Read Online Now You See It by Cáit Donnelly - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cáit Donnelly
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that. Look, I know Dad told us about interviews a zillion times, but I need you to remember the crucial things. Take a breath after they finish asking each question. For one thing, that gives me time to talk, if I need to. If I don’t jump in, then answer exactly what they ask. Don’t volunteer anything.”
“At least a zillion times.” She closed the refrigerator door and crossed back over to the table. The concern and love in Mike’s voice as he repeated the too-familiar admonitions reminded her of happier days, when all she needed was the comfort of her big brother’s presence to make the world safe and warm. She smiled at him, but couldn’t hold back tears. “I’ll remember.”
Mike stared at her, his face grim. “Sit down, Gemma.”
She was glad to sit. Mike’s expression had loosened her knees and dried the spit in her mouth.
“Brady did some checking around downtown.” He took a deep breath. “Listen, Gemma, there’s no easy way to say this. Ned’s death was ugly—”
She started to speak, but he cut her off.
“Worse than you can imagine, okay?” He rubbed his chin and mouth, and wrapped his hands around his coffee mug. “I know you too well to soften this up. The cops are thinking now it was an Asian gang. A revenge killing. Add in the connection to Doug Wheeler, and you need to be ready for a big media mess. They’re already camped outside your house.” He cleared his throat. “One more thing. When the cops came, you said, ‘This time. He’s really dead this time.’ They caught it, and so did I.”
She turned her head away. “Two years ago, when Ned was on a trip to Portland, I got a call from someone pretending to be a Portland police officer, saying Ned was dead, that he’d been killed in a car wreck and could I come down to identify the remains.”
“They don’t do that.”
“I wasn’t thinking. I was on a lot of medication because it was a touchy pregnancy, and I was supposed to stay really calm. He showed up a couple of hours later. Ha, ha. Surprise. Fooled you. He acted like it was all just a big practical joke.”
“Motherfucker.”
“Yeah.” She swallowed hard. “It was too late. I’d already started having contractions.”
* * *
As they came to a stop outside the interview rooms, Mike took Gemma’s hand. “Ready for this?”
“As ready as I’m going to get.” It was hard to keep from rubbing the goose bumps on her arms. Part of it was the chill inside the police station—the air conditioning had to be working overtime, and the cold shocked her after the heat outside. But even worse was the oppressive weight on her chest that made her want to reach for a medi-haler, or throw open a window, no matter if the outside air was already sweltering hot. Even at the reception desk, she had to work at not returning the challenging, unblinking stare of the officer who led them back through a door into a corridor that was wide enough for two or three large men to walk down side by side. But it still felt airless and cramped, as if helplessness and rage had fused to the gray-green walls, forcing the oxygen out of the air around her. The bland color was no doubt intended to be soothing, but for Gemma it just added to the sense of being trapped in an underwater cave.
Their escort stopped halfway down the hallway, in front of one of the nondescript doors spaced along the length of the wall. Gemma took a deep breath. Mike touched her shoulder as if to get her attention, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by the arrival of Olsen and Abernathy and a tall, competent-looking African-American man they introduced as Detective Lyons, from Seattle.
They shook hands all around.
All Gemma’s senses alerted as she took a seat at the table in the claustrophobic little room. The big mirror on the wall might have added a sense of space, if she hadn’t been so aware there were almost certain to be people on the other side watching, studying her every reaction, every
“At least a zillion times.” She closed the refrigerator door and crossed back over to the table. The concern and love in Mike’s voice as he repeated the too-familiar admonitions reminded her of happier days, when all she needed was the comfort of her big brother’s presence to make the world safe and warm. She smiled at him, but couldn’t hold back tears. “I’ll remember.”
Mike stared at her, his face grim. “Sit down, Gemma.”
She was glad to sit. Mike’s expression had loosened her knees and dried the spit in her mouth.
“Brady did some checking around downtown.” He took a deep breath. “Listen, Gemma, there’s no easy way to say this. Ned’s death was ugly—”
She started to speak, but he cut her off.
“Worse than you can imagine, okay?” He rubbed his chin and mouth, and wrapped his hands around his coffee mug. “I know you too well to soften this up. The cops are thinking now it was an Asian gang. A revenge killing. Add in the connection to Doug Wheeler, and you need to be ready for a big media mess. They’re already camped outside your house.” He cleared his throat. “One more thing. When the cops came, you said, ‘This time. He’s really dead this time.’ They caught it, and so did I.”
She turned her head away. “Two years ago, when Ned was on a trip to Portland, I got a call from someone pretending to be a Portland police officer, saying Ned was dead, that he’d been killed in a car wreck and could I come down to identify the remains.”
“They don’t do that.”
“I wasn’t thinking. I was on a lot of medication because it was a touchy pregnancy, and I was supposed to stay really calm. He showed up a couple of hours later. Ha, ha. Surprise. Fooled you. He acted like it was all just a big practical joke.”
“Motherfucker.”
“Yeah.” She swallowed hard. “It was too late. I’d already started having contractions.”
* * *
As they came to a stop outside the interview rooms, Mike took Gemma’s hand. “Ready for this?”
“As ready as I’m going to get.” It was hard to keep from rubbing the goose bumps on her arms. Part of it was the chill inside the police station—the air conditioning had to be working overtime, and the cold shocked her after the heat outside. But even worse was the oppressive weight on her chest that made her want to reach for a medi-haler, or throw open a window, no matter if the outside air was already sweltering hot. Even at the reception desk, she had to work at not returning the challenging, unblinking stare of the officer who led them back through a door into a corridor that was wide enough for two or three large men to walk down side by side. But it still felt airless and cramped, as if helplessness and rage had fused to the gray-green walls, forcing the oxygen out of the air around her. The bland color was no doubt intended to be soothing, but for Gemma it just added to the sense of being trapped in an underwater cave.
Their escort stopped halfway down the hallway, in front of one of the nondescript doors spaced along the length of the wall. Gemma took a deep breath. Mike touched her shoulder as if to get her attention, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by the arrival of Olsen and Abernathy and a tall, competent-looking African-American man they introduced as Detective Lyons, from Seattle.
They shook hands all around.
All Gemma’s senses alerted as she took a seat at the table in the claustrophobic little room. The big mirror on the wall might have added a sense of space, if she hadn’t been so aware there were almost certain to be people on the other side watching, studying her every reaction, every
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