Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
“Hey, Cassie. Sorry to keep you waiting so long,” the man says, entering the room. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, but it’s been a long night.”
“Sure has,” I murmur.
“You must be tired.”
I nod, too depleted to offer extra words.
But I perk up when the lady steps forward and slides a bottle of water across the table.
“Oh, thank you,” I say, wasting no time uncapping it.
“I’m Detective Lucker. This is Detective Sanchez,” he says, gesturing to the lady.
“Nice to meet you,” I murmur automatically, causing the man to smile faintly.
“Hey, we don’t hear that often in situations like this.”
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Habit.”
“You’ll get no complaints from me. I like to keep it friendly when I can, you know? We’re all just here doing our jobs. If everybody cooperates, then we all get out of here sooner.”
“Sounds great,” I tell him.
He smiles. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“And I can save you a little more time,” I tell him. “Because I’m not talking about Timothy Walters without my lawyer.”
His smile weakens, but he’s been at this a while, so he doesn’t advertise his disappointment. “I understand you and Timothy Walters had some unpleasant history.”
“Yes, he raped me last summer,” I state bluntly. “So that’s unpleasant.”
The man nods.
The woman takes a seat. “That must have been hard, dating his brother. His twin brother.”
I cross my arms, preparing to reiterate that I want my lawyer, but the man interrupts before I can to switch courses. “You know what, we don’t have to start there. We don’t have to get deep at all. Why don’t you just tell us what happened tonight?”
“Sure. After I’ve spoken with my lawyer.”
The detectives exchange a glance, and the woman stands back up.
“All righty, then,” says the man. “We’re gonna step out, but we’ll be back. Whether you want to talk to us or not, we do need to collect some evidence.” He pauses, almost like he’s deciding whether he really wants to say what he wants to say. Then he looks back at me. “Miss Pritchard, I do want you to consider that this is your chance to tell your side of the story. Whatever happened tonight, I’m sure we can sort it out. And I’m sure when Torrance Walters is sitting where you’re sitting, he’ll be advised of the same thing.”
I nod but keep my mouth shut.
The detective lingers a moment longer, letting me reconsider, then he steps out, closing the door behind him.
I wait again.
But at least this time I have my water.
I drink too much of it, and by the time they get back, I need to pee.
Detective Sanchez drops a plastic bag with what looks like a pair of gray sweats inside onto the table. “We’ll need to collect your clothing as evidence, so go ahead and change into these. We’ll need your shoes, too.” She drops a pair of sandals on the table next to the sweats.
“We’ll also need your phone,” Detective Lucker tells me.
My instinct compels me to ask, “Do you need a warrant for that?”
He hesitates. “If you hand it over yourself, we can skip that step.”
“We also need your consent for the forensic collection,” the lady tells me. “We can get a warrant if you don’t give it. This is a murder investigation, and your alibi depends on it, but we do need your consent to get started on that now. If we have to get a warrant, it will take longer.”
“Is it like a rape kit?”
Her demeanor softens ever so slightly. “Yes. Somewhat like that.”
I nod. I’ve done one before. I don’t see any point in making them wait for that. “Do I do it at the hospital?”
“Yes.”
So exactly like last summer.
Awesome.
Even in death, Timothy Walters is a pain in my ass.
___
I get another ride in the police car to an even less fun location.
The rain hasn’t stopped, but it has slowed.
My eyes are starting to burn with the effort of staying awake.
My insides still feel pretty numb.
The whole incident is reminiscent of my last hospital visit, but surprisingly, I feel a modicum more control this time—which is funny because I don’t have control at all. Still, I had less last time.
At least this time, I had some part in making the decisions that brought me here.
The cop escorts me all the way to the hospital room—a different cop, so maybe the other one’s shift ended. I take off the clothes that aren’t mine anyway and slip on a hospital gown. I lift myself onto the exam table, haunted by the familiar crinkle of the thin paper beneath me. Everything about this brings to mind that night, and it’s the last thing I want to think about.
I close my eyes and try to think about anything else.
The wait here isn’t as long as at the police station.