She nodded, opened the driver’s-side door, and climbed behind the wheel.
David was in the back seat, his head leaning against the window, a fresh set of tears streaming down his cheeks over the frozen ones that were beginning to thaw. He’d been crying since they caught him, saying nothing more than “I’m sorry” over and over again. He was doing it now, mumbling the words as he looked out toward the house he’d just run from. James Darville’s house. Susan watched him in the rearview mirror, wondering what he was so remorseful for and if this would be the first break in the case.
“I need you to stop crying so we can talk. Can you do that?”
David lifted his head off the window and nodded once, short breaths coming sharp as he tried to stop sobbing.
“I have to read you your Miranda rights so we get this off on the right foot.” She pulled out her phone and began recording as she read David his rights and he acknowledged that he understood them. When she was done, she paused, allowing them to ease into an awkward silence with only the sound of the engine acting as a backdrop.
“I’m sorry,” David whimpered.
“You keep saying that. Sorry for what?”
“I’m sorry I went into his house. I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I couldn’t help it. I had to.”
“Why?” Susan asked. She repositioned herself so she was facing him instead of watching him in the mirror. “Why were you in there? Why did you have to go?”
“I need to find my sister. There’s no way she killed that cop, and if she didn’t do it and no one can find her, that means something’s happened to her, and I was getting freaked out. I’ve been calling her. My mom’s been calling. After you left, I went to her job and the physical therapy place she takes Mr. James to. I went by her apartment, but the cops wouldn’t let me in. Something’s up. You don’t know her, and I’m telling you, Rebecca is a good person. There’s just no way she would hurt someone. Something’s happened.”
“You went into a crime scene without permission. That’s serious.”
David nodded as new tears fell from his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know Mr. James’s house was a crime scene. I came here to see if he’d seen her, and when I showed up, I saw police tape and I panicked. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“Then why did you run? I identified myself as state police. Why did you keep running?”
“Because of this!” David turned to show his cuffed hands. “A black man breaking into a crime scene after his black sister is suspected of killing a cop? You think I should’ve hung around and talked through it once you came in? I got scared and bolted.”
“Unlawful entry into a building with the intent to commit a crime is bad, but when it’s a residence, it’s considered a felony. Did you know that?”
“I wasn’t doing no unlawful acts. I didn’t touch nothing. And I had on gloves anyway. I didn’t screw up any evidence.”
“You broke the back door window to unlock the dead bolt.”
“I’m sorry. It was stupid.”
Susan nodded at him. “Take off those gloves.”
She rolled down the passenger’s-side window and motioned for the trooper.
“Take his gloves and put them in an evidence bag.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The trooper opened the back door, and David turned around so he could take the gloves off his hands. As quickly as the door was opened, it was shut again.
“Why is Mr. James’s house a crime scene?” David asked. “Did he do something to my sister? Is he connected to what happened to her? Please, I need answers.”
Susan shut off her recorder, stuffed her phone in her pocket, and stepped out of the car. “Okay, we’re done for now. We’re going to take you to the barracks to talk some more. Sit tight, and we’ll straighten all this out.”
“Did Mr. James do something to Rebecca?”
Susan shut the door. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to answer David’s question. It’s just that she couldn’t. She really didn’t know.
TRANSCRIPT
Screaming, yelling, feet stomping the floor, chairs being moved aside, papers and folders falling off the desk. Then, in a matter of seconds, the room went from complete chaos to utter silence. And there was nothing but Noreen’s deep, ragged breaths, in and out.
The girl’s body was lying on the classroom floor, facedown, her dark hair tangled and flailing out in every direction. I remember her left leg being folded under her right in an awkward angle, and for some reason that’s always haunted me. She didn’t move. Not a twitch or a spasm or a muscle contraction or a jolt. It had become so quiet. A heavy kind of quiet that was trying to crush us under the weight of what Noreen had just done.
Noreen was staring at the girl, my paperweight still in her right hand. Her breathing was beginning to slow down, but she couldn’t take her eyes away from the body. I watched her, waiting for her to say or do something. Anything. A few minutes earlier we’d been in each other’s arms, kissing, touching, caught in the throes of a forbidden affair that was exhilarating and passionate. I swore I’d locked the classroom door, but the knob and lock were old, and sometimes the bolt didn’t properly catch the frame that had warped and been painted over too many times to even guess.
That one mistake had cost us everything.
Blood was beginning to pool onto the floor around the girl’s face. Her body was lying between the classroom door and my desk. I forced myself to take one step, then another, until I’d finally worked my way over to the room’s entrance and peeked out into the hall to make sure we were alone. Most of the other staff had left about an hour earlier, which was what allowed Noreen and me to meet up like that at the school. No one other than the maintenance staff should have been around.
“She was going to tell,” Noreen mumbled as I gently closed the door and locked it, checking that it was really locked this time. “I had to get her to shut up. I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just needed her to stop yelling.”
I pushed myself off the door and knelt down beside the body. My trembling hands felt for a pulse on her neck and wrists. There was nothing. She hadn’t been more than thirteen.
Noreen started to cry. “Is she dead?”
“Lower your voice,” I whispered.
“Is she dead?”
“Yes.”
Noreen fell to the floor, dropping the paperweight. It hit with a heavy thud, and I winced, remembering the sound it had made when it hit Tiffany’s skull. It was an iron sculpture of the Headless Horseman, one of my favorite literary tales. I’d found it at an antiques shop in Vermont and thought it would make for an excellent conversation piece in my classroom.
“She wouldn’t stop,” Noreen mumbled as I stood back up. Her eyes were glassy, her mascara beginning to run, making her look like a cartoonish version of herself. A bit off. “She was going to tell her parents and my husband and my friends and the people I work with. She was going to ruin me. And you. The school board would run you out of town. Ruin your career. She was going to enjoy ruining our lives. That smile. That stupid grin on her face when she told me she was going to tell Sonia. I had to make her stop.”