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“He really can be an asshole, can’t he?” the sergeant said flatly.
Her hand in yours, that little hand. She’s still so little. His stocky legs, that baby pudge. His cheeks, the one dimple. Her knobby knees, her dark, shining eyes. Their dad’s light scatter of freckles, his same broad forehead.
She sighed. “Yeah. Well. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can see them, so, let’s get this over with, okay?”
The boyish policeman couldn’t meet her eyes. The sergeant gave an awkward cough.
“Mmm-hmm, right. Then let’s take that walk, yeah? Let us know if it gets to be too much for you.”
From the sergeant’s tone, it was clear that telling them it was too much wasn’t an actual option.
She struggled back into her boots, fumbled at the zipper of her coat with her wrapped hand. The sergeant reached out to assist, and she recoiled.
“I’ve got it,” she said, turning away from him, zipping it up.
“We’re going to follow a track we made through the snow, all right?”
“Sure.”
“So that’s where you came out?” the sergeant asked, indicating the front double doors.
“Yes.”
“Those there.” He pointed. “Those are your footprints?”
She squinted at the soft indentations. It must have snowed since, or at least blown snow, because they only had slight dimension.
“I guess so.”
They followed her footprints at a remove along the side of the house, past the living room windows, the kitchen, around the corner of the garage, across the yard to the graveyard. They asked her to describe her escape again, and she pointed out the window she’d looked through and seen the Corner coming down the stairs, the path she’d made through the snow.
She felt tender inside, hurt in places that were normally concealed. When she stumbled, the boyish policeman gave her his arm. She didn’t want his hands near her, said she didn’t need help, but thanks.
“You said you fell around here?”
They were standing in the graveyard.
“Yeah, cut my hand. There, I guess? That’s probably my blood, that dark spot on the front of that gravestone? Where I caught myself.”
“You don’t remember for sure?”
“It was dark and I was running.”
The sergeant pointed at the house. “So, am I correct in saying you were standing here when you saw someone in that window up there, looking out?”
“Yes. That’s my bedroom window.”
“You know, it kind of looks like someone is standing there now, doesn’t it?”
She was bothered at how the sergeant’s voice seemed filled with practiced thoughtfulness. She squinted at the window in the fading evening light.
“Does it? It’s hard for me to see with my hurt eye.”
“Yeah,” the boyish officer agreed in a way that again struck her as rehearsed. “The pattern on the curtain, lit up like that from inside? It looks like a person.”
“You know, I’m pretty sure the curtain wasn’t closed at all, not that night. So…something for your list? That’s changed?”
“You’re ‘pretty sure’?”
