Page 28 of What Have You Done?

Stone sits back in his chair and says, ‘The woman who lives across the street from the Brewers came home from visiting a friend in the hospice on Thursday night. She visits with her every night until about midnight, so she’s very clear on the time. And when she got home on Thursday night, a little after midnight, she saw someone sitting in a truck outside of the Brewers’ house. The truck exactly matches the description of your truck.’

Edward’s stomach drops.

Cameron feels lightheaded, as if he’s taken a hard hit on the football field. The detective is waiting for him to say something, but Cameron can’t speak. He can feel that his face is flushed. He must look guilty as hell. He swallows, glances at his dad, who nods at him almost imperceptibly. He can’t look at his mother.

‘Okay, yes, I was there,’ he says to the detective, stumbling a little over the words. He pauses, wondering how much he should say. He thinks of what his father told him. He swallows again. ‘We did argue a bit. About the college thing. And after I dropped her at home at eleven, I did go home.’ He pauses. ‘But then after a while I went back. To apologize to her, to make up. I parked outside her house and sat in the truck. But I never got up the nerve to go in and talk to her. I thought she might still be mad at me.’ He hangs his head. ‘I stayed there, in the truck, for a while, till after midnight, then I left and drove around a bit more till around one in the morning, then I went home again.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’ Stone asks.

‘Because – I thought if you knew we’d argued, and that I was there, you might think—’ He can’t finish the sentence.

‘You should always tell us the truth,’ Stone says firmly.

‘I’m telling the truth now,’ Cameron says, feeling desperate.

Stone looks back at him, cocks his head to one side. ‘I don’t think you are, Cameron.’

Cameron begins to tremble almost violently.

‘Look, detective,’ his dad begins. But he doesn’t get any further than that.

Stone interrupts him. ‘We know you got out of the truck, Cameron. What did you do when you got out of the truck?’

Edward watches his son and the detective in alarm. Oh God, what is going on here? This can’t be happening. If Cameron says he didn’t get out of the truck, then he didn’t get out of the truck. He must believe that. Is the detective lying? Trying to trap him? But Edward knows his son has been lying all along. He must put a stop to this – now. ‘Hold on,’ he says aggressively. ‘Are you accusing my son?’

‘We just want to establish the facts, Mr Farrell,’ Stone says.

‘No,’ Edward says firmly. ‘This is over. If you want to question my son any further, it will be with an attorney present.’ He should have done this sooner, he thinks.

He sees a brief flicker of annoyance in the detective’s eyes, followed by resignation. ‘I was just about to read him his rights anyway,’ he says. ‘Godfrey, please proceed.’

Edward and his wife and son listen in utter dismay as Detective Godfrey reads Cameron his rights.

‘Is he under arrest?’ Edward asks in disbelief. He feels like he can’t breathe, like something very heavy is pressing on his chest.

‘No. But we want to question him further, and it’s not voluntary any longer. Call your lawyer. We’ll wait till they get here.’

Stone turns off the tape, and the two detectives exit the room. Edward catches his wife’s shocked, drawn face and then turns to his son. ‘Cameron, don’t say anything more. I’m going to get you the best criminal lawyer I can find.’

His fingers work busily on his cell phone, googling criminal lawyers in Vermont with the best reputations. He starts making calls while his wife and son sit there, frozen in fear. Neither of them utters a word.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

No one knows I’m here, invisible, in this interview room. I watch from somewhere up around the ceiling. It’s kind of neat, being a fly on the wall, seeing and hearing everything, but I can’t enjoy it because it’s all so upsetting. They think I’m dead, but I’m right here.

I still want to think this is temporary, some kind of extended, recurring dream that I’ll snap out of, but I’m beginning to be afraid that it isn’t a dream at all. I’ve been feeling cocooned somehow, not as distressed as I should be, as if I’ve been drugged by something that takes the edge off and makes me experience everything at a distance. But now the cocoon is unravelling, and I’m more alert, less fragmented, more aware of what’s going on. Like I’ve been given a shot of adrenaline.

Is this boy who says he loved me responsible for my being here now, in this reduced form, drifting from place to place?

He sat outside my house in the dark for all that time. Why would he do that? If he wanted to apologize, why didn’t he text me and tell me he was outside? I would have come down. I would have let him into the house.

And then it strikes me. Maybe he did. And maybe I did let him in.

What did he do when he got out of the truck? The detective wants to know, and so do I. What did you do? I scream at Cameron. I get right up in his face and scream it over and over. He doesn’t even flinch. I’m so angry. I can’t participate. I can’t communicate. I can only scream and scream and be ignored.

He’s been lying all along. And now he’s been caught out in his lies, and I want to know the truth. If he did this to me, I want him to suffer for it. I’m not an angel. Everyone thinks I’m an open book, but I’m more complicated than I seem, just like everyone else. I’m not a saint. I’m not perfect. I keep some things to myself. But that’s what everyone does. Everyone has secrets – just look at Cameron. The lying bastard.

After the detectives leave the room I stare at my former boyfriend, slumped in his chair like a zombie, with his parents beside him. He’s been crying a lot, anyone can see that. But maybe he’s not crying about me. Maybe he’s crying about what’s going to happen to him.

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