Page 93 of Depraved Boys

I shook my head. “My mind goes blank every time I try to remember.”

“What can you recall?”

“Monday morning,” I replied.

Constable Clive flipped open her notebook and pulled the lid off her pen with her teeth.

“Were you at school?”

“I was on my way back from visiting friends.”

“Their names?” she asked.

“Sebastian Garraway and Leopold Brunswick.”

She paused to scribble them down.

“You were alone?”

“Um… No. Sebastian was driving, and I sat in the back.”

“How much alcohol had you consumed?”

“None.”

The constable turned to look at the sergeant, whose face blanked. I blew out a breath. Did they think I was lying? If I’d gotten drunk on Monday morning, I would probably have sobered up by the time of the supposed accident.

“Where did you go?” she asked.

“They were taking me back to school.”

“Which is?” she snapped.

I reared back at her harsh tone. “Um… Brittas Academy.”

They both exchanged glances. Sergeant Rockford asked, “Are you the daughter of the Evergreen couple whose car tumbled off Hard Knott Pass?”

A lump formed in my throat. I could already see what they were getting at. A suicide attempt. “Yes, but I wouldn’t—”

“And Sebastian Garraway is the young man who crashed his Porsche over the same stretch of road,” the sergeant muttered to his colleague.

Irritation fizzled across my skin. “You’re going to say I got drunk and drove off the side of the mountain on purpose. It’s not like that!”

His brow rose. “Tell me how it is, then?”

“That’s the problem.” My hands bunched the sheets. I couldn’t raise my head. Couldn’t meet the skepticism in their eyes. There were better ways to commit suicide than driving a car off the side of a mountain, and I wouldn’t consider any of them.

Sucking in a deep, calming breath, I said, “I don’t know, and I need help with piecing together what happened.”

A silence stretched out between us, but the noise of the bustling ward continued. Trolleys squeaked, and Doctors made their rounds.

I swallowed hard. “The consultant is referring me to a neurologist, you know.”

The sergeant handed me a card. “We’ll wait until the medical report before proceeding further. If you remember anything in the meantime, let me know.”

I stared at the card, not wanting to look either of the officers in the eye. “Thank you.”

The female police constable said, “I looked up your records before setting off, and we’re still waiting for a decision from you on whether to press charges about the assault last month.”