“He listened to me,” I said. “He paid attention.”
“Would you say Mr. Emerson loved you?”
“Not in a boyfriend-girlfriend way. He just ... loved me.”
The one he really loved was Regina, I told the police officer. A thought came to me then, supporting this.
“He even has a tattoo with her name on it,” I told him.
Interesting. “Where on Mr. Emerson’s body is this tattoo located?” he asked.
I had to tell him then.
“He showed you his naked buttocks?”
Oh god.Nothing was coming out the way I wanted it to.
“It wasn’t like that,” I said. “I want my dad,” I told the police officer. I don’t know if I’d ever said those words before, or if I’d ever had that thought.
“We’re almost finished,” Officer Reynolds told me. “You can see your father in just a few minutes.”
I wanted my dad right then. Not in five minutes. Or maybe I just wanted to get out of there.
“One of our other officers is talking with your father,” Officer Reynolds told me. “I gather the two of them—your father and Mr. Emerson—grew up together. It seems Mr. Emerson had some run-ins with the law when he was younger.”
I told him how Forrest’s family didn’t have much money. Of course, everything changed for him once he married Regina.
“That’s when he changed his name,” Officer Reynolds said. “Did that ever strike you as odd?”
The room felt hot. The blood still coming out of me felt warm and sticky in my underpants. I tried to think about the tennis court where I had my lessons with Jonathan.
I’m standing at the baseline, preparing to serve. I keep my eye on the ball. Nothing else matters.
“We understand how young you are, Frances. But it appears you played an unusual role in Mrs. Emerson’s life over the course of this past summer. Not the normal kind of job for a babysitter.”
An unusual role?
“I’ll be honest with you,” he said. “We found a notebook on the bed, next to Mrs. Emerson’s body.”
He took it out now. The little spiral notebook I’d kept in my pocket when I was pretending to be Nancy Drew. Back when this whole thing seemed like an exciting game. Or a play I got to be in. With me in the starring role, for a change.
“This notebook seems to document the details of some sort of relationship between Mr. Emerson and a woman named Brenda. Would you know anything about this notebook?”
I just sat there.
“You probably know from watching television that law enforcement professionals are able to determine the identity of the author of a document based on the expertise of a handwriting analyst,” he told me. “It wouldn’t be difficult to prove that you were the author of these notes. That this was your notebook.”
“She just wanted me to find out a little information,” I said. I could feel everything tumbling down around me.
“We found a set of Polaroid photographs. Of Mr. Emerson and a woman who isn’t Mrs. Emerson. We haven’t identified her yet, though I’m guessing you may be able to assist us with that. I’m guessing this may be the ‘Brenda’ referred to in these notes you appear to have written. We’re also in possession of a tape recording. Also made by you, perhaps.”
More blood.It was still seeping out of me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I wasn’t actually apologizing to the police officer, though that’s what he thought, probably. I was sorry the things I said made Forrest sound like a bad person. I was sorry I hadn’t done a better job with the questions. I was very, very sorry I had misled Regina when I first told her about Brenda’s plan to make it look like she had killed herself, sorrier than I could ever say that I’d let Regina believe Forrest was in on that plan.
It didn’t matter that I’d tried to explain, afterward. It was too late by then.
“It’s all my fault,” I said.
