somewhat ashen face back at her. She felt cold.
The door opened inward to admit a young man and a woman, both dressed in the dark blue of Bloomington’s police department. The woman carried two cups of coffee in her hands. She set one in front of Annabelle and then sat down in the chair opposite her.
“I have powdered creamer and sugar, if you’d like.”
Annabelle smiled at the woman, though she knew it wasn’t a genuine smile. The woman looked to be about in her early thirties, with shoulder-length jet-black hair and slightly Asian features. Her skin was perfect. As were her teeth when she smiled back at Annabelle.
“Black is fine,” she answered, taking the Styrofoam cup and placing it to her lips. Warm steam wafted up over her lips to her nostrils. She inhaled and closed her eyes. As small a thing as it was, it was comforting.
The woman nodded, across from her. “I’m detective Chen. This is detective Robinson.” She motioned to the man who was still standing against the wall by the door. The man nodded respectfully toward Annabelle. But he didn’t smile.
Annabelle took a sip of her coffee and studied him silently. He was almost absurdly tall – maybe six and a half feet – and very thin. His hair was dark brown, neatly cut. His eyes were a very light blue that seemed at odds with the deep tan of his face. He was maybe twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Very young in Annabelle’s book.
“Miss Drake, do you know why you’re here?” Chen’s voice was soft, empathetic. It went a long way toward easing Annabelle’s frayed nerves. She was just beginning to think she should have taken some of the spilled Klonapin from Max’s bottle…
“Not really,” she lied. She knew why she was there. In the interrogation room. Alone. The boys in blue weren’t convinced that Max’s death was a suicide. And she was the one to find his body. She was a suspect and she was there for questioning. She knew that much. But, she wasn’t going to admit it. Why give them information they didn’t ask for?
Chen blinked, obviously taking the time to choose the right words. “You knew Max Anderson very well. Can you tell me if, lately, he seemed different than usual in any way?”
Annabelle was quiet for a long time, pretending to search her memory. She knew the entire conversation with the cops was going to have to be one giant act. The only thing stressing Max out lately had been his dog. And the laptop. Something about that laptop had set him off… But that was information for her and Jack to sort through. For some reason, Annabelle didn’t want the police to know. It was just…
“He was worried about his dog. Sam. He’s really old. I think Max was afraid he was going to die.”
Chen nodded slowly. From where he stood against the wall, Robinson pulled a pad of paper and a number two pencil from his uniform front pocket and began to make notes. Annabelle took another sip of her coffee. The caffeine was the last thing she needed in her already nervous state, but the warmth of the liquid was soothing. She would take what she could get.
“Can you tell me what happened earlier today, before you went to lunch with Miss Reid?”
Annabelle took her time answering, swallowing another sip of coffee as she thought about what she was going to say. Obviously, they had already questioned Cassie. Annabelle wondered what she had said. She would have to be careful not to contradict anything her friend may have relayed. Then again, Cassie didn’t know much. When you didn’t know anything, you couldn’t spill it.
“I got in late,” she started slowly. “Car problems. When I got there, Max gave us some jobs and sort of briefed us on what was going on with them. I asked how Sam was. He said he was hanging in there. Then he went back to his office. Later, I stopped into his office to let him know we would be going to lunch in a while. I asked him if he wanted us to bring him anything back. He said no. I left.” She paused, took a last sip of her coffee, emptying the small white cup, and then finished. “That was it.”
Chen didn’t nod this time. She watched Annabelle closely, not saying anything for a long while. Across the room, Robinson’s pen scratched noisily. Whatever he was writing was lengthy and detailed. In Chen’s silence, it almost seemed as if she were broadcasting mental notes to the other detective.
“What, exactly, happened when you found Mr. Anderson’s body?” Chen asked then, careful to keep her tone soft and respectful. Annabelle realized that Chen was very good at this. It probably wasn’t the first time she’d questioned someone who’d lost a person close to them.
Annabelle raced through the lunch time events in her head, sorting them out as she did so. She placed them into two mental categories: One to tell Jack about and one to share with the police. When she’d finished, she spoke.
“May I have more coffee?” she asked, keeping her voice soft and allowing a bit of the fear she was feeling to filter through to her tone. It helped win Chen to her side. The detective nodded, signaling to Robinson, who left the room. When Chen turned back around to face her suspect, Annabelle had finished preparing her answer.
“When we opened the office door, all of the lights were off,” she said, staring at the table as if she were lost in memory. She didn’t think it would hurt to share this bit of information. People who were suicidal did strange things like that before offing themselves. And the truth was, Annabelle was almost positive that that was exactly the effect Max’s killers were going for. She knew, instinctively, that they’d turned off each of the lamps to add to the illusion of Max’s supposed suicidally depressed behavior. So, she helped them lay it on. “It was quiet. Too quiet.” She swallowed, blinking back tears that weren’t entirely fake.
The door to the small room opened once more and Robinson came back in with the coffee. He placed a fresh cup in front of Annabelle and stepped back to the wall, resuming his earlier task of note taking.
Chen waited patiently for her to continue.
“Cass said something about Sam maybe dying and Max leaving to take care of his son. But it felt strange to me. So, I went down the hall. Cass went with me.”
“Who is Sam?” Chen asked.
“Sam is Max’s dog. He’s very old,” Annabelle supplied.
Chen nodded. Robinson’s pencil continued to scratch. The sound accompanied Annabelle’s words like an abrasive echo.
“We got to Max’s door and I turned the knob.” At this, she stopped. She didn’t have to pretend to be shaken by this process of review. Her hands trembled of their own accord as she reached for her coffee cup and tried to take a sip without it spilling. She managed a few swallows, ignoring the brief sting of too-hot liquid against her throat.
“Max was on the floor… with the bottle…” She closed her eyes, put down the cup, and ran a hand through her long thick hair. She really didn’t want to do this any longer.
The room was silent, then, Robinson’s writing having ceased. Annabelle kept her eyes closed and pressed her hand to her forehead. After what must have been a full minute, she put her hand down and opened her eyes, looking up at the detective sitting across from her.
Chen’s expression was unreadable.
Finally, Chen stood and nodded once at Annabelle. “Thank you, Miss Drake. We appreciate your cooperation. You’re free to go; Dylan Anderson has been asking to see you and he’s waiting two doors down. You can take him with you if you’d like.” She moved to Robinson and the two exchanged glances. There was a lot of unspoken knowledge passed between them in that single glance.
“If you think of anything further, Miss Drake, please don’t hesitate to let us know.” Robinson nodded at her one last time and then turned and opened the door. Chen walked through the door, motioning for Annabelle to follow.
Annabelle stood and left the room, Robinson following after her. She stopped just outside it and Chen turned to face her. The dark-haired woman gestured to a door down the hall. “He’s in that room.”
The door was slightly ajar. Annabelle pictured the teenager who waited inside. She wondered what state he would be in. What he would look like.
With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and moved to the door. The detectives disappeared around the corner, but Annabelle knew they wouldn’t be far away.
After a moment’s hesitation, she pushed the door open and entered the room.
“Dylan.”
He was sitting alone at a table that was a carbon copy of the one she’d been sitting at, in a room that was a twin to the one she’d just left. He looked up at her as she entered and she studied him. He looked normal. Dressed
