Page 18 of No Capes
“Why not?” asks Kristen. At the same time, I ask, “Strange how?”
“Supers rarely insert themselves into accidents after the fact, they usually just prevent ‘em from happening. Then there’s the matter of relevance. No way of knowing if the lighter was on the scene at the time of the accident. It could’ve wound up there days later or been there weeks before. Made circumstances unusual, but not enough to change the outcome.”
I can’t decide if I should feel relieved because Dark Static is wrong, or anxious that he might be right and it’ll be harder to prove it.
“What about the charring in the van?” I ask the point D.S. had raised, “Anything unusual there?”
“Normally you’d expect to see more charring,” says Officer Kyle. “But it’s not impossible to get what we have here. In situations like these, when there’s an incident as severe as this was, we do an autopsy. Should be in there.”
I sift through more papers. The rest of the file contains a list of evidence, stating there was gasoline found at the scene, and witness statements from the first people to drive past the accident, but who hadn’t witnessed the crash. “No autopsy report.”
“Let me check our dinosaur.” Officer Kyle moves to the desktop computer, which groans, coming to life. I turn back to the file and make sure I have all the pictures I need. Paperwork buries the image of my mother and the Levines, and the longer I ignore the picture, the stuffier the room becomes.
Officer Kyle frowns. He clicks his mouse around the screen, clicking in perfect time with Kristen’s nail biting, and frowns again. “That’s weird.”
“It’s not there?” I ask. How could I have guessed?
Did my dad ever ask to see the autopsy?The police seemed certain about the accident, and my dad knows about cars—and by extension—car crashes. Maybe he never thought there was a reason to ask.
“Who did the autopsy?” asks Kristen. “Could we ask them?”
Officer Kyle sighs. Our fifteen minutes must be almost up if they’re not already. “Look, girls,” he says. “Whatever the autopsy says, it would only confirm what’s in the file. Changes nothing.”
“But—” I start, and Officer Kyle cuts me off with an elongated throat clearing.
“Very sorry, but I gotta close up. You’re welcome back tomorrow. Might benefit if you bring a parent or guardian.”
Red creeps up Kristen’s cheeks, and I’m sure mine match. We know better than to mouth off to an officer of the law, especially a man—especially a man who just called us “girls.” I stammer a “thank you” and make sure my phone’s in my pocket when we head out. It’d be my luck to leave it behind.
When Kristen and I are out in the breezy parking lot, she stomps on the pavement. The slaps of her self-decorated sneakers echo into the clouds. “That was a load of crap, Mads. They’re understaffed, but who straight up loses an autopsy?”
I chew on my sweatshirt’s drawstring. “What can we do now?”
“Ask Arielle. She has pull. Or your dad. Or this Dark Static guy. Why are you the one digging? Shouldn’theprove his conspiracy theories toyou?”
She’s right. But I imagine it would look odd if Dark Static waltzed into the police station, waving his lightning bolts around, and asked for information on a closed accident three years ago. We trudge to Kristen’s sedan and my spine tickles, like someone’s watching. I turn back to the police station, but the hazy streetlights reveal only empty chip bags and other litter.
If it were me,Dark Static’s words echo in my head, yet again.I’d want to see the autopsy.
~
I doze in bed. Outside, the dobermans bark at something on the sidewalk, their low growls thundering across the neighborhood, and I tense for a second.What are they barking at?It could be a murderer with a knife, or it could be a chipmunk.Should I check?I sink into the mattress instead. A soft breeze from the window blows my loose hair along my forehead, pulling me into slumber, until my eyes snap open.
The window is supposed to be closed.
“You know, you should really keep that locked. It makes visiting you too easy. Sucks the fun right out of it.”
D.S. Dark Static. Number one on Capital City’s most wanted list. The man with a $10,000 bounty on his head is watching me sleep.
“HELLPPP—” I jump out of bed, flight mode activated.
The overhead light flickers on, illuminating D.S.’s gloved hand on the switch, and confirming that this is not, in fact, a dream. He watches me, amused.
“GOLDEN ACE, SOMEONE HELLLPPP—”
I thrust open the door to my bedroom, making it halfway down the stairs—
“Your dad is still out,” he shouts over my screams. “And I gave the dogs some peanut butter. They love me now.”
