Page 75 of So Wild

“It is, we’ll just give him a taste of his own medicine and then we’ll take the site down and move on with our lives.”

Sam reopened the website template, hovering the mouse over the link. There was a moment, fragile as a line of wet ink, hovering in front of her and she was powerfully aware of her own autonomy. She didn’thaveto do this. She could just hit the red X and let this all be over. She thought of Nicole’s tears and the pie innards glistening on Scott’s lawn. She hit publish.

***

Brunswick Police Stationwas home to the biggest, meanest cop Scott had ever seen. He had steel grey hair, flinty blue eyes and a solid bar of a moustache. His badge read S/Sgt Worthington and when he said the phrase ‘buy­scott­sanderson­aroot.com’, not a flicker of amusement crossed his face. His partner, a thin man in a suit two sizes too big for him, wasn’t nearly as composed. His lips twitched every time a new detail came into play—the hot pink color of Sam’s website or the countdown clock that, as far as Scott knew, was still tracking the duration of his virginity.

Samantha was sitting stoned-faced beside him. She wasn’t looking at him. If she was, he would have turned and said, “You don’t seriously think I could have done that, do you? I’d sooner fucking die.”

But she wasn’t looking.

On her right hand side was Edgar DaSilva, looking even more out of place than usual in his leather fedora and multiple beaded necklaces. He appeared serene, one hand in his lap, one hand on Samantha’s shoulder. Scott thanked the gods his dad was in Perth on business and that as a freshly minted eighteen-year-old, he wasn’t required to have a guardian present. Scott sat silently and listened as S/Sgt Worthington walked them through what happened, as though they didn’t already know. He asked Samantha to tell the story, then he made Scott tell the story, then he made Edgar DaSilva tell the story and just when Scott thought he couldn’t hear the words ‘buy­scott­sanderson­aroot.com’ ever again, S/Sgt Worthington put down his pen. “So essentially, what happened is that you discovered someone had broken into your bedroom and stolen your personal photos, Miss DaSilva…” he gave Samantha a significant look. “…and posted them on your school website under the impression they were images of your twin sister, Nicole.”

Sam’s expression was blank. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“So you posted on the website, telling everyone the pictures were of yourself and that you were going to the police, but despite saying that, you didn’t report the incident or tell your father what happened?”

“Yes.”

A slight thinning of S/Sgt Worthington’s lips showed he didn’t approve of her attitude or response. “So you decided the culprit was your neighbor, Scott Sanderson…” The cop’s gaze flicked over to him. “Because you have a longstanding hostility and certain intimate things belonging to you have gone missing before.”

Scott’s insides felt like they were freezing over. “I took a pair of underwear off the washing line when I was fifteen, but I didn’t break into Sam’s room and steal all her underwear and put them in the tree. I wouldn’t do that!”

“That’s enough,” S/Sgt Worthington said, but Sam had already turned her pale cheeks flushed with anger.

“As if! Who the hell else would have done it? The man in the fuc-frigging moon? Everyone knows you’re the only one who fuc-messes around with my underwear.”

The skinny detective was smirking again and it only served to make him even more desperate to prove himself to her. “I mean it, what do I have to do to make you trust me?”

“Go back in time and prove yourself trustworthy?”

“That’s enough! Both of you.” There was a vein distending in S/Sgt Worthington’s forehead and Scott felt a thrill of fear.

“Samantha,” Edgar said in his low, perpetually chilled-out voice. “I know you’re upset about what happened, but so is Scott, and the police are just doing their jobs. I think this would go a lot better if we just let Mr Worthington speak.”

“It’s Senior Sergeant Worthington,” said S/Sgt Worthington.

“Oh, I don’t believe in the use of manufactured titles such as ‘Your Highness’ or ‘professor’ or ‘Senior Sergeant,’” Edgar said cheerfully. “I just call everyone Mr or Ms. Or Mrs, if the case may be. After all, in a truly egalitarian society, we would all address each other as equals, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Right.” With a look that said he wished them all a painful death, the cop picked up his pen. “I’ll cut right to the heart of the matter. Mr Sanderson, you claim that you didn’t take the photos of Samantha DaSilva from her bedroom?”

“No.”

“But you weren’t attending a study hall session as you originally claimed, and no one can give you an alibi?”

Again, Scott felt his stomach knot up like a tangle of fishing wire. “No. I was at Brunswick shopping center by myself.”

Sam gave a tiny cough of disbelief and S/Sgt Worthington glared at her. “You were at the shopping center all day?”

“Yes.”

“What were you doing there?”

“Just hanging out.” Scott tried to make his voice sound bland, but his heart was racing. If interrupting a cop was bad, lying to one had to be worse, but he couldn’t say where he’d been, he just couldn’t.

“Have you found any evidence to suggest Scott stole the pictures?” Edgar asked.

The cop sighed. “We’ve checked the windowsill for prints, but between the rain and the bird shit, there’s nothing to suggest Mr Sanderson broke in and stole the Polaroids…Where were they located, Ms DaSilva?”

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