Status

you my phone. I know my rights.”

Nervous wasn’t the word. I brushed the thighs of my skirt and buttoned the second button from the top on my white and violet pocket-front blouse, trying to look as presentable as possible, as I walked down to Ruth’s office. I patted my hair and wondered, Do I look guilty? My heart felt like it was about to explode.

When I walked into Ruth’s office, one of the two detectives told me to shut the door and have a seat. They were both Black men, and they had on casual clothes. If Ruth hadn’t told me ahead of time, I probably wouldn’t have known they were detectives.

“My names Detective Frisk,” said the one that was sitting down behind Ruth’s desk. The other detective was perched on the edge of it. He wore a close-fitted gray tee that hugged his toned muscles, with black and gray Nike Shox on his feet. “And this is my partner, Detective Copeland.”

Copeland was closest to me and extended his hand. I shook it.

“I know my rights,” I said. “And I don’t have to give you my phone if I don’t want to.”

Frisk looked confused. “We’re not asking you for any of your property. We just have some questions.”

I knew it. Ruth just wanted my phone to be an ass.

“We’re here to talk to you about an incident that took place last night, roughly around 10:00 p.m.,” Frisk said. “Two young men by the names of Edward Young and Kenneth Murberry were murdered and we’d like to know if you had any information to provide us.”

I tensed. “I don’t. Why would I?”

It was almost as if Detective Copeland had seen my answer coming. He quickly reached in his pocket and pulled out a photo that he laid on the desk in front of me.

“Do you know this man?” he asked.

Of course I did. It was the father of my child, Rodrick Brown. It was a mugshot of him from a couple years ago when he caught a possession of narcotics charge. His dreads hung down his face like tangled black ropes.

Without thinking, I said, “No, I don’t know him.”

Detective Frisk sighed.

Copeland picked the picture up and held it close to my face. “This isn’t your baby daddy?”

“Oh, yeah it is,” I retracted. “I didn’t recognize the picture. It’s a bad photo.” I squinted at it. “Yeah, that’s him. Yall think he knows something about it?”

“We need to have a chat with him, that’s all. He’s on our list of people to talk to. Do you know where we can locate him?”

I shook my head no. “I haven’t seen him in like a month.”

Detective Copeland started biting his bottom lip as if he was irritated.

Leaning forward, balling his hands together in a fist and placing them on the desk, Detective Frisk looked at me hard. “Ms. Fenty, or should I say Tyesha816, we’ve had a looksee at your Site page. You uploaded a photo of him and your daughter to your page eight days ago. And on Rodrick’s Site page, he uploaded a photo of his daughter holding a large amount of cash on your daughter’s birthday. And you’re trying to tell me you haven’t seen him in a month?”

“I haven’t,” I said adamantly.

“Let’s cut the shit. If you keep lying to us, you can get in some serious trouble. This is a double homicide we’re talking about. We already know that Kenneth made a threatening post to Rodrick Brown yesterday that we can’t confirm because it was mysteriously deleted. But this morning Rodrick Brown made a post that has raised questions about his culpability in the murders. And we’ve dialogued with several of your Site friends, and they’ve told us that he’s been known to stay with a lot of women, but mainly with you. Our records stating that he home- planned to your house corroborate that.”

“He lived with me when he first got out. That’s it. And he’s never lived with no other females either. It’s a bunch a liars on The Site. Yall are detectives, yall should know that. And I may have uploaded that picture of Rodrick and my daughter recently, but that don’t mean it was taken recently. I haven’t seen him in a while. Maybe it’s not been a whole month, but it feels like it.”

“We need to know where we can find him,” Copeland said.

I asked, “Do I legally have to answer any more questions?”

“Not at this moment, no. But if you’re called before the court, yes, you will,” Frisk emphasized. “What we’re trying to do is avoid involving you in the whole court process entirely. We’d hate for both the father and mother of your daughter, Kylie, to end up in jail. I’m being real wit’ you here.”

This didn’t feel real at all. I was being threatened with jail time and the unimaginable—losing my child. I was surprised they hadn’t brought up Gideon. If it was murder involved, they must have been together, right? Maybe it was because Gideon didn’t have a Site page, and thus the detectives had no idea who he was.

“Tell us what you’re thinking,” said Frisk.

I looked at both detectives. “No comment,” I said.

* * *

As soon as it was time for me to clock out, I raced outside to my car. The rain poured down on me as I fished my phone out and called Rodrick. I had him on the line when I opened my door and slid in the dry driver’s seat.

“Hello?”

“Rodrick, detectives just came up to my job looking for you!”

“Did you tell them anything?”

“No, baby. I didn’t give them shit. They tried to threaten me but I wasn’t going for it,” I told him excitedly. I don’t know what it was. Whenever I got a chance to take up for Rodrick or protect him, my adrenaline would get going. “They was mad at me when I left that office. I don’t know what’s gonna happen.”

“Good job, baby.”

“What are you gonna do?” I asked.

“God told me to turn myself in.”

“What?!”

“Look, Tyesha. Everything’s gonna work itself out. I’ve been seeing what people have posted on The Site and the assumptions and threats they’re making. I’m not worrying about it and neither should you. It’s in God’s hands. But as a precautionary measure, I’ma have Gideon come through your house and chill till I get released. Just to be on the safe side.”

“What if you don’t get released? You’re on parole, Rodrick. You could get violated. And you know your parole officer is an asshole.”

“I hope I’ll be in and out before my parole officer gets word. With God, all things are possible.”

I told him I loved him and told him to be careful and I hung up. I wondered what he was talking about when he said “threats.” I thumbed my screen and loaded up The Site again when there was a hard knock on my driver’s side window.

Startled me good. And when I looked out into the rain, I saw Ladykiller with a hood pulled over his head.

“Shit!” I screamed. I was frozen in fear.

He held his hands up and mouthed “it’s just me.” Then he gestured for me to roll my window down.

I turned my key—I didn’t start it; I was too scared to—just to trigger the car’s battery. Then I eased the window down halfway. The rain was loud and sprinkles bounced off his hood onto my arm.

“Wussup, Tyesha? I thought that was you sitting in this Pontiac. I recognized it from the photo you put up when you first bought it.”

“How did you know I work here?”

“You work here?” He laughed. “Damn, I didn’t know that. I just came to get my car tagged up.”

“I have to go.”

His expression changed. “You had to go last time.”

“It’s raining. And you’re gettin’ it in my car.”