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I stared down at the picture of Jules. My friend of twenty years, who is now dead. A pool of blood surrounded her, and the evidence of knife wounds was easily apparent in her stomach and chest. 

Her head was tilted upwards as if someone were whispering above her, and she was straining her neck to listen.

The image evoked a surge of emotions within me: sadness, anger, and pain, but above all, a sense of relief. Jules had led a tumultuous life. It was comforting to know that she was finally at peace.

Detective Mueller leaned forward, his eyes sharp and penetrating as he watched for my reaction. His elbows rested heavily on the table, his fingers tapping together in a rhythm that highlighted the impatience beneath his façade of calm.

“Enjoying your handiwork?” he asked.

“I didn’t kill her,” I replied, pushing the picture aside.

“You also don’t look too broken up about it.”

“Everyone grieves in their own way?” I said, regurgitating the words of my last therapist.

The detective wasn’t convinced.

“Why don’t you just admit to it? You killed Julianna. We both know you didn’t mean to. She was your best friend, but you got angry and now you feel horrible about it.”

I sighed, struggling to keep my temper in check.  

My dad was a cop. I knew how this worked. I could have asked for a lawyer, but I had nothing to hide.

Not about this, anyway.

Besides, Mueller’s reasons for keeping me here were circumstantial. He lacked concrete evidence and had no leads to follow. He hoped I would provide him with something valuable to further his investigation.

I wouldn’t.

“I can’t feel horrible about something I never did,” I said.

Mueller glanced at his watch with irritation. I shared the sentiment.

I didn’t know how long I’d been in here. I wished I could ask, but Mueller likely wouldn’t tell me. Keeping the time a secret was a tactic that created a sense of uncertainty. It made perps anxious, boggled, and more susceptible to questioning.

“The longer you waste my time, the lower your chances for us to work out a deal.”

“But I didn’t kill her!” I insisted. “When you guys showed up to arrest me, that was also when I learned she was dead. Besides, Jules had tons of enemies. Why are you harassing me?”

It was true. Jules collected enemies like souvenirs. She once lured a guy who lied to her outside of a club with the promise of sex. Once there, he found a note attached to the fire escape ladder that read: Look up. 

When he did, Jules, who was hanging out bare-assed at the top of it, proceeded to pee on him.

Talk about raining on someone’s parade.

Talk about raining on someone’s parade. The man became enraged and tried to reach her. However, he lost his footing and ended up with a slight concussion instead.

“I’m harassing you,” the detective said, cutting into my thoughts. “Because you are the last one to threaten her life.”

I stared at him in confusion.

He withdrew a small notepad from his back pocket, flipped it open, and held it up to read. “I will kill you, you Botox-built bitch,” he stated in a flat tone.

I giggled before I could catch myself. Mueller’s tone didn’t hold the same enraged, bitter one mine did the day I said it, but the statement was still hilarious.

“Oh, you find that funny, do you? Makes sense, because according to your neighbors, you said it.”

I collected myself. “Come on, it was funny and yes, I did say it, but I didn’t mean it. I was just angry.”

“What about?” he questioned.

“Something stupid probably,” I said with a yawn. “Honestly, I don’t remember.”

“Try again,” he ordered.

I closed my eyes for several seconds, then sarcastically said, “Just did it. Like I said, it slipped my mind.”

This time, he shifted closer and placed the metal chair near me before sitting back down in it; his bulk spilled over the edges of the seat that creaked under his weight. It was hard not to stare at the fabric that stretched tightly across his belly, and wager when one of those buttons would abandon the job.

Mueller switched tactics.

“Now, Melissa,” he cooed gently. “You can tell me. How’d it happen? Did you go to her apartment to apologize? Maybe make up after the fight and things got out of hand.”

I ignored the twinge of hurt I felt at Mueller, referring to me by my first name. The only people that called me Melissa were my mom and dad, and they were dead now. That privilege died with them.

Everyone else called me Mouse.

It was a nickname given to me by my brother Benjamin, Benji for short, thanks to my small stature and high-pitched voice.

Studying my reflection in the one-way mirror, I swiped a few strands of my red hair from my forehead. I placed an elbow on the table, my chin sinking into my palm. “That is not what happened.”

Mirroring my amiable tone, he replied, “Alright, so tell me what did happen? How did you kill her?”

I glared at Mueller, becoming more tempted by the second to tell him to kiss my ass. That way, he’d have an actual reason to arrest me.

“I. Am. Innocent,” I snapped.

Mueller slammed his fist down on the table and I jumped back.

“Is this a game to you?” he shouted.

It was. It really was, but I didn’t want to burst his bubble by telling him so. 

Mueller pointed a finger at me. “You’re telling me that you spent all this time with Juliana, causing trouble and breaking the law like two peas in a fucking sadistic pod. Then you get into a fight for reasons that slip your mind,” he announced, using air quotes, “But when she ends up dead later that night, it is nothing more than coincidence?”

“That is exactly what I’m telling you.”

“Well, guess what?” he whispered vehemently. “I’m not buying it.”

“I don’t know why,” I replied. “You are getting my full cooperation. I even agreed to let you search my apartment.”

Mueller lifted a brow that challenged my sincerity. This man wasn’t a dumb cop, I’d give him that. He didn’t trust me or believe my story, and even though he was right not to, he couldn’t prove anything. 

Getting up from his chair, he paced about the room. 

“Something isn’t adding up, and since I have all night, why don’t you take me down memory lane?”

I groaned and leaned back in my chair, stretching my legs. At 5’ 2” they barely touched the floor.

“Fine, I’ll start from the beginning, but then I want a lawyer.”

We both knew this whole song and dance was nothing more than routine questioning and him chasing down his only lead. 

Mueller bared his teeth in a way that made me envision a wolf trying to charm its prey, and I settled in to begin story time.

“Jules and I have been friends since kindergarten, but didn’t start hanging out frequently again until eight months ago after my dad—“

“No, no, no,” he interrupted. “I know all about you and Juliana’s history and the loss of your father, Officer Gillespie,” Mueller said with the first traces of sincerity I’d heard since he started this interrogation. Yet, his voice re-hardened as he pressed on. “I want you to begin with the morning of May 16th. You know, the day you two troublemakers got arrested?”

I frowned.

The park incident happened last month. If he really wanted a shot at solving this case, he should have me begin the story earlier. Not to mention, it would be no fun playing this game if there weren’t a real chance of getting caught. So I offered him a bone.

“That was last month. You sure you don’t want me to start a little earlier, like April? I wouldn’t want you to miss any pertinent details.”

From his expression, Mueller took that as an insult, as if I were implying he didn’t know how to do his job.

“Don’t be cute with me,” he all but snarled, withdrawing a second notepad from his pocket. “Start where I told you to start. Your arrest in May.”

“Alright, May 16th it is,” I announced indignantly, “And don’t worry, I’ll speak very slowly so you can keep up.”

Irritation filled Mueller’s gaze.

I smirked and after releasing a deep breath, said, “I was sitting in my bed drinking blood…”

END OF SAMPLE

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