Noah and Professor Worthington took the two chairs in front of the desk, and I figured the other chair, the one behind the desk, was for Detective Rake. So I sat down on the futon.
The detective hadn’t come in it yet, so I pulled out the folder Professor Worthington had given me and began reading up on the case. Noah was furiously typing away on his phone. He wasn’t complaining anymore, apparently deciding to take his energy and channel it into something productive.
The first page in the folder was a black and white photo of a smiling girl. She was about my age, with gorgeous straight black hair and a perfect smile. She had a bit of an exotic thing going on, her eyes done up in a smoky liner. She was pushing her hair back with one hand and she was looking down, like someone had caught her mid-laugh. It was a picture that was supposed to look candid, but the lighting and the backdrop made it obviously a headshot.
She must have been a model or an actress.
I flipped to the next document and almost gasped. It was the same girl, only this picture was a close up of her neck. And she was obviously dead. There were red and purple marks on her skin, some of them so dark they were almost black. You could see the outline of a hand on her throat. Someone had strangled her to death.
I took in a deep shaky breath. I needed to be professional – I couldn’t have Professor Worthington noticing me having a reaction to what probably was just some run-of-the-mill autopsy photos.
I went to flip to the next page, but before I could, the door opened and a police officer walked in. Detective Rake.
He surveyed the room and then spoke.
“Hello, everyone,” he said. “Noah, I presume?” He held his hand out to Noah, who shook it reluctantly.
“Colin Worthington,” Professor Worthington said. “Counsel for Mr. Cutler. And this is my assistant, Charlotte Holloway.”
The detective gave me a friendly nod.
“How long is this going to take?” Noah demanded.
“It shouldn’t take long.” Detective Rake was speaking in a jovial manner, seemingly not phased by Noah’s bad attitude. He took a sip from the paper Starbucks cup he was holding. “Would you like some coffee?” he asked. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to settle for what we have here at the station. I can’t stand the stuff myself, but then, I’m a bit of a coffee snob.” He held up his cup as if to confirm it.
His tone was pleasant, but it was a subtle dig. He was drinking the good stuff, and if any of us wanted anything, we’d have to settle for the shitty police station coffee.
I shifted on the futon, wondering how Noah was going to react.
But he didn’t reply, just glanced at the detective and then back down at his phone, continuing to type whatever work or email he’d been working on before.
“No, thank you,” Professor Worthington said.
Detective Rake turned to me. “Would you like anything, Charlotte?” he asked.
I opened my mouth to say no, but then I remembered earlier, in Noah’s kitchen, him telling me that all serious lawyers drank coffee, that I needed to drink the good stuff only, black, with no sugar because that would ruin it.
Fuck him, I thought. What an ass, ignoring me like this after what we did this morning
“I’d love some,” I said.
“Excellent,” Detective Rake said. His blue eyes sparkled. He was young for a detective, or at least, he looked young – I could see a tiny bit of salt and pepper starting at his temples, but his skin was fresh and unlined, his eyes bright. Something about his face was a little bit impish, like maybe he enjoyed messing with people. “How do you take it?”
“Just a little cream and a lot of sugar,” I said. “The more sugar the better.”
“Just like me.” He winked and then disappeared back through the door to get more coffee.
Noah finally glanced at me, and I thought I saw anger flash on his face for a moment. But then he went blank again, his gaze returning to his phone.
“Here you go,” Detective Rake said, returning with a paper cup full of coffee.
“Thanks.” I took a big sip, trying not to gag. I didn’t know much about coffee, but even I could tell this was a watered down version of the real thing, and it was so sweet I could practically feel my teeth rotting. “Perfect,” I said.
“Can we get going?” Noah asked, shoving his phone back into his coat pocket. “I have somewhere to be.”
“Of course, Mr. Cutler,” Detective Rake said. He sat down behind the desk and pulled out a legal pad and a ballpoint pen. “You are aware that this interview is being taped, both by video and audio, and that any statements you make here may be used against you in a court of law?”