Page 24 of Missing White Woman

But she didn’t wait for an answer. Just left. Randle stayed put at the door, like some bouncer—one that wasn’t letting me out instead of in.

Like most of the internet, I’d spent the last day worried about Janelle Beckett. Damn near obsessed about what had happened to her. And there was some part of me that still hoped for a happy ending. I thought of her face—the one in the pics. Not the one on the floor of 110 Little Street. And tried to comprehend how, just how, she’d gotten there.

She had to have known it was an Airbnb. She had walked the dogs of almost everyone on the block. Had she entered of her own accord? Had she been running from a house nearby? Or worse, maybe she had been dragged in there. Because someone else had known it was an Airbnb too.

I pictured a scared Janelle being pushed in. I pictured her fighting back. Her falling down the stairs. Or even more horrible, being thrown. Her head banging on the glass table, causing it to shatter.

I suddenly remembered that I’d gotten up in the middle of the night. That Ty wasn’t in bed when I had.

I imagined Ty hearing something. Maybe he had still been in bed beside me? Or maybe he’d snuck down to the office to do some work. He’d have gone downstairs to check. To protect me, only to find poor Janelle dead and whoever did it looking up at him.

I shut my brain off before I could imagine what happened next. I felt nauseated even though I hadn’t eaten a thing.

I needed to tell Calloway. But when I got up, Randle immediately stood at attention, hand moving closer to the gun hanging on his hip. I instinctively put my hands up, suddenly nauseated for a different reason.

I didn’t move, just thought of how quickly he’d reacted, how he’d reached for his firearm. There was no way I was telling them Ty wasn’t there when I woke up in the middle of the night. Not when they clearly were suspicious of him—of us.

Randle saw me as a threat. I was alone in a room with a cop and no one knew where I was. Even who I was.

I was hundreds of miles from home, across the street from a crime scene that still had my phone, wallet, and ID. The only person I knew in a three-state radius wasn’t at work—and I couldn’t even remember his damn phone number to make sure he was okay.

“Am I under arrest?” I said.

Randle shook his head. “No. We’d have to read you your rights, but you already know that, don’t you, Ms. Wright?”

Guess I was wrong about no one knowing who I was. At least now I knew why he was so quick on the draw. He’d been busy typing my name in some database while Calloway was pretending to be interested in my vacation itinerary. There was only one conviction on there. One mug shot. But that was enough. It was one more than I’d ever wanted.

I glared at him as he smiled. All innocent. “This shouldn’t take long. We just need your help.”

I bet.

I finally sat back down.

There was a lot I remembered about my arrest—usually at the most inopportune times too. I’d be at the grocery store and think of how Domingo had made the cuffs so tight I lost circulation. Or be in an elevator and remember how the officer searching me at the station had worn the same perfume as my grandmother. I couldn’t share my Social Security number without thinking about how I had blanked on the first three digits when they demanded my personal information.

But most of all, I remembered the waiting. It was like time stood still from the moment Domingo dragged me into the police station—and it wasn’t just because they took my phone and my belongings. When I complained—loudly—Domingo made a joke about me having to cancel my nail appointment.

I didn’t laugh. Just spit.

Now I spent the time in silence, trying not to replay my version of what had happened last night. Instead trying to figure out some other scenario where Ty was okay. Maybe he had been too late to save Janelle but had still fought the person off? Chased them out of the house? But then why hadn’t he come back to make sure I was okay?

Randle and I stayed frozen in place like we were waiting for a friend to take the picture, already. Finally there was a knock. Randle disappeared into the hall but was back within a few minutes. This time he walked over to me, hovering until I finally looked up at him. “Your lawyer’s here.”

I didn’t have representation. Didn’t know I needed it until a couple of hours prior. There was only one explanation.

Ty.

I felt the stress leave my body like it had somewhere to be.

He’s okay. He’d sent someone to take care of me. To get me and bring me to him so we could figure out exactly what the hell was going on. Together.

When the next knock came, I was ready for it. The woman who came in was Black, artfully put together like she was filming a reality show in Atlanta. Light-skinned and tall, wearing a black suit that did little to hide her curves. It was clear that was how she wanted it. She wore a lot of makeup but at least tried to make it look subtle. The exception being her red lips.

My smile up and left, but I didn’t say anything. Just watched as Randle discreetly gave her a once-over, then offered his hand. “Detective Tim Randle.”

She ignored it, walking past him as she spoke. “A. Kristine McKinley.”

She didn’t look at him either, too busy giving me a once-over of my own. Up and down and up again. We just took each other in.

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