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“We’d like to ask you a few questions about the night of Alyssa’s murder.”
Sitting across from the two detectives, I stare blankly, not letting a single part of my face show anything I’m feeling. I knew this was coming because I was the one who found her, but I also know there is no evidence showing it was me or that I even knew her, so I just need to keep calm, answer their questions, and get the hell out of here.
“Okay,” I say, my voice monotone.
“Did you know Alyssa?”
A woman named Rochelle asks this question—she’s a blond woman, younger, maybe thirties, and she has kind blue eyes. I’m glad it’s not just men, because right now, I don’t need to feel intimidated by a bunch of cops who have a theory in their head and want things to go their way. I did nothing, and I’m not going to allow them to claim I did.
“No.”
“Can you over the events of the night so we can get a better understanding of what happened?” she asks, offering a smile.
The man beside her just stares at me with his dull brown eyes, no doubt trying to intimidate me.
Won’t work, buddy.
“I already told you what happened. I went for a shower and as I was about to undress, I noticed blood on the wall and some coming from beneath the cubicle, so I leaned down, and that’s when I saw her.”
Those eyes flash through my mind again and my chest tightens. I don’t like how this feels; it’s fucking gut-wrenching. I don’t want to see her face for the rest of my life, yet somehow, I feel as though I will. I never got the chance to talk to her friend last time I was here. By the time Paulie and I got to her room, she had already gone home.
I hope she comes back, because I want to get to the bottom of what went on.
I’m not about to tell the cops that, though.
“You saw nobody else when you were coming in?”
I shake my head. “It was quiet. Not a single person around.”
“Why did you decide to have a shower so late?”
“Because I always shower late.” I take in a breath for calm. “I don’t love the idea of sharing, so I wait until everyone is done.”
“You were later than usual that night, no?”
I grit my teeth. “Yes.”
“Can you tell me why that was?”
“I went to my parents house and had dinner with them.”
The man, whose name is Greg, cuts in, “Why didn’t you shower there?”
Stay calm, Ciara.
“Because I didn’t have any of my things. I went for dinner.”
“You run with a biker club, do you not?”
Oh, he wants to go down that road.
Of course he does, it’s easier to blame the girl who is with a biker club than it is to do an actual damn investigation to work this out.
“That has nothing to do with this, or what we’re talking about,” I say, my voice low and clipped.
“Can you just answer, please?” Rochelle asks, her voice careful.
“Yes, my partner is a member of a motorcycle club.”
