We Told Six Lies(58)

In a desperate effort to deflect the pain of what’s about to happen, and how it will make me look, I say, “Do you know Molly’s father is in jail? He took money from people and talked this guy into killing himself. Have you guys looked into him?”

The detectives share another glance.

“We’re not at liberty to discuss the details of the case with you. Let’s concentrate on the questions we have for you today.”

It isn’t so much what they say as it is the looks on their faces. They already know about Molly’s dad. They know, they’ve looked into it, and they’ve ruled out him being tied to Molly’s disappearance.

But then, who does that leave?

The possible answer to that question makes me feel sick.

Detective Hernandez turns the phone on, taps until she finds what she’s looking for, and turns it toward me.

My heart jackhammers in my chest, and my palms start to sweat.

Molly’s name is at the top of the text exchange, and on the left side, in green, is a message bubble from Molly— I broke up with Cobain last night.

Went horribly. I think he pretty much hates me now.

My face scrunches with pain. I’m not sure I believed Rhana when she told me. I’m not sure I believed Coach Miller, either. But there’s no denying it now. Molly told Rhana—she told everyone—that we broke up. That little green bubble feels like a sucker punch to the jaw. The solidity of it rocks the ground beneath my feet. Because Rhana’s words are one thing, but seeing Molly’s is another.

“Perhaps…” Detective Hernandez ventures, “you truly don’t remember what happened to Molly. But maybe you have pieces. Pieces we can work with.”

Because she thinks I’m crazy. They all do. That’s what she doesn’t add.

Is this why my father told me about the medical records? What do they already know?

Maybe to try one last time to convince them, myself, everybody—like a man with his toes at the precipice of madness trying to keep his balance—I say, “I didn’t hurt Molly. I was at the party, and Molly and I had an argument, but that doesn’t mean I hurt her. No matter what any of your witnesses said. And whatever she told Rhana doesn’t mean anything, either, because she was with me that night of her own free will. She wanted to be with me. And I wanted to be with her. And if you did even an ounce of digging into who Molly is, you’d know she’d weave a thousand different stories for a thousand different people.” Even me.

A shard of pain rips through my chest. But it’s the truth.

I suck in a deep breath, press my back against the chair, and raise my head. “I didn’t hurt Molly. No matter what you say, no matter what you show me, I’ll keep telling you what I know in my gut. I wouldn’t have hurt Molly. I loved her.”

Detective Hernandez tilts her head to the side and stares at me, and I stare right back. When it’s clear she isn’t buying what I’ve just said, I stand up. “I’m leaving now, and I’m not coming back again. I don’t know why I agreed to come this time.”

“No one forced you here,” she says. “This time.”

There’s no mistaking the threat. I stand there, shaking with anger. And fear. Terrified that they’re a breath away from locking me behind bars and leaving the real criminal—if there even is one—out there.

Detective Tehrani is the one who says, finally, “Go on, then.”

I spin on my heel to leave, but Detective Hernandez’s voice rings out after me.

“I think it’s time you get that lawyer, Cobain.”

My dad is standing in the lobby when I get there. He’s yelling at the lady at the front desk about parental rights and lawyers, and she’s explaining that I came voluntarily, that I haven’t been arrested, and he’s saying, Well, he won’t be coming voluntarily again, and, by the way, my wife and I won’t be answering any of your goddamned questions, either, so stop calling.

How in the hell did he know to find me here?

“Dad, Dad,” I say, grabbing his arm. “It’s okay. Let’s go.”

My dad frowns and points at the lady. “I’ll be back.”

He walks me all the way to the car without a word, because his anger already found a target inside that station. I wish he’d say something to me. Anything. His silence allows Detective Hernandez’s words to ring through my skull.

Lawyer.

Lawyer.

Time to get that lawyer.





THEN


Something ugly lingered between us.

I knew what I needed to do to bring us closer again, so I grabbed my bag and shoved in a pair of gloves and a mask. It must have been from Halloween, that mask, hidden in a box in our garage.

I grabbed something else, too. Something shiny and glittery and empowering. Something that should have been used to make meals for four in a quiet kitchen. Instead, I slipped it into my bag for another purpose.

My dad was in the living room as I headed toward the door. He stood in front of the window staring outside like he just remembered there was an entire world beyond caramel corn and buzzing rides.

“Taking the car?” he asked when he saw me.

“If it’s all right.”

“Sure. But be back soon, okay? Your mom will be home for dinner.”