Rapid Falls(19)

“Hiya, hon.” Her eyes were sympathetic under their electric-blue eye shadow but glimmering with the telltale glee of bearing witness to unfolding gossip. As sad as everyone was about Jesse, they knew they were living through the stuff town legends were made of. Sheila Black was no exception. “I’ll let him know you’re here,” she said, even though I hadn’t said a word. She gathered up a few sheets of paper. “Take a seat.”

As she turned to Sergeant Murphy’s office, I saw that the phone on her desk had an intercom function. I guessed that she wanted to deliver the news in person rather than use the phone, probably so she could see the look on the sergeant’s face. I pictured her speaking in hushed tones that afternoon with her friends, breaking the code of confidentiality that bound her from releasing all the details about her job. She would swear them to secrecy, of course, knowing that was the Rapid Falls equivalent of throwing a lit cigarette into a field of dry grass. The story about my visit to the station would spread like wildfire. My stomach sank as I sat down on a molded plastic chair. An institutional clock ticked loudly as I willed myself not to fidget. Luckily I didn’t have to wait long.

“Come on back, Cara,” Sergeant Murphy said. His large body all but blocked the narrow opening to a long hallway. I had to turn sideways to get by. It made me feel uncomfortable right away, which was probably the intended effect. I wasn’t sure if the interview was going to happen in an interrogation room—the idea made my stomach twist unpleasantly—so I was relieved when we went into an office. He waved distractedly at a faded leather armchair across from his desk as he sat down. He sighed heavily. The smell of stale coffee drifted across the desk. I could see deep fatigue on his face and something else. It looked like grief. I realized suddenly that he didn’t want to conduct the interview any more than I wanted to be questioned. He needed this to be simple. I was happy to oblige.

“Ready?”

I nodded. He reached out to press play on a small tape recorder. My mouth felt dry, as if I had a hangover, even though I had not had a drink since the party at the Field.

He started speaking, enunciating clearly. “This is the official statement of Cara Piper, recorded on June twenty-seventh, 1997. Please state for the record that you realize this statement is being recorded by Sergeant Allen Murphy of the Nicola Sheriff Detachment.”

I cleared my throat. I felt cold all over. “I do.”

He looked at me leadingly. I stared at him blankly for a second before I clued in. “I do. I mean, I do realize I’m being recorded,” I said in a rush of words. I shook my head and took a deep breath. Get it together, Cara. I willed myself to focus on him and not the sound of a sickening crunch. My hand clenched into a fist as if I was gripping a gearshift. I gasped and the sergeant grimaced.

“You okay?”

I nodded, and he looked down at a small notepad on his desk covered in scrawling notes. The room became still, and I heard the tapping of Sheila’s keyboard. I began to wonder if he was waiting for me to speak again. I cleared my throat at the same time he used two fingers to push a box of tissues toward me.

“Thank you.” I hadn’t cried since everything had happened, but I could if it would help me get out of this room. I pinched my thigh, hard.

Sergeant Murphy seemed to notice my glassy eyes. “Okay, Cara. This is going to be tough. But I need you to tell me what happened three nights ago, on, uh . . .” He glanced at a wall calendar beside us. “June twenty-fourth, 1997.”

I nodded. In my mind, I followed Jesse to his truck in the darkness at the edge of the Field, and he turned to me with a smile. He had never looked so handsome.

“Cara?” The officer’s forehead creased, as if he sensed something wrong, as if he had read my mind.

“Sorry, sir. I’m ready.” I cleared my throat again, but words failed me. Agonizing seconds passed.

“Let’s begin with the prom,” the sergeant prompted, his eyebrows raised.

I felt like I was failing. I twisted the flesh on my inner thigh again, and tears sprang to my eyes. The sergeant plucked a tissue out of the box with a shaky hand and waved it at me. I wiped the corner of my eye, and he sighed heavily. I suddenly remembered that Jesse had been on the graduate–police liaison committee. He would have worked closely with Sergeant Murphy and his staff.

Jesse was a good boy. I was a good girl, known to the community for the notable, not notorious, things I had done. My dad worked on the cars of most people in town, and people recognized me. My volleyball team had almost made it to the state tournament last year, and the Rapid Falls Times had published our team photo, with me front and center. At least until three nights ago, Jesse and I had been a golden couple. The town had watched us grow up together. I used to look at him and think that if I could land a guy like Jesse, I must be pretty. I had my mom’s dark auburn hair, almost red, and her clear blue eyes. Anna was taller, her lips fuller and her eyes lighter, but her hair was mousy brown and her skin was prone to breakouts. My complexion was always clear. I didn’t turn heads like her, but I knew I wasn’t ugly. I looked like someone who people could trust, not someone who would deceive them with a pretty smile. At least I hoped so.

I began. “Jesse told me he’d stay sober during the prom so he could get us all to the party safely.” I let my voice catch on the last word and echo through the room. “He was kind of a stickler about stuff like that.” At least in front of cops, I thought. The shadow of a smile flickered across the sergeant’s mouth. I was on the right track. “We arrived at the party around ten.”