Page 89 of Say Yes to the Death

- Final approval for Dr. Weaver proposal

Birds tweeted noisily outside the West Haven Police Department. A suspiciously cheery sound for such a grim setting. It must have been Claire’s lucky morning, because the media that had camped out in front of her apartment building for the last three days had vacated the premises. Claire stuffed her phone back into her purse, mind still buzzing with ideas for the escape room-themed proposal that had passed their final test that morning. Sawyer probably would have had a fit if he saw her walk from the car to the station with her head buried in her phone. But surely no one would abduct her at a police station.

She pushed her way through the heavy double doors. What was she getting herself into?

“Claire Hartley,” she said to the cop behind the desk. He glanced at the calendar on his desk, and then at Rosie, who was panting happily, tongue lolling out of her mouth on one side. She wasn’t about to leave her alone in her apartment with a stalker on the loose.

“Special Agent Hartley is expecting me,” she added. Anything to move this trash heap of a day along. She pointed to Rosie. “She’s with me.”

“Sure. Follow me,” the officer said, leading her back through a row of cubicles to an interrogation room. “Coffee? Tea?”

“Coffee, please. One cream, two sugars.”

She shivered as she slid into one of the unforgiving stainless-steel chairs. The door remained open, but the walls seemed to be closing in. She inhaled deeply and pulled out her newly revamped notebook.

She ran a finger over the Self-Defense and Interrogation Tactics label she had printed the night before. The flowery writing was definitely leaning slightly down to the right. And one of the rhinestones was a millimeter off. She’d have to do it all again.

Rosie, on the other hand, wasn’t bothered at all by the interrogation room. After sniffing every corner of the room, she wound herself around Claire’s chair twice and settled at her feet.

Claire checked her phone again, but there was no service in the interrogation room. Mindy was covering the client calls, but what if there was an emergency?

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Jack said brusquely as he rushed into the room, wheeling a large whiteboard.

“It’s fine.” Claire didn’t look up. She carefully put her phone away and folded her hands on the desk before facing him.

Her father took the seat opposite her, fluorescent lights shining on his salt-and-pepper hair.

“The FBI extends their thanks for your cooperation.”

Claire bit the inside of her lip. If one more phony statement came out of his mouth, there would be a record-shattering eye roll.

“Our purpose here today is to teach you some techniques you can use when you visit Mr. Windsor at the penitentiary.” He cleared his throat. “Please stop me if you have any questions. Thank you, Officer Jordan.”

The front desk officer dropped off two steaming mugs of coffee, both the same beige color.

Claire and Jack both took their spoons, stirred counterclockwise, and tapped twice against the rim of the cup before taking the first sip. Ugh. If Jack noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“Sorry about this, by the way.” Jack waved a hand at the room. “They’re having a meeting in the conference room.”

“It’s fine.” Claire glanced at her reflection in the two-way mirror. She shuddered. How many times was she going to reassure her absent father that things were “fine?” Things hadn’t been fine for months. Years, really, if she wanted to count her daddy issues.

He cleared his throat. “The first thing we wanted to ask was if we could photograph your neck wound.”

“Oh. Sure.” She took off her blazer and scrunched her sleeveless top to the side.

Jack waved to a cop in the hallway, who came in with a digital camera.

Claire craned her neck, trying to get her face as far as possible from the mark in the photograph.

When the man with the camera left, she put her blazer back on. There was a darkness in Jack’s eyes. He seemed more determined as he flipped to a new page in his own (poorly decorated) notebook, all business.

“The first thing I want to talk about are some interrogation tactics.” His chair screeched on the tile floor as he slid it back from the table. He rose and walked to the corner of the room, where he had parked the whiteboard. At least he knew the value of a good whiteboard.

He wrote DECEPTION on the board in capital letters. Claire copied the word down.

Jack clasped his hands behind his back and paced. “We have an advantage over Mr. Windsor. He is trapped in a cell for twenty-three hours a day. His news sources are limited, and his connection to the outside world has been largely fragmented since the prison reports only his lawyer and his mother have visited him.”

Shit. She had nearly forgotten about the treacherous, pinch-faced litigator that her mother had nearly assaulted. Damned Rachel. Was she going to be even crueler to Claire in court now that she and Luke had broken up? Maybe she would double down on her hatred for Claire and become Wendy’s lawyer too.

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