“Sure,” says Amelie and gets up.
I can’t let her go, not in that state.
I run after her.
“I’m coming with you,” I say, and grasp her arm. She removes herself from the touch.
I take a step back.
The way she looks at me?—
It scares me.
“You stay here,” she says in a harsh tone.
I feel like falling.
The way she changed?—
The other agent turns towards me.
“You are?” he asks.
“Jane McKenzie, Professor for Behavioral Neuroscience,” I say.
“Did you know Miss Whitney-Morgan personally?” he asks.
“I—“ I begin as I realize that everything is about to fall apart. Everything. All the pretend. All the lies. They die right here, because I cannot lie to an agent.
“Yes,” I say. “I met her at her birthday party last week. Amelie is my research assistant, that’s how it came to be?—”
I stop myself right there.
“Did you have a more personal relationship with Miss Whitney-Morgan or Miss Degard? You seem rather familiar with each other.”
“I—um—I’d rather keep my personal life out of the discussion.”
“So you say you had a personal relationship with them, you are a Professor here, are you not?”
That is the moment I remember who I am.
“Are you implying I would violate the rules, Sir?” I ask him. “Because if so, I would have to assume you are questioning me as a suspect, and not as a witness. If that is the case, I’d really like to know the foundation for your assumptions.”
“As of now, there are no suspects because the death seems to be self-induced, yet we have to follow all leads.”
Self-induced.
My eyes wander to Amelie, standing some feet away from us in the corridor.
She stares at me.
Her eyes flicker.
She knows something.
The thing she couldn’t tell me.
And it’s eating her alive.
