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Eddie’s gaze moved to the approaching policeman. I couldn’t quite read what was behind his eyes—I was still learning all of Eddie’s expressions—but he seemed to be turning thoughts in his head. Then he looked at me again, and something seemed to register. “Your feet.”
Before I could say anything about my bare feet, he reached past the open passenger door, looking for my flip-flops.
“Hey,” came the policeman’s voice, alarmed.
“Eddie, be careful,” I said.
The muscles of Eddie’s back tensed, and then he unfolded himself back out of the car, a flip-flop in each hand. He dropped them on the pavement next to my feet with a slap. He held my hand to help me keep balanced as I slid my feet into them.
“Don’t tell him about the truck,” he said, his voice low so that only I could hear.
“Why not?” I whispered.
“Just don’t.”
What did that mean? I hid my confusion by looking down as I scrunched the thong of each flip-flop between my toes. Then I looked up.
The policeman was alone. He was about thirty, with light brown skin and dark brown eyes. Tall and lean, with a gold wedding ring on his left hand. The night shift patrol guy, summoned by the ER nurse.
“Hi there,” he said, pausing a few feet from us. His feet were spread slightly, and one hand was on his belt, a pose that was anything but casual. “I hear you brought a young lady to the hospital.”
“Yes, we did,” I said.
The policeman looked at me with my bloodstains, then Eddie with his bloodstains and army bulk. He looked at our car, parked haphazardly behind us, the engine running, the back door still gaping open where Eddie had dragged out Rhonda Jean. There was blood smeared on the inside of the door.
There was a second in which the policeman obviously didn’t know what to do. This close to the lake and all of the vacationers, I imagined his training had mostly to do with drunk kids, summer break-ins, and loud parties that ran too late. It was doubtful he’d come across a stabbed girl and her two bloody rescuers before. Still, the uncertainty lasted only briefly before he said in a calm voice, “You’ll excuse me if I take a simple precaution.”
He walked to the driver’s side of the car, leaned in, and turned off the car, taking the keys and pocketing them. Then he came back around the car to us.
He pulled a notebook from his pocket and flipped it open, taking out a pen. “What are your names?” he asked, still keeping his distance.
“Eddie Carter,” Eddie said. “This is my wife, April.”
“Delray,” I said as the policeman wrote in his notepad. “My name is actually April Delray. I haven’t had time to change it yet.”
The policeman looked at my wedding ring, then up at me, questioning.
“We’re just married,” I said into the silence.
“We were on our way to the Five Pines Resort for our honeymoon,” Eddie added.
“Your honeymoon, huh?” the policeman said. He made another note, writing carefully. “You said it’s called Five Pines?”
“Yes,” Eddie said.
The policeman wrote that down. “Okay. My name is Officer Syed. Maybe we can talk inside?” He gestured behind him to the hospital.
He was still nervous. He was hiding it well, but his stance was tense, and the notebook was gripped too hard in his hand. He was a lone patrolman with no partner, faced with two people who might be murderers, and one of those people was very big and strong.
Assert your authority, I wanted to tell him. Act like you are already in control. That’s how you dominate someone bigger than you.
Instead, I smiled at him and said, “Sure, Officer. Lead the way.”
The look he gave me was wary and surprised at the same time. “After you,” he said.
Eddie and I walked into the hospital, where Officer Syed directed us down a hallway, away from the ER. We saw no one except the duty nurse and one orderly, both of whom stared at us without bothering to hide it. This was a small hospital in a small town at three in the morning, and except for Rhonda Jean, we were the only ones here.
Officer Syed led us to a room with a sofa, a TV, and two chairs—a staff break room. He directed us to the sofa and sat in one of the chairs.
