Page 48 of The Piece You Stole

SAIGE

It would be a mistake to believe these cops care about anything other than locking me up for as long as they possibly can.

It would be downright stupid to take their promise of help at face value.

But I can’t sit here and listen to the cops tell me how my dad died alone and in agony.

Maybe other people are strong enough to shut their ears to that.

I can’t.

The chair feels colder beneath me than it did before, which doesn’t make sense when I was only on my feet for maybe two minutes.

That’s how long it took me to decide I would talk.

I didn’t care what I would talk about, but if I was talking, then I wouldn’t have to listen to things I’m not strong enough to sit through.

“I worked in the diner for a month,” I say, and then I stop. My gaze snags on the photograph. “Can you put that away, please?”

The cops don’t say a word. I don’t lift my head, but I know they must be silently communicating with each other. After a long moment, as if they’ve sensed they’ve won, the photograph disappears into the brown folder.

“You were right,” I say, my voice low as I focus my attention on a pale scratch on the surface of the dark wood desk. Did someone make that trying to attack a cop? Was it just an innocent pen scratch, or am I focusing on something that doesn’t matter? “Dad would come to the diner sometimes.”

“To knock you about?” Detective Bradley asks.

He doesn’t even try to keep the satisfaction from his voice. It sets my teeth on edge, but I shake my head. Just because I’ve decided to talk doesn’t mean I’m going to tell them everything.

“That isn’t what your old boss told us,” Detective Ferdinand says, impatience bleeding into his voice. Not even a minute after I’ve started talking, he’s already straining at the leash because I haven’t already copped to three murders. “He said it was a regular habit, usually at the end of the month.”

“My last day there, a man came inside,” I continue my story, speaking a little faster now. Fewer pauses mean fewer opportunities for the cops to insert questions I have no intention of answering. “I’d never seen him before.”

I lift my head and meet their eyes. There’s a hint of impatience that they’re not even trying to hide, but it’s my story, so I get to be the one to tell how much, or how little of it I want. “As you can imagine, a man wearing a Rolex made an impression on everyone in the diner.”

Detective Bradley leans toward me.

“Rylan Treveiler.” I smile as I glance over at Detective Ferdinand just when Detective Bradley looks poised to speak. “He said his car had broken down just outside and his cell phone was dead, so that’s why a guy who drives a Lexus would even think of taking one step into a place like the Stationers Diner.”

It’s not the only reason, but there’s no way I’m telling the cops that as I went about my quiet, miserable life, Rylan saw me, learned I worked in the Stationers Diner, and came looking for me. The cops would have more questions for me, and I’m not ready to talk about—much less think about—being hunted down like that.

Shaking my head as I paint a look on my face that I hope resembles happiness, I shift my focus from Detective Ferdinand to Detective Bradley. “He was kind,” I continue.

At first.

Detective Bradley nods. “So, he took one look at the bruises Dad left you with and decided to do something about it?”

Do they even care who they lock up? Is there some kind of daily target they must hit: five arrests and you win a cuddly teddy? Ten, and you get an extra vacation day. Thirty, you’re employee of the month, get your picture framed on the wall, and a firm handshake from a boss who rations out praise with a teaspoon.

“I didn’t have a lot before Rylan.” Lifting my hand to cover my mouth, I clear my throat as if I have something in it. “Can I have a glass of water, please? My throat is dry.”

The cops narrow their eyes as if they suspect I’m stringing them along. They’re right to think it. I gaze back passively and say nothing.

The silence extends.

I sit back in my seat, firm up my lips, and fold my arms.

I just spent the last several hours saying nothing,I silently tell them.We can go back to that if you want. Or you can get me a glass of water, and I can keep talking.

They glance at each other, and then Detective Ferdinand stands. “I’ll be right back.”

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