Page 15 of A Thin Line

With a curt nod, she got up without a word. When she got to the door, she went outside and both she and Silva stayed there, talking to whomever was on the other side. I could hear voices beyond the door, but I couldn’t identify them.

That wasn’t helping my nerves. Not at all.

Soon, however, my curiosity was satisfied. Silva re-entered the room, followed by the detective…and Dr. Rakhimov.

And none other than Sinclair Whittier.

I was confused, because the last two people were not law enforcement. But then I realized it was possible that they had information to prove my innocence. Although I hated that Whittier would be part of my salvation, I couldn’t help but relax as they walked the rest of the way into the room.

But Silva nodded at the other officer still sitting across and to the side from me, signaling him somehow—and he got up, making room for Dr. Rakhimov to sit.

And Sinclair Whittier sat directly in front of me.

Gone was his charming disposition and easy smile, replaced by a ruthless, angry man, so full of rage, I could feel it.

So I was surprised when it was Dr. Rakhimov who spoke first. “We’d like to give you the chance to come clean, Annalise.” Even while she talked, it was hard to take my eyes off of Whittier, because it felt like he was a poised cobra or a jaguar ready to strike.

Of course, Dr. Rakhimov was intimidating in her own right, her voice ice cold and commanding. Her dark eyes seemed to drill inside my soul, yet I managed to answer her. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Sinclair Whittier could no longer hold himself back—but it was obvious he was trying. His voice was low and menacing, like a growl, and the eyes I’d thought of as sapphires earlier in the evening now made me think of an unforgiving bottomless ocean ready to swallow me whole. “You know exactly what she means. You were in the lab unsupervised—you were the last identifiable person in there. You had the opportunity, the means, and the motive.”

They were accusing me of wrecking the lab? “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t do it!” I was scared out of my mind. Was I going to go to jail? How exactly could I prove I hadn’t done something? I would need a lawyer but I couldn’t afford one. Why were they so convinced it was me?

“You did do it, you little vagrant. I should have known better than to hire you,” Dr. Rakhimov spat.

Now was not the time to remind her that no one else awarded work-study money wanted to work for her. When I’d taken the position, I hadn’t known about her reputation—but I’d found out quickly afterward.

Whittier followed up as if making a case before a jury. “Opportunity: you were alone in the lab, left unlocked by your own admission.” How did he know I’d told the cops that the lab had been open when I’d returned from the print shop? “Means: working with a like-minded group, probably one you organized yourself, knowing that would give you an alibi. They did the dirty work while you appeared at the auditorium, making your presence known. And you were quite familiar with the lab and its surroundings after working in there. You knew there were no cameras inside.”

Although I needed to dispute every word he’d said, it was here that I interrupted. “Everyone knew that!”

But he kept going as if he hadn’t even heard me. “And, finally, motive, the most damning evidence of all. When I first met you tonight, I had no idea you were the daughter of Rowan Miller. You saw your opportunity to get revenge and you seized it.”

“That’s not true.”

“Are you denying you know who I am?”

I shook my head. Even angry and intimidating, this man was beautiful in a way I couldn’t describe, and it made me all the more furious with him. The Whittiers had everything: more money than I could imagine, unbelievable power—evidenced by the fact that the local police let Sinclair take over my interrogation—and ridiculous good looks. I and my father had next to nothing, partly because of his family.

This was an unfair fight.

I knew that yelling wouldn’t help my cause, nor would letting my emotions take over. “Of course, I know who you are.”

“No wonder you steered me away from the lab.”

“What? No. I didn’t know who you were when I met you earlier.”

“A likely story.”

The detective put a hand on the desk, but I wasn’t sure if she was addressing Dr. Rakhimov or Whittier. “Do you want to press charges?”

Dr. Rakhimov said, “Sin?”

Whittier said, “If she were prosecuted in front of a jury, what would she get?”

“I’m not the DA. I have no idea.”

“You pay attention, though, don’t you? Don’t you make recommendations?”

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