They'll believe me too for one simple fact. I know killers.
But Alexius? Nothing she does surprises me. She probably bathes in all that blood she had me order six months ago. She says it's for her soil experiments, but I can sniff out a lie every time, and she reeks of it.
“Any way a girl can get a hall pass? Bathroom break?” I speak directly into the mirror. I know I’m being watched.
I've sat here over an hour. Staring back at the woman in the mirror. I see the woman who used to sit in these rooms, rooms that meant I’d chosen the wrong path. Again.
Same face but more wrinkles. Same scar on my chin from a knife fight. Same piggy nose I used to get beat up for. Same, but different.
Donny tells me to look for the good, to see the beauty he sees when he looks at me. I’m only seeing the ugly, the shame. Shame has a way of flaunting what the dye job, makeup, and new clothes try to conceal. Shame shows the years prison has added. That mirror I’m staring into holds the power to make me feel naked.
This room holds more power over me than it should. I hate myself a little for that.
He says there’s more to me than I recognize, that it’s always been there, beneath the surface. I need every inch of the good person he thinks I am right now.
Thirteen months ago, Donny saved me. A few months ago, I decided it was my turn to save him.
The dipshits-with-a-stick-up-their-ass cops are making me wait before they show up with questions and accusations. But this time, I have the upper hand. I've done nothing wrong.
A muted cough comes from the other side of the door. I turn, hiding my shaking hands. I remind myself this time is different.
I’m not guilty. And I haven’t been arrested. Yet.
Remain calm. Sit up straight. Speak clearly. Show them I’m a changed woman.
"Starla Bishop?"
The moment I feel my lips move into a grin; I squash them.
"Starla, I'm Detective Leon Spikes." He drops a file, my file, on the table and pulls out the chair opposite me. The attempted smile, it doesn’t change his expression, which tells me the attempt was just that – an attempt.
He looks as old as I feel. The lines on his face reveal more to me than he knows. He’s seen a lot. Too much. What’s he like? Stone cold hard? Indifferent? Rigid? Dangerous?
I stay silent. Show no fear. It’s the only way to survive.
"My partner is waiting to take you to the bathroom,” he says.
I stand, shoulders straight, hands relaxed. I wait for him to open the door.
A female officer stands in the opening. Her face is blank, eyes emotionless. She nods and moves one step back.
I step out and stare down the corridor. Will she walk me past the room where Donny sits, watching his life be destroyed?
The woman points to a door across the hall. Five steps. Five steps from my door to the bathroom. She holds it open and follows me in.
It’s a small room. Two stalls, two sinks, one large ass mirror.
“You need to go too?” My voice barely cracks. I step past her and close the door to the first stall.
I don’t need to use it. I just had to get out of that room.
She’s still there when I exit. She has that look that says more than it should. I wash my hands, taking my time to lather the soap, rinse under the warm water. She hands me a paper towel, opens the door.
Detective Leon Spikes, is still there. Sitting in that chair. Reading through his notes.
Leon Spikes. Do I call him Leon or Spikes? Leon was the chaplain during my first prison sentence.
Spikes it is.
“Are you aware of why you are here?" He asks after I sit.
I want to remain silent. I want to have a staring contest. I want to let the old Starla out and issue a challenge no cop would dare to ignore. But this is the new Starla, the innocent Starla.
"You arrested my fiancé and his ex-wife." My voice doesn't fluctuate, making me appear cold, composed, and completely calm. I hope. "I'm here because I work for them and you think I'm an accomplice." The breath I let out releases all the stress I'd been trying to hide.
I'm good at lying to myself. I've been doing it for years.
3
Three Times The Charm?
9:43pm
My file sits between us on the table, stuffed with pages filled with every detail of my sordid past. A past Spikes will use against me.
“Were you aware of your employers’ extra-curricular activities?" Spikes opens my file and rifles through the pages, looking for…what exactly?
You can’t tell me he hasn’t gone through those sheets a half dozen times now. He knows about every arrest. Every incarceration. Every…thing.
“Aware that Alexius likes to play in dirt? She’s a Pedologist. They own a landscaping company.” My sarcasm runs thick.
“You like to play in the dirt too?” He asks me, his tone bordering on mockery.
I hold up my fingers so he can see my bright pink manicure.
“Looks new,” he inspects them more than a man should. “No nicks or chips, so I’d say you got them done yesterday. Mimi’s Nail Boutique?”
I snort. Can’t help it. What? Does he have my bank records too? I bet the receipt was on the coffee table and his snoops picked it up along with whatever else they deemed important.
My house is going to be a disaster zone when I get home.
“Do you get yours done at Mimi’s too?” I look at his nails and sit back, surprised to find his nail beds in good shape. They look clean, no dirt to be found…he either takes care of his nails or doesn’t like to get his hands dirty.
"I’ve never been able to trust a man with clean hands."
“Who says I’m not trustworthy?”
Damn it, I said that out loud.
“There’s something about a man who works with his hands. Says a lot about their nature, don’t you think?” Most cop hands I’ve seen have a few calluses, knuckles roughed up from fist fights, but for the most part they’re soft, smooth…sit behind a desk, drive behind a wheel, kind of hands.
Spikes takes a look at his palms and gives a shrug before picking up his pen.
“Donny has real man hands,” I say. “Rough skin, chipped nails. He’s not afraid to do what needs to be…” I don’t finish my sentence because I know how it sounds. “He has to, you know? Owning a car dealership means he has a lot of used vehicles to take care of.” Even I hear how weak that sounds.
I scratch the side of my neck then pull my hand down back to my lap. Everyone has tells and the people behind that glass, they’re trying to read me like a well-read childhood classic.
I know better.
I’m straddled on a wobbly fence, not sure what side I belong on. I’m innocent, but also guilty, in their eyes. In their eyes, I’ll always be guilty.
“Were you aware?” Spikes asks me again.
“No.” Simple. To the point. The truth.
“To be clear, you were not aware that your employers were hiding bodies in gardens they landscaped for the town?”
I rub at a spot beneath my eyebrow. I think I over-tweezed it last night before bed.
“I was not aware that Alexius hid bodies, no.”
The look on Spikes face reminds me of Mom’s when I’m trying to get around being one hundred percent honest with her.