After the third detective asked me the same list of questions, which I now answered quickly and unemotionally, theyoung woman dropped off another bottle of water for me and gave me a sympathetic smile. Another fifteen minutes passed in silence, and I jumped to my feet. I was done. They could either put me back in cuffs and read me my rights or I was leaving.
I yanked on the door and was a little surprised to find it was unlocked. Outside the door, the young officer spoke with one of her colleagues. When I stepped out of the room, she took two quick strides to stand beside me.
“Dr. Vaughn, do you need something?” She inclined her head to her left. “The ladies’ room is this way. I can show you.”
It was obvious she was babysitting me, which I probably should have expected but hadn’t, this being my first time in police custody. Caught off guard, all I could do was follow her down the hall. She waited for me, then escorted me back to that God-awful room.
I slowed down, forcing her to nearly stop to give me time to catch up to her. “Officer Downy, could I keep going and walk right out the front door?”
“You certainly could. You’re not under arrest.” The young officer dropped her voice. “But the thing is, the investigators will just come back, again and again. To your home, your business. Once they label you as uncooperative, they’ll use it as a reason to be as rude and disruptive to your life as they can.” She shrugged. “If it were me, I’d just stay and get it over with.”
I was being handled. I knew it, even as I nodded along to her soft-spoken words. But knowing and doing something about it were two different things, and I could endure the monotony of the questioning and the small, stifling room a little longer.
She opened the door to the interrogation room. In thedistance, a dog barked. I turned my head in the direction of the sound.
“Yes, that’s Bella,” she answered my unasked question. “She’s a sweetheart. She’s charmed everyone in the station.”
A sense of peace settled over me, knowing the dog was all right. “And the man who came in with her?”
“He’s still here. He won’t let the dog out of his sight.” She frowned. “He hasn’t ingratiated himself to my fellow officers. He must really care about you.” She swept her arm in front of her, reminding me that I was being deposited back into the small, windowless room with a metal table and two chairs, by myself.
I only had a few minutes to pace and sigh and mentally run through gratitude exercises, this time adding Bella’s continued safety and Kyle not leaving me here alone to my list. Then the door opened again, and my new interrogator joined me. It was the man in black, the one who’d seemed to be in charge at the scene of my detainment. He sat down and placed a manila folder on the table in front of him.
“Ms. Vaughn, please have a seat,” he said. His voice was flat, unemotional.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “It’s Dr. Vaughn.” Normally, I didn’t insist on the title. But under the circumstances, given the ongoing detainment, excruciating boredom, and obviously useless fishing expedition, I was pretty damned salty.
“Dr. Vaughn, please have a seat.” He smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. “This won’t take long.”
I sat down but kept my arms crossed in front of me.
This session began with the same series of questions as the previous ones.
How did you come to be in possession of a female English Staffordshire on the date of August 11th?
I found her on Centennial Street. She was alone, and had no collar.
Why didn’t you check in the pet supply store to find her owner?
She wasn’t in front of the store and I had no reason to believe her owner, if she even had one, was there.
Where did you think the dog had come from?
Could have been from anywhere. She could have been dumped in the town square. A box of abandoned kittens was found in the gazebo there this past May.
What condition was the dog in when you found her?
She was dehydrated, emaciated, and in obvious distress.
I nearly launched into a recitation of the rest of my answers, but he spoke too quickly.
“Tell me about your sister.”
“My sister?” That threw me completely off my game. “What does Lizzie have to do with any of this?”
“I’m hoping you can tell me.” He clasped his hands on top of the folder.
The question, his blank countenance, the manila folder, all raised my hackles. “Lizzie lives in Arizona. What could she possibly know about a stray dog in Maryland, Mr…? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name, detective.”
