The Accomplice(57)

“Why?” she asked.

“Because she understood.”

“Understood what?” Luna asked.

“How fucking lonely it is being married to you,” Sam said.

The statement stung, but Luna had to concede that it was reasonable.

“I should pack,” Luna said.

“Where will you go?”

“Not sure.”

Sam was about to mention his brief meeting with the infamous Griff, but then the landline rang.

“Answer that. It’s for you,” Luna said.

Her tone was cold. Sam wondered if she was imitating him, if that was how he sounded to her. It was creepy, he thought. Sam answered the call. He could feel his blood pressure rise as his heart thumped, trying to sustain the oxygen level that his brain required.

“Hello,” he said.

“Dr. Burroughs, this is Detective Margot Burns. We should talk.”





March 2004


After Luna spoke to Owen, she phoned Griff at the Berkshires house. She and Griff had exchanged a few emails over the past few months. He’d mentioned staying at the Berkshires house over spring break. Griff immediately got in the car and drove to Deerkill. He arrived at the police station an hour after his brother’s interview began and just a few minutes before it would come to its natural end. When Griffin Mann identified himself to the desk clerk, Mrs. Hayes went on a tear. Police had to intervene again. An officer ushered Griff down the hallway, where he was reunited with Owen. At which time, Detective Oslo patted Owen on the back and thanked him for his cooperation.

“Use the back exit,” Oslo said. “We’ll be in touch.”

Owen caught his brother’s disapproving gaze as they passed under the emergency exit sign.

“Dude, what part of asking for an attorney do you not understand?” Griff said.

“Chill,” said Owen. “It was fine. He just asked a few questions. How’d you know to come?”

“Luna called right after she spoke to you,” Griff said. “What did you tell him?”

“I don’t know,” Owen said. Once he stepped out of the interview room, he didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Luna pulled up in Owen’s car. Owen climbed into the back seat on the driver’s side.

“Why don’t you move up front, Owen? I have my car,” Griff said. “I’ve got a room at the Motel 6. I’ll check in and meet you back on campus later.”

“I’m good here,” Owen said.

He’d had enough of Luna that day. All he wanted was a quiet ride back to campus.

“Why don’t you stay with Owen?” Luna asked Griff.

Motels, to her young, broke mind, were an expense reserved for family road trips and illegal assignations.

“Because Owen needs his space,” Griff said, walking away.

“Do you want to drive?” Luna asked Owen, trying to catch his eye in the rearview mirror.

“No,” Owen said.

Owen was silent for most of the ride. Luna took the main drag back to campus. Owen wished he had taken the wheel, because Luna was so goddamn slow. He rested his head against the cold window and closed his eyes. He was too angry to sleep. Luna wasn’t sure what had transpired during the interview, but she couldn’t help but feel as if Owen was paying for her crimes.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Luna said.

Owen gave up on sleep, opened his eyes, and caught Luna’s partial reflection in the rearview mirror. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’m listening.”

Luna confessed to Owen as she drove him back to campus. She told him who she was and detailed her text conversation with Scarlet. In the front seat, like a chauffeur, she never saw his reaction. Or the absence of a reaction.

Luna dropped off Owen at the quad, offering to park the car in the lot, a half mile away.

“Write down the parking space” was all he said when he got out of the car.

Luna parked and made a quick call from the pay phone outside the lot. She left a message at Griff’s motel. Then she caught the bus back into town.



* * *



—

Detective Oslo played dumb. Ms. Grey, is it? How can I help you? Yes, your name has come up in the investigation. I can’t say much more. Should I know who you are? Why don’t you tell me?

Oslo had looked her up as soon as he saw her name in the text messages on the victim’s phone. He contacted the president of Markham U. Apparently, Luna’s birth name was on record because she’d had to explain her two years of homeschooling. But when the girl showed up alone at the station, Oslo wanted to hear the story straight from the source. He took Luna into an interview room and offered her a cup of coffee.

It had been seven years since Luna had set foot inside a police station. She was unprepared for the feelings it would evoke. At first it was mostly nausea, accompanied by a cold sweat. She understood that she was having a panic attack, but that awareness didn’t help. She knew that the detective would look at her state and think, Guilt, guilt, guilt.

Oslo fetched a cup of water for the pallid girl.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Grey?” Detective Oslo asked.

“Were you the detective who was talking to Owen?”

“I was.”