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Authors: Kiki Swinson
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away.
âAh, there she is,â Ben said, rushing over to me. âWhew! Gabriella, I thought you werenât going to show up. Theyâve been waiting a long time for you. What took so long? I had to keep making excuses,â Ben whispered through his teeth. I didnât answer him or look at him, either. Ben pushed me in the back, ushering me toward the two detectives as if I needed help walking.
âGabriella, these are Detectives Sinclair and Boules. Remember I told you that they wanted to talk to you about Carlos?â Ben introduced, his voice jumping and nervous. He was so damn jittery he was making me jittery. What the fuck was he nervous for? I barely opened my mouth to greet the two men, who were both dressed in their obligatory sand-colored trench coats, wingtip shoes, and cheap Menâs Wearhouse suits and ties. Because the inside of my mouth was so dry, it felt like Iâd eaten ajar of paste.
âHello, Ms. Vasquez,â one of the detectives said. He had a friendly enough face, unlike his stony-faced partner. I barely opened my mouth again. I just nodded at the detective, who I could tell was just being nice as a tactic.
âTheyâve been speaking to everyone in the break room,â Ben interjected, motioning for me to follow him and them. Apprehensively, I followed Ben and the detectives to the break room. With every step I felt like I was walking into uncertain doom. My legs felt like two lead pipes. I was thinking all sorts of shit now. What if they had found a video in Carlosâs house that I had overlooked? What if Carlos left some kind of death manifesto, letting them know everything? What if I had left DNA or fingerprints somewhere in the house, even though Eduardo and I had tried to clean it up? But just as fast as those thoughts came into my head, I started replaying Eduardoâs words over in my head as well: Your kid is happy and your mother is so proud of you. What heâd said was more important to me than anything else. I decided then that I was going to have to put my big-girl drawers on and ace this fucking interview as if was the last test of my life.
âWe can take it from here,â the detective with the friendly face said to Ben. Ben gave my shoulder a squeeze as if he could transfer some strength from himself to me. With that, Ben was gone and I was alone with the two detectives. Friendly-face was tall, bald, slightly overweight, and breathing hard like heâd just run for miles. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself as Sinclair. Stone-face was also tall, but he was muscular; I could tell that by his thick neck. He seemed to be the paramilitary, clean-cut, by-the-book-type that kicked ass and took names after. He didnât bother to extend his hand or introduce himself. He just kept eyeing me evilly. I guess their good cop-bad cop routine was starting already and it wasnât hard to tell who was going to play which role.
âMs. Vasquez, I know your supervisor told you we wanted to speak to you to find out some things about Carlos Ortega and that is partially true. But before I ask any questions and you give any answers, let me start by saying, we know some things already. Weâve done some digging beforehand and I think we are pretty well prepared to talk to you,â Sinclair said, looking over at evil-face Boules for confirmation. Boules nodded and grunted.
âSo we want you to know from the very beginning that telling the truth is the only way to go here. It saves you the heartache of lying to us and getting caught up, and it saves us the heartache of painting you as a liar and, in turn, a suspect,â Sinclair said, looking at me with a seriousâyet still friendlyâgaze. My insides immediately started feeling funny, kind of like I was hungry and had to take a shit at the same damn time. I folded my arms over my abdomen, trying to get the feeling to go away. It was as if my organs were grinding against one
âAh, there she is,â Ben said, rushing over to me. âWhew! Gabriella, I thought you werenât going to show up. Theyâve been waiting a long time for you. What took so long? I had to keep making excuses,â Ben whispered through his teeth. I didnât answer him or look at him, either. Ben pushed me in the back, ushering me toward the two detectives as if I needed help walking.
âGabriella, these are Detectives Sinclair and Boules. Remember I told you that they wanted to talk to you about Carlos?â Ben introduced, his voice jumping and nervous. He was so damn jittery he was making me jittery. What the fuck was he nervous for? I barely opened my mouth to greet the two men, who were both dressed in their obligatory sand-colored trench coats, wingtip shoes, and cheap Menâs Wearhouse suits and ties. Because the inside of my mouth was so dry, it felt like Iâd eaten ajar of paste.
âHello, Ms. Vasquez,â one of the detectives said. He had a friendly enough face, unlike his stony-faced partner. I barely opened my mouth again. I just nodded at the detective, who I could tell was just being nice as a tactic.
âTheyâve been speaking to everyone in the break room,â Ben interjected, motioning for me to follow him and them. Apprehensively, I followed Ben and the detectives to the break room. With every step I felt like I was walking into uncertain doom. My legs felt like two lead pipes. I was thinking all sorts of shit now. What if they had found a video in Carlosâs house that I had overlooked? What if Carlos left some kind of death manifesto, letting them know everything? What if I had left DNA or fingerprints somewhere in the house, even though Eduardo and I had tried to clean it up? But just as fast as those thoughts came into my head, I started replaying Eduardoâs words over in my head as well: Your kid is happy and your mother is so proud of you. What heâd said was more important to me than anything else. I decided then that I was going to have to put my big-girl drawers on and ace this fucking interview as if was the last test of my life.
âWe can take it from here,â the detective with the friendly face said to Ben. Ben gave my shoulder a squeeze as if he could transfer some strength from himself to me. With that, Ben was gone and I was alone with the two detectives. Friendly-face was tall, bald, slightly overweight, and breathing hard like heâd just run for miles. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself as Sinclair. Stone-face was also tall, but he was muscular; I could tell that by his thick neck. He seemed to be the paramilitary, clean-cut, by-the-book-type that kicked ass and took names after. He didnât bother to extend his hand or introduce himself. He just kept eyeing me evilly. I guess their good cop-bad cop routine was starting already and it wasnât hard to tell who was going to play which role.
âMs. Vasquez, I know your supervisor told you we wanted to speak to you to find out some things about Carlos Ortega and that is partially true. But before I ask any questions and you give any answers, let me start by saying, we know some things already. Weâve done some digging beforehand and I think we are pretty well prepared to talk to you,â Sinclair said, looking over at evil-face Boules for confirmation. Boules nodded and grunted.
âSo we want you to know from the very beginning that telling the truth is the only way to go here. It saves you the heartache of lying to us and getting caught up, and it saves us the heartache of painting you as a liar and, in turn, a suspect,â Sinclair said, looking at me with a seriousâyet still friendlyâgaze. My insides immediately started feeling funny, kind of like I was hungry and had to take a shit at the same damn time. I folded my arms over my abdomen, trying to get the feeling to go away. It was as if my organs were grinding against one
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