chapter twenty-five-3

"I'm here to see Detective Marsh? If he's available. It's about my sister. Emily Porterfield." As I spoke, the receptionist turned back to her computer, her hand reaching for the mouse. When she heard my sister's name, she paused. "All right, why don't you have a seat and he'll be with you as soon as he can." I headed to the couches near the corner of the room, the muffled sound of voices shouting at each other from the television becoming louder as I neared it. I curled my fingers a little tighter around the edge of the box and looked out the window to the parking lot. My eyes searched for the van I already knew would be gone. As I stared out at the patrol cars parked outside, I heard footsteps coming from behind me, soles squeaking on the tiles. I turned around and saw Detective Marsh standing there, wearing a suit with a Bugs Bunny tie. He looked taller now than I remembered him being, his graying hair shaved close to his head, and his face was creased with wrinkles. "Hey there, Miss Porterfield. I heard you wanted to talk to me about something." I nodded. "Yes, sir." He gestured for me to follow him. "You want something to drink?" he asked as he led me down the hall. "Snack maybe?" "No, thanks." Detective Marsh led me into one of the interrogation rooms. The walls were a bland shade of white, and my feet shuffled against gray carpet. There was a bare table beside the wall farthest from the door, and there were three chairs positioned around it—two on one side and only one on the other. I already knew which one was meant for me. Detective Marsh looked at the box as I set it down on the table. "We've been looking for you today, Clara," he told me. "We've heard a few rumors around town about you. Do you know what those rumors are?" "Yes, sir." "Do you mind if I ask you a couple questions about it?" I shook my head, even though that wasn't totally truthful. I did mind. But it wasn't like it mattered now anyway. "Before we start, you want us to call your mom? Let her know where you are or ask her to come down here?" I shook my head again. "She doesn't know about any of the things that happened." "It might be helpful to tell her what's been going on. And for her to hear it from you." "Can you just call her and tell her I'm here? So she doesn't worry about me. She's supposed to pick me up from drama practice soon." He nodded. I gave him the number to her vet clinic and waited until he returned a few minutes later. "All right," he said as he closed the door behind him. "I talked to your mom and she said she was going to come down here, but we'll just talk in here, okay? Just you and me. And if you want her to come in at any time, we can go grab her. Sound good?" "Yes," I said. "All right. So had you and Griffin Tomlin ever been in a romantic relationship?" "Sort of. At first, I mean," I said, kind of embarrassed to be talking about this with an older man who was listening more intently than I was used to people doing. "I had a crush on him for a really long time. I thought I was in love with him, but now, I don't really know. But I thought he never, you know, never really saw me. But then one night, after the school musical, he texted me and asked me to meet him in my backyard, and he kissed me. But nothing really happened after that. Then a couple weeks later, he gave me his number because he'd got a new phone, and we started really texting. And in February, he finally asked me out. Like, really asked me out, and I said yes. He took me to this party and gave me a beer before we went upstairs to someone's bedroom." "What happened then?" "He raped me," I said, my voice thicker than I wanted it to sound in front of him, but he didn't seem to notice. Just nodding and listening. "He, um, cut me too? With his pocketknife on my ribs, in between the bones, and I still have the scars if that . . . proves anything. But he took my underwear, and the reason I'm here is because I found it. In this box." "And where did you find the box?" he asked, standing up to inspect it. "In this old abandoned barn my sister used to bring me to last summer after she'd found out about what he'd done. But now I think . . ." I hesitated, digging my fingernails into my jeans, and wondered if I was really about to do this. If I was really about to suggest to a detective that my sister had killed a total stranger. "I think she helped Griffin do stuff to me. And I also think she might have killed Elizabeth Monner. The girl you found in our backyard." "I see. What makes you think that?" "It just kind of makes sense? Like, she buried her in our backyard, and I don't know where she was when Elizabeth went missing." I shrugged, suddenly realizing just how weak this all sounded. "Do you think that they might have been working together? Hurting girls or something." "It's a possibility we're looking into," he said finally, with some reluctance, and then his features softened considerably, the crinkles of his skin around his eyes and mouth easing away. "We're investigating Griffin Tomlin and taking all things into consideration right now." "I think I have something that could help with that," I told him. "I still have the pocketknife he used when he raped me."