It was impossible for Paige to ever forget it. She didn’t need a picture to remind her.
But more disturbing than the violence of it all, more disturbing than the fact that the detective had obviously wanted to catch Paige off guard —and had succeeded— was the content of one of the pictures Schliesman had shown her.
Like she was playing some sort of twisted game of solitaire, Paige flipped the middle picture over and studied it again.
Paige had drawn that very image a few weeks ago. It was sitting in the portfolio where she kept all the drawings from her sleep.
With all the bruising, Paige hadn’t realized she had drawn Teresa Cavasos twice: once when she was alive and once when she was dead. Although her clothing had been a prominent part of the picture she’d drawn of Teresa in the parking lot, only the top part of her collar was in the other picture she’d drawn of the woman’s death.
The same as the photograph she was looking at now.
But it was obviously the same shirt, now that Paige was studying it. No wonder Detective Schliesman had asked her so many questions about the clothing in the photo. It was what Teresa had been wearing when she died.
Paige needed to call a lawyer. Through the exhausted haze of her mind she knew that was true. Schliesman had known Teresa Cavasos was dead the entire time she’d been questioning Paige. She must have been hoping Paige would confess or say something incriminating against herself.
Paige vaguely wondered if saying ‘hey, I drew a picture of this exact death scenario too’ would be incriminating enough for the detective.
She didn’t know how to get a lawyer. Who to call. Was she allowed to use her phone now? Could she leave the room? She knew the door was still locked.
God, she just wanted to see Brett.
Not as her lover or to fall into his arms. Just to see someone who didn’t think she had killed some poor woman in a horrible way. Just to see someone whose colors weren’t an angry, accusatory red.
Or the chilling gray of this entire room. Paige turned the picture back over and wrapped her arms around herself.
After showing her the pictures, Schliesman had started asking her more questions about where she’d been last Thursday, before a knock on the door had interrupted them and the detective had left.
Paige had been so distraught over the pictures, over finding out she was too late, over realizing she had also drawn Teresa Cavasos dead, to even remember last Thursday or where she’d been on that day.
She’d asked to see Brett again. If he was here, he would help her. At least he would be a friendly energy off of which she could feed. Someone to help her focus.
Someone who could hopefully help ward off the panic attack Paige could feel stalking its way closer.
She wrapped her arms around herself tighter, but knew it wouldn’t be the barrier she needed. She wanted to get out of this room.
A few minutes later the door opened. Instead of Schliesman, another detective with wavy blond hair and a much less angry aura walked in. Followed by Brett.
She wasn’t sure what exactly she had expected from Brett, certainly not any romantic greeting, but he stayed far back against the wall as the other man walked closer and took a seat.
“I’m Detective Alex Olivier, from the homicide department. And I think you already know Detective Wagner.” He gestured to Brett.
“Yes,” Paige nodded. “He and I met last week.” And made love two nights ago.
And now he was standing on the other side of the room like he could not care less what was happening with her. Even his colors were colder.
She’d been through a lot today, but she was afraid this was what would tip her over the edge. So ridiculous to think coldness from someone she wanted warmth from would be what did it.
“Like Detective Schliesman said, we’ll be taking over the case now that it is officially a homicide.”
“Have you been listening to what I said to Detective Schliesman?” she asked the surfer looking detective.
“Yes. For almost all of it.”
“Both of you?” She looked pointedly at Brett.
He looked away. Paige had her answer without Detective Olivier saying a word.
Brett had sat behind that mirror and listened to everything that had been asked of her, knowing what Schliesman suspected her of. Oh God, he had known it was a homicide the whole time, had known they were trying to set her up, and had done nothing.
Maybe he’d actually thought she had something to do with it. Paige wrapped her arms around herself, for warmth and because she was afraid she might shatter into a million pieces.
“Miss Jeffries,” the detective moved closer. “I understand it’s been a difficult day for you.”
