone call, and then I come along quiet as you like.”
“Listen here—” the younger officer began, but his partner cut him off.
“And who do you plan to call?” he asked. There was a hint of a smile in his voice, like an indulgent parent watching a child about to throw a tantrum and deciding to be amused instead of angry.
Vivian lifted her chin and met his eyes, hoping he couldn’t tell how nervous she was. “The commissioner’s nephew.”
“Our commissioner?” The younger one scoffed. “Nice try, girl. But he doesn’t have a nephew.”
