* * *
I yawned, suddenly feeling the effects of the sleeping pill once more. “Are we done yet?” I asked the young rookie as he sat across from me.
Officer Jonstan was a nice looking man, appearing in his late twenties. He had skin that was the color of caramel and eyes that were as dark as coals. He had a strong, muscular build although he was quite tall and lean.
He opened his notepad to a blank page. “Where is your father right now?” he inquired with a slight Caribbean accent, ignoring my own question.
Although they had taken Sharee’s statement and wheeled her out of the house on a stretcher that was hospital bound, I was sequestered in the living room, subjected to the same idiotic questions. “Can I go with my stepmother to the hospital?” I asked, glancing out the window across the room and seeing Sharee being wheeled into an ambulance.
He shook his head, pursing his lips in annoyance. “Not until we figure out what is going on here,” he answered me, his brown eyes boring into me.
“I already told you,” I told him, agitated by the constant repetition of my story.
“Well, maybe, you should explain it to me this time,” Det. Conner said, entering the room and relieving Officer Jonstan of his duties as my interrogator. As soon as the young officer stood and walked out of the room, she asked, “Where is your father, Miranda?”
Narrowing my eyes at her, I shrugged my shoulders.
Taking a seat across the couch, she appeared stone-faced. “You are being extremely uncooperative for someone who did nothing wrong.”
“What can I say? I suddenly don’t like cops,” I told her bluntly. “You have my stepmother’s statement, and Officer Jonstan has several of mine.”
“Let’s cut the crap, shall we,” she told me, loud enough for only me to hear. “We know you are under the influence of some kind of drugs and that you don’t exactly get along with your stepmother.”
I scoffed. “You will be hard-pressed to prove your words, Detective, since what you’re implying has no basis on facts,” I told her. “I know that you can use lies as a tactic of interrogation but acting like a prescribed medication is some illicit drug is a stretch.”
Det. Conner wrote some notes in her pad, probably labeling me as uncooperative.
“I know my rights, Det. Conner, and I know that as a minor you cannot speak to me without my father’s permission which you do not have,” I told her, lowering my tone so that she understood I was deadly serious. “So, back away from me right now.”
With her brows drawn together, she stood up, beginning to walk away. Then she stopped and turned on her heel. “There is the matter of you removing items from your sister’s locker,” she said. “I want the two boxes of stuff you removed. I don’t think I need to get a warrant, do I?”
I shook my head. “I will get them.”
Alarms rang in my head. I forgot to look through Nastasia’s things, and I couldn’t let them go without looking at them first. I didn’t exactly trust Det. Conner. Her concern seemed to be in wrapping up the case whether they caught the guilty party or not.
Ascending the stairs, I went to my sister’s room, switching on the light. Knowing I only had two minutes before I would spark the detective’s curiosity, I ran across the room. The boxes were across the room under the window. Opening the lid on one, I saw candles and bears. My camera was also in the box.
I pulled out my camera and sat it on the dresser.
I opened the second box which was about a quarter of the way filled. It contained her sister’s notebooks, loose-leaf papers, and pictures. I quickly spilled the contents on the floor, kicking it underneath the bed. Then I filled the box with half of the items from the first box. Sitting on the nightstand, there were some novels and old sketchbooks which my sister doodled in. I threw those in with a few pictures of friends that were laying about her room.
When I was done filling the box up with junk, I went downstairs, giving the boxes to Det. Conner. She seemed pleased with herself as she took the boxes from me.
Suddenly, my father came bursting through the door, looking around wildly before setting his gaze upon me. “Thank God. Are you okay?”
I ran straight into his arms, instantly feeling safe. “I am okay,” I told him, squeezing him tightly. “Where were you?”
Holding me close, I could hear his heart beating like a drum in his chest. “I had to go to the auto body shop. The alarms went off,” he told me. “The police are investigating a break in.”
“Can you verify that?” Det. Conner asked, standing in the front hall.
My father’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” my father answered her, appearing frustrated. “Ask the twenty or so cops that are still there.”
“Det. Conner,” an officer called, entering the front hall. “We didn’t find anything. Our guys couldn’t find fingerprints to lift. The suspect must have been wearing gloves. We couldn’t find footprints outside either.”
“Pack it up,” Det. Conner ordered. “There is nothing left to be done here.”
“But what about my wife’s attacker? How are we supposed to feel safe in this house?” my father asked, his eyes growing wide with anxiety.
As everyone filed out the door, she said, “I suggest you get an alarm system.”
Shattered Page 7