“I’m going to go get you some water.” It was the first thing Brett had said to her. She didn’t even look at him.
But the other detective nodded. “Good idea, Brett.”
Brett knocked on the door and left when it opened electronically. Paige looked at the man sitting across from her.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”
“Olivier. Alex Olivier. I’m a homicide detective.”
Exhaustion washed over Paige. First, all the questions by Detective Schliesman, then finding out Teresa was dead, then seeing her dead in the same method Paige had drawn?
And then Brett.
Brett walked back into the room, two water bottles in his hand. He put one in front of Detective Olivier and crouched down next to Paige, opening the other one.
“I’m not thirsty,” she said, staring at the collar of his shirt. She couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. And she totally ignored the deep blues surrounding him. He was troubled.
“You need to drink it anyway,” he said, gently disengaging her fingers from where they were clasping her arms.
Paige shivered slightly. His touch. How could she still feel such heat at his touch? How could she still want to lean towards him —towards his strength— and rest against him after he’d amply shown how little she really meant to him?
She brought the water bottle up to her lips and sipped. He was right, she had needed the water. She drank down nearly the entire bottle.
He stood, his fingers running unobtrusively along her arm as he stepped back.
She slid away. He could not be gentle now. Not when her heart was lying in pieces around her. He needed to go back over to the wall and blend back into the gray. She had to focus on keeping herself together, not on him.
Detective Olivier slid the other water bottle over towards her, but Paige didn’t open it. “The last question Detective Schliesman asked is probably the most important one for you to answer. Unfortunately, you were pretty upset when she asked it.”
“Which question was that?”
“Where were you last Thursday?”
“Is that when Teresa Cavasos went missing?” she asked.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss any specifics. But if you could just think about where you were on Thursday.”
Paige closed her eyes and worked her way backwards: the night with Brett, the art show, preparation.
For the first time since she’d found out Teresa was dead, Paige felt a slight release in the pressure built up in her body. If whatever happened to Teresa happened on Thursday, there was no way they’d be able to think Paige had something to do with it.
A knock on the door startled Paige. Both Detective Olivier and Brett looked over at it sharply. Brett opened it.
“Gentleman, I’m Christine Thomas, Ms. Jeffries’ attorney.”
Paige was surprised. She hadn’t ordered an attorney, despite this one being delivered, like a pizza. But the woman’s aura was pretty clear, even if constantly moving. She was a multi-tasker, but had good intentions. At least right now.
She walked to the table and shook Paige’s hand, giving her a reassuring nod.
“We’d like all questions to desist immediately and for my client to be released unless she’s being formally charged,” Christine told the men. She didn’t sit down.
Detective Olivier sighed. “Ms. Jeffries has not been charged. She’s always been free to go at any time.”
Paige looked at the detective then Brett then her new lawyer. She’d been free to go all this time? Why hadn’t Brett told her that?
Maybe because he thought she’d been guilty of murder.
“I can see by my client’s face that’s news to her,” Christine said.
Paige shook her head. “The door was locked.”
The lawyer put a hand on Paige’s shoulder. “Are you ready? They can’t keep you here any longer.”
Paige stood. “Yes, but there’s one question I want to answer before I go.”
“What was the question?” she asked.
“Where I was on Thursday.”
“You don’t have to answer that, Ms. Jeffries,” Christine told her. “It’s not an admission of any sort of guilt not to answer the question.”
“But if she does answer, and has a good alibi, it goes a long way towards us eliminating her as a suspect,” Detective Olivier put in. Brett had come to stand closer to the table, although Paige still didn’t look him in the eye.
“It’s okay,” she told Christine. “I want to.”
The lawyer nodded but looked ready to jump in at any time.
“Last Thursday, I spent the entire day surrounded by a dozen people at the Barnes Gallery preparing for my art show that happened Friday night. We were there at least twelve or fourteen hours, long past midnight. My agent Hunter Barnes, and any number of assistants, can verify this.”