do?”
She could tell he wanted reassurance, but there was no way he was going to get it from her mom.
“I have to sit down,” her mom said.
A few minutes later, when her dad left the room to talk with the detective who’d just arrived, her mom said to her, “What the fucking hell was he thinking?”
It wasn’t like her mom to curse. It was kind of scary actually.
“I know, right?” Marissa said. “When he got the gun I couldn’t believe it. I was, like, what the hell’re you doing?”
“I’m so angry right now I just want to… I just want to strangle him.”
Her mom’s face was red. Marissa couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mom so angry. Maybe she never had.
Although Marissa was pretty angry at her dad herself, she felt like she had to take on the role of calming her mom down and said, “I guess he was just doing what he thought he had to do.”
“He thought he had to go shoot someone?” her mom said. “Come on, give me a break, okay? I was on the phone with nine- one- one, how long did it take the police to get here, five minutes? We could’ve locked ourselves in the bedroom, hidden in the closet. He didn’t have to take the gun out, and he sure as hell didn’t have to shoot somebody.”
“Maybe it was like he said, he thought he was defending himself.”
“I don’t care what he thought,” her mom said. “How many times did I tell him to get rid of that stupid gun? Just a few weeks ago I told him I didn’t feel comfortable with it in the house, and he hit me with his usual.”- she tried to imitate Adam, making her voice deeper-“It’s just for protection. I’ll never actually use it.” Then in her normal voice she said, “I knew something like this was going to happen, it was just a matter of time.”
Detective Clements came into the living room to talk with Marissa and Dana. They pretty much told him what they’d told the first cop, Dana doing most of the talking. Then Clements and Marissa’s dad went back into the dining room for another round of questioning. Sharon Wasserman and Jennifer Berg had come over. Marissa was best friends with Sharon’s daughter, Hillary, who had graduated from Northwestern last year and was now living in the city. Jennifer’s son, Josh, was going to GW Law School and in seventh grade had been Marissa’s first boyfriend.
After what seemed like at least an hour, Clements and Marissa’s dad returned, and Clements said he wanted to talk to Marissa, alone this time. Marissa was exhausted and just wanted to get into bed and crash, and she didn’t see why she had to answer the same questions all over again.
She went back into the dining room with Clements and sat across from him at the table.
“I know it’s late,” Clements said, “but there are a few more things I need to run by you.”
“Okay,” Marissa said, crossing her arms tightly in front of her chest.
“Your friends,” he said, “any of them have a criminal background?”
“No.”
“I’m not necessarily talking about jail time. I’m talking about anyone who might’ve stolen something in the past, or talked about wanting to steal something, or-”
“If you think one of my friends broke into our house with that guy, you’re crazy.”
“What about drug users? Any of your friends do drugs?”
Of course her friends did drugs. Well, some of her friends. She was twentytwo years old, for God’s sake- but what was she supposed to do, rat out her friends to some cop?
“No,” she said.
He seemed incredulous. “Sorry,” he said, “but you’re gonna have to answer these questions honestly.”
Thinking, Yeah, right, I’m not under oath, she asked, “What do my friends have to do with our house getting robbed?”
“Where do you get your pot, Marissa?”
Now, not only was she upset, but she was starting to get seriously scared. She had a bong in her room and a dime bag of pot in the back of her underwear drawer. She didn’t know if Clements had been up to her room yet, but he probably had. Still, she wasn’t dumb enough to admit drug use to a police detective.
“What’re you talking about?” she asked.
“I was in your room,” he said.
Her heart was beating so fast and so hard, she felt like it was making her rock back and forth.
“Look, I’m telling you,” she said, “none of my friends had anything to do with this, that’s crazy.”
“I’ll ask you one last time. Where do you get your drugs?”
She wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t let herself. “I don’t do drugs,” she said.
“I saw the bong in your-”
“A friend left it here, okay? I’m just watching it for her.”
“Watching it, huh?” He smirked.
She was a shitty liar and knew she couldn’t keep this going, so she said, “It’s mine, okay? What’re you gonna do, arrest me for having a bong?” “Possession of marijuana is illegal.”
“It’s not mine,” she said desperately.
“This is the last time I’m going to ask you,” he said. “Where do you get your pot?”
“My friend Darren.”
“How do I get in touch with him?”
This guy was such an asshole.
“Why do you have to-”
“What’s his phone number?” he asked.
Darren was a guy she’d gone to Vassar with- an on- again, off- again boyfriend- who was now back living with his parents on the Upper West Side. If he got busted, he was going to fucking kill her.
She gave Clements Darren’s number and said, “But please don’t call him. I’m telling you, he has nothing to do with this.”
Clements ignored her and asked, “Have any of your friends committed any crimes or talked about committing crimes or served any time for a crime?”
Immediately she thought of Darren who’d once spent a night in jail in Poughkeepsie when he’d gotten pulled over and the cops had found a joint in his car, but how much trouble was she going to get the poor guy into?
“No,” Marissa said. “No one.”
“I know we’ve been through this already, but did you ever meet Carlos Sanchez?”
“Never.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I just know, that’s why.”
He put a small plastic bag on the table with a driver’s license inside it. “Look familiar?” he asked.
She glanced at the picture- scruffy guy, kind of ugly, with cold, detached eyes. She’d never see him before in her life.
“No, never,” she said.
Clements didn’t seem satisfied. He asked, “Ever lend anyone a key to the house or-”
“No, I’ve never lent anyone a key, ever.”
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“What do you think, I gave somebody a key and said come rob my house?”
“Is that what happened?”
“No, of course not.”
She couldn’t believe this.
Then Clements stood and said, “Okay, you’re gonna have to come with me now.”
“Come with you where?”
“Out to the staircase for a second. I want you to take a look at Sanchez.”
Suddenly she felt sick. “You mean look at his body?”
“The driver’s license photo was several years old,” Clements said, “he’d gained a lot of weight. I want you to see if you recognize him.”
“Do I have to?”
