What Lies in the Woods(68)

I looked in the mirror. You could tell I was wearing makeup—no one’s skin was that consistent—but the bruise was invisible. “You’re a magician.”

“Ta-da,” he declared, waving his hands.

“And kind of a hokey one at that,” I added. He chuckled. “I guess it’s time to face the music.”

He drove me, since lifting my arms to hold the steering wheel made my ribs ache. We walked into the police station together and the woman behind the front desk gave us an appraising look. I’d known her name once, but it escaped me now.

“You can come right on back, dear,” she told me. “You can wait there.” She jabbed her pen at the chairs along the wall, pinning Ethan with her gaze.

She showed me back down a hallway and into a conference room. “It’ll be just a minute,” she said, and disappeared. I eased myself into a chair. Sitting down and standing up were the hardest on my ribs, and I didn’t want to have to do either in front of people.

It was less than a minute before the door opened. It wasn’t Bishop who entered but Officer Dougherty, along with a man in a gray suit I didn’t recognize. “Naomi. It’s good of you to come down and help us out.”

“With the paperwork,” I said, half a question.

Dougherty cleared his throat. “Well, thing is, we were hoping you’d also help out with some information. To be clear, there’s no legal requirement for you to do so,” Dougherty said. “But Mon—Chief Bishop—that is—”

The man in the suit gave a professional, detached sort of smile. “Chief Bishop is indulging me,” he said. He stepped forward, putting out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Cunningham. I’m Sunil Sawant.”

“Are you with the county sheriff?” I asked, hazarding a guess.

“No. I’m actually with the FBI. Here from the Seattle field office,” he replied. I froze, staring. He walked over and took the seat next to me, swiveling to face me but leaving a good distance between us. Close but not intimidating. Not intimate. “Monica and I go back a ways, and I asked her to let me come on out here.”

“I thought Liv’s death was ruled a suicide,” I said. “How does that involve the FBI?”

“It’s a matter of personal interest, not really official. Just a casual conversation,” Sawant said. His tone, his body language—everything was friendly and relaxed, but I felt myself tensing. Dougherty stood behind him, hands on his hips. If his mustache was a little bit longer he’d be chewing on it. He looked like he wanted to throw the guy out, but he couldn’t—not if Sawant was Bishop’s guest.

Sawant could ask the questions Bishop couldn’t, not without risking her job. He could push, and she could claim ignorance.

“So…” I trailed off. Let him think I couldn’t think of a single thing that might interest the FBI, as opposed to approximately ten thousand.

“You told Chief Bishop that you were in town to see Olivia. Is that right?” he asked.

“That’s right,” I replied. “She asked me to come visit.”

“And this was prompted by Stahl’s death.”

“More or less,” I said. “All three of us met up. Me, Olivia, and Cass. Cassidy Green.”

“Yes. I know the case quite well,” Sawant said. The corners of his eyes creased in something like a smile. “You three were instrumental in putting him away.”

“That’s what everyone tells me,” I replied. He didn’t strike me as one of my fan club.

“You don’t agree?”

“I don’t really like to think about it,” I said.

“Ms. Cunningham, I saw Liv’s note. Like I said, I’m very familiar with the Stahl case,” Sawant said. “I’ve been fascinated by it since my first criminology course in undergrad. When I joined the Bureau and got access to those files it was like being a kid in a candy store. You know what struck me? The bits and pieces that were missing. Especially around the interviews with you three girls.”

“Missing,” I echoed. “What sorts of things?”

“There are minor inconsistencies and omissions regarding when the identification was made, in Cassidy’s and Olivia’s cases. And in your case, there are some conflicting reports about who was in the room. And who had spoken to you beforehand. Is it possible that someone told you about Stahl before you identified him to police?”

I swallowed. My first instinct was to lie. It was easier to keep a secret than end it. “It’s possible,” I said instead. “But I wouldn’t be able to tell you for sure. I only remember bits and pieces from the hospital, and it’s all jumbled.”

“You were unable to describe any details of the attack, but you identified Stahl immediately.”

“I told you. I don’t remember any of it,” I said. “I would answer you if I could, but I really have no idea what I said.” Over Sawant’s shoulder, Dougherty’s face was pinched.

“And what about the attack? Do you remember that? Do you remember seeing Stahl?” he asked, leaning forward.

“No,” I said. He stared at me, like he hadn’t been expecting that answer and had no idea where to go. “Any memories I have are too conflated with things I’ve learned or seen or been told. If you asked me to testify today, I couldn’t. As for what I said back then—it was a very long time ago, and I’ve worked very hard to forget as much as I could. You probably have a clearer idea of what happened than I do, if you’ve read the files.”