The Accomplice(54)

A phone rang in another room.

“Is that you?” Luna asked.

“No,” Griff said.

The ringing stopped. Then started again a moment later.

“One second,” Luna said, retreating into the guest room. A cheap TracFone sat on the nightstand, a local number lit up on its screen. Luna pressed the CALL button and put the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” she said.

“Well, hello,” said a male voice on the line. “Who is this?”

“You called me,” Luna said.

“I did, didn’t I? This is Detective Noah Goldman. Is that you, Luna?”

Griff stood by the door to the guest room and watched Luna make a plan to meet with the caller. Afterward, she stared at the phone for a remarkably long time, as if phones were new to her. To be fair, the phone didn’t look like the kind people used anymore. It was clearly intended only to make calls. Griff asked Luna if she was all right. Luna nodded, then shook her head.

“I have to go to the police station,” Luna said.

“Now?”

“Yes,” Luna said, searching for her shoes.

“What just happened?” Griff said.

Luna didn’t answer. She was wondering if she could have another beer before she left. She finished Casey’s beer and shrugged on her jacket. Then she opened a few kitchen drawers, looking for something. She grabbed two Ziploc bags and returned to the guest room. She emerged a minute later.

Griff didn’t say anything until Luna took the key fob for the Audi from a row of hooks in the kitchen.

“What’s happening here?” Griff said.

“That was the police. I need to see them.”

“You’re driving to the police station? You just downed two beers,” Griff said.

“I think I’m sober,” Luna said, not sounding sober at all.

“You want to chance it?” Griff asked.

Luna didn’t care about anything at that moment. She couldn’t muster enough energy to feel stunned, angry, or even mildly depressed. She had to wonder, again, if this was her fate. Whether it was punishment or just bad luck.

Griff also experienced a sense of history repeating itself. Once again, he was playing the adult, though all the children should have grown up by now. He blocked the door and extended his palm.

“Give me the keys. I’ll drive,” he said.

On the way to the station, Griff didn’t ask Luna what had happened, why the police needed to see her in that precise moment. They hadn’t spoken in fourteen years. He wasn’t comfortable asking anything about her life, though he could have killed an entire day with his questions.

Griff parked in the station lot and suggested that he come in with her. But Luna told him to go, to spend time with Owen. And to get his dog out of her house before her husband came home.

“Okay, but don’t—you know,” Griff said.

“Don’t confess to a crime I didn’t commit?” Luna said.

“For starters,” Griff said. “Just…speak as little as possible. Ask for an attorney if at any point they seem focused on you.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo,” Luna said.

“Don’t say that in there,” Griff said.

Luna took a deep breath. When she exhaled, Griff noted a distinct yeasty fragrance in the air. He spotted a pack of mints in the cup holder and placed it in Luna’s palm.

“Take these. All of them,” he said.



* * *



—

Twenty minutes later, Noah stepped out of the interview room and delivered the phone and a toothbrush to Margot.

“Wow,” Margot said. “She just brought in her husband’s toothbrush of her own accord?”

“She’s being cooperative,” Noah said. “I’m not getting the snitching vibe from her.”

“Okay,” Margot said skeptically. “What’s the over-under on their divorce?”

When the mystery number was answered, Burns and Goldman thought that was a win. Luna bringing in her husband’s DNA, that was too easy. Burns wasn’t quite as excited about the new development as Goldman was.

When Noah returned to the interview room, he found Luna resting her head on the table, her arm shielding her eyes. She didn’t lift her head when he entered. She didn’t move. He thought there was a chance she was asleep. Burns once told him that innocent people don’t fall asleep when being interrogated about murder. He wasn’t sure if it applied in this situation, since Luna was low on the list of possible shooters.

Luna was not, in fact, asleep. The fluorescent lights were making her eyes blurry. She felt the familiar knock on the inside of her temple. The feeling of not being fully present. She had taken her meds and hadn’t had a seizure in years. But she wanted to do whatever she could to avoid that possibility.

“Ms. Grey,” Goldman said, “are you awake?”

“Of course,” Luna said, keeping her head down. “Would it be weird if I asked you to turn off the lights?”

“Migraines?” he asked, flicking off the three light switches.

“Seizures. Rarely, these days,” Luna said, lifting her head and adjusting to the welcome darkness. “But there’s always a warning.”

There was just one small window in the interview room. Outside, the sky was dull and overcast. The dim light made the room feel oddly intimate.