All These Things I've Done (Birthright #1)(28)

Cranford leaned over to Frappe and whispered something in her ear. I thought I could see his lips form the shape of the word motive. The round hole of m-o and his tongue darting out on t-i, only to hastily retreat on v-e. Motive. Duh, of course I had motive.

‘Would you say you were mad at Gable Arsley?’ Cranford asked this one.

‘Yes, but not because he tried to sleep with me. I was mad because he lied to everyone about what happened. That’s why I poured the lasagne over his head. I assume you’ve already heard about that, but if not, I’m sure the principal will be more than willing to fill you in.’ I paused. ‘Let me be clear about one thing, Detectives. I did not poison Gable Arsley. And if you want to ask me anything else, you’ll have to do so with my attorney present. You probably know who my father was, but my mother was a cop and I know my rights.’ I stood up. ‘Principal, may I have a pass to go back to class now?’

The hallway was empty but I couldn’t be sure I wasn’t being watched. I made like I was going to English but then I walked right past the classroom door. I went outside into the courtyard. It finally felt like fall. Normally, the change of season would have made me happy.

I crossed the courtyard and went into the church. Then I went into the secretary’s office. It was empty, as I knew it would be – the secretary had been fired last week. I picked up the phone, entered the code that gave you an outside line (don’t even think of asking me how I knew this), and dialled home. Leo answered.

‘Are you alone?’ I asked him.

‘Yes, my head still hurts, Annie,’ Leo said.

‘Is Imogen there?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Is Nana awake?’

‘No. What’s wrong? Your voice is weird.’

‘Listen, Leo, some people might show up at the house very soon. I don’t want you to be scared.’

Leo didn’t say anything.

‘Leo, I can’t hear you when you nod. We’re on the phone.’

‘I won’t be scared,’ Leo said.

‘There’s something very important I need you to do,’ I continued. ‘But you can’t tell anyone about it, especially the people who might show up at the house.’

‘OK,’ Leo said, not sounding at all certain.

‘Take the chocolate from Nana’s closet and throw it down the incinerator.’

‘But, Annie!’

‘This is important, Leo. We could get in trouble for having it.’

‘Trouble? I don’t want anyone to get in trouble,’ he said.

‘No one will. Now, don’t forget to push the fire button. And don’t let Nana see you do it.’

‘I think I can do it.’

‘Listen to me, Leo. I might be home late tonight. If that happens, call Mr Kipling. He’ll know what to do.’

‘You’re scaring me, Annie.’

‘I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything later,’ I said. ‘I love you.’

I crossed my fingers that Leo would manage to get rid of the chocolate before the cops arrived.

I hung up the phone, then I dialled Mr Kipling. ‘The cops came to my school today. Someone poisoned my ex-boyfriend, and they think I did it,’ I said as soon as he came on the line.

‘Are you still at Holy Trinity?’ Mr Kipling asked after a brief pause.

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll come right down and meet you there. Hold tight, Anya. We’ll get this sorted out.’

At that moment, the door to the secretary’s office opened. ‘Found her!’ Detective Jones yelled. ‘She’s on the phone!’ Then he turned to me. ‘We’re going to need to take you down to the precinct for further questioning. Your boyfriend just slipped into a coma. They think he might die.’

‘Ex-boyfriend,’ I said quietly.

‘Anya?’ Mr Kipling said. ‘Still there?’

‘Yes, Mr Kipling,’ I replied. ‘Could you meet me at the police station instead?’

I wasn’t scared of police stations. Still, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be detained in one either. Though I’d grown up in the presence of criminals, I’d certainly never been accused of a crime.

The cops led me into a room. The back wall was a mirror, so I assumed people were watching me from the other side of it. There was one overhead fluorescent light, and the heat seemed to be turned on even though the weather didn’t call for it. The cops sat on one side of the table, me on the other. They had a pitcher of water. No beverage for me. Their chairs were cushioned; mine, a folding metal one. It was obvious that the intent of the room was to make the accused (me) uncomfortable. Pathetic.

The detectives were the ones from school: Frappe and Jones, though Cranford was out. As usual, Frappe did most of the talking.

‘Ms Balanchine,’ she began, ‘when’s the last time you saw Gable Arsley?’

‘I won’t answer any questions until my attorney, Mr Kipling, arrives. He should be here—’

At that moment, Mr Kipling came through the door of the interrogation room. He was completely bald and slightly pudgy, but he had the kindest (albeit rather bulging) blue eyes. He was sweating and scant of breath, and I had never been so happy to see anyone in my life. ‘Sorry, I’m late,’ he whispered to me. ‘The car was stuck in traffic, so I got out and ran.’ Mr Kipling turned his attention to the two detectives. ‘Is it really necessary to drag a sixteen-year-old girl with no prior record into a police station? To me, this seems excessive. As does the extreme temperature of your thermostat!’