Page 31 of Coram House

“That’s all it’s ever been,” Parker says. “A building.”

We drive down North Avenue in silence. When he pulls into the police station parking lot, I think at first that there must have been a mistake. I thought he was taking me home. He must see the look on my face.

“It won’t take long. I—we’d just like to ask you some questions while it’s still fresh in your mind. Then someone will take you home. Okay?”

I nod, even though I want to say no. I’m too tired. I don’t want to. But what is that in the face of a woman’s death?

The automatic doors swoosh open, enveloping me in a rush of warm air. Bev is still there, surrounded by glittering threads of tinsel. But today, she comes out from behind the desk and pats my arm. “It’s just awful,” she says. “Oh, good lord. Honey, you’re frozen. Let me get you something hot to drink. Tea? Tea is hotter than coffee.”

She disappears and we go inside. Eyes follow us as Parker leads me through the station and down a back hall. He opens a door and we step into a small room with a single grimy window, set so high, all I can see is a sliver of sky. The drop ceiling is stained nicotine yellow. Parkergestures to four molded-plastic chairs around a metal table. “Here, sit. I’ll be right back.”

A second later, there’s a soft knock and Bev enters, holding a mug. She places it in front of me and then hurries out before I can thank her. The liquid is viscous with sugar, but she’s right, the tea’s very hot. My chair rocks back and forth every time I shift. I wonder if it’s an interrogation tactic or if that only happens in movies.

Parker reappears a minute later with a television remote and another officer, a woman with long braids twisted into a bun and a cherry-red manicure. She smiles at me like we’re old friends and introduces herself as Officer Washington. Then she holds out a pair of orange Crocs with white socks tucked inside. “Not the most fashionable,” she says, “but better than wet feet.”

I peel off my soggy sneakers and socks. My toes look like fat, white raisins. The dry socks feel delicious. I love her a little.

“Alex, just to let you know, we’ll be recording today’s interview. Is that all right?” Parker gestures toward the camera mounted in one corner.

“Yes,” I say. “That’s fine.”

He sits in the chair across from me, next to Officer Washington.

“Could you take us through everything that happened this morning?” he asks.

I wrap my hand around the mug. “I went for a run this morning—left my apartment just after sunrise, so six thirty maybe?”

Officer Washington writes something down.

“And where did you run?” Parker asks.

“Over to North Ave.,” I say. “Then up to Rock Point. I meant to run the loop trail, but I—” My voice cracks and I clear it. “I got to the viewpoint and heard a scream.”

“Did you see anyone else at Rock Point?”

“No. It was pretty cold this morning. Just the footprints—the ones I told you about. Oh, and a moose.”

Their eyes snap to me in unison. Officer Washington frowns, pen hovering above her notepad. “A moose?” she asks. And I don’t think I’m imagining the disbelief in her tone.

My cheeks go hot. “It was just standing there on the trail. WhenI heard the scream I thought, I don’t know, maybe it had attacked someone.”

“Let’s back up for a second,” Parker says. “Earlier, you said there was another set of footprints on the trail. Can you describe them?”

I picture the trail. The smooth dusting of snow, the way it squeaked underfoot. The place where the other set of footprints joined the main trail.

“They were small. I remember because I was relieved it was another woman. If I was going to be alone in the woods with them, I mean.”

Officer Washington scribbles something in her notebook. I try to ignore it.

“Thanks, Alex,” Parker says. “That’s really helpful. Can you tell me about the scream?”

“I-I was at the viewpoint. At the end of the trail. Did I say that already?”

The laugh bubbles out of me. Inappropriate. I’m just so tired.

“I know the place,” Office Washington chimes in, her tone all upbeat encouragement.

“I thought it might be an animal or something,” I say, “but it— I don’t know—it sounded scared. Human.”

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