Sweet Water(38)

So does mine. “Poor girl.”

Martin looks at me as if I’m a traitor.

Monroe doesn’t appear moved by this information at all. “We’re trying to pinpoint the timing of events. When did the two of you leave the woods again?”

Martin and I exchange a frenzied look. They weren’t supposed to have left together; Finn was supposed to have left without her. Monroe is trying to ensnare Finn again, but Martin remains quiet this time, only raising his eyebrows at our son. Finn nods, apparently catching on to the nonverbal cue.

“I left first, without her. It was after school but before dinnertime. Between five and six?” Finn answers.

Martin appears satisfied. Meanwhile, I’m horrified. Not only can Finn take his dad’s cues, he can lie just like him too. Just like me. Martin and I both know Yazmin’s death occurred well after Finn supposedly returned home. We just need to keep Finn out of the police station until they believe it, and then maybe we’ll be okay. I can tell Martin is looking at me to see if I’ve made it to his side of the pond yet, and I shoot him a small, reassuring look.

“You’re sure that was the time?” Monroe asks, and Finn looks at him, confused. He’s thinking the same thing we are—is he asking this question again because he knows something different? It’s clear to me now that if we don’t work together, Finn will go to jail for Yazmin’s death whether he had anything to do with it or not.

“I’m not sure why you’re second-guessing everything my son says.” Martin crosses his arms and takes off his glasses, rubbing the space between his eyes before placing them back on his face. “He had to have been here, at home, when she went for a walk in the woods and hurt herself.”

“Forensics hasn’t come back yet with reports on when the victim died or how she died, and your son was the last person to see her alive,” Monroe argues. He wants to insinuate that because they did drugs together, Finn had a part in her death, and Monroe can’t make that leap. I won’t let him and neither will Martin.

“What did you eat for dinner last night, Finn?” Monroe asks.

A piece of Finn’s barely dry hair falls into his surprised eyes. Finn didn’t eat dinner last night.

I clench my legs under the table so I don’t pee my pants. It’s like what they say—one lie leads to the next. We asked Finn to lie about where he was last night, and now we’re asking him to lie about what he ate for dinner.

What’s next, Martin? Where does it end?

“I didn’t eat. I was so sick, I went to bed and passed out.”

“That’s funny, because marijuana usually stimulates your appetite.” Monroe doesn’t miss a beat.

“It made me too sleepy to eat,” Finn responds, and he’s almost too good, convincing. It sends a shiver down my spine. Could he lie to us just as well? Has he really told us everything he remembers?

I need to believe, for my own sanity, that he has told us everything.

“Are you sure you don’t want any tea or coffee?” I ask Monroe, trying to give Finn a moment to breathe again in between questions. He’s fragile. He could crack at any moment, bring the whole house down with him. Spencer would be left selling off our assets to finish school, the sole survivor of his corrupt family.

“No, Mrs. Ellsworth, I am not thirsty.” Detective Monroe’s eyes roam around the kitchen. They seem to rest on the stainless-steel pot filler protruding from the wall above the six-burner stove. Silly thing. It looks as though the wall is impaled. I’ve never seen it that way before, but my lens is suddenly colored with a morbid palette, everything dark and shadowed with death.

Monroe clears his throat. “I’d recommend having legal counsel with you the next time we speak.” The pull in my gut is visceral. I know we all hoped there wouldn’t be a “next time.”

Martin is right. The police don’t care about right or wrong or due process. They do not care about the how or the why behind Yazmin Veltri’s death. The only thing they want is the quickest way to resolve this, a fall guy for their quiet upscale community so everyone can feel safe again. And Finn is by far the easiest target. Monroe will not end his career with the unsolved death of a young girl on his record.

“Have you wrapped up for the day?” Martin asks, overly eager to get Monroe out the door, as am I.

“Not quite,” Monroe says.

I exhale sharply. If Monroe stops the questioning right now, we have a fighting chance of pulling this off. Finn’s only mistake so far was his inconsistencies of previous drug use, but most teens don’t want to disclose substance abuse in front of their parents, so I think Monroe might give that one a pass.

“You argued about more than the drugs last night, didn’t you, Finn?” Monroe asks.

Finn tentatively lifts his eyes from his coffee mug. “Yes.”

The fight. Damn. How does the detective know?

I’ve been trying to gauge this whole time whether Monroe went to Yazmin’s house first and then decide after this question that he did, because how else would he know about the fight? I regret texting Yazmin’s mother about it last night. If it was an Instagram post, I can only guess the younger brother saw it, too, so he could’ve filled in the blanks for the detective if Alisha mentioned the argument to Monroe. Or perhaps Monroe already interviewed Yazmin’s friends.