Anna Dressed in Blood - Kendare Blake [40]
Saying anything to Carmel and Thomas would be stupid. They’d instinctively look over their shoulders and that would be suspicious as hell. So I just wait, discreetly tearing Anna’s obituary out of the brittle newspaper. I ignore Carmel’s furious hiss of “You can’t do that!” and put it into my pocket. Then I discreetly cover the newspaper up with books and schoolbags and point down to a picture of a cuttlefish.
“Any idea where that fits in?” I ask. They’re both looking at me like I’ve come unglued. Which is fine because the librarian has turned and pointed at us. The cops are starting to make their way back to our table, just like I knew they would.
“What are you talking about?” Carmel asks.
“I’m talking about the cuttlefish,” I say mildly. “And I’m telling you to look surprised, but not too surprised.”
Before she can ask, the tramping noise of two men laden down with cuffs, flashlights, and sidearms is loud enough to warrant turning around. I can’t see her face, but I hope she doesn’t look as mortifyingly guilty as Thomas does. I lean into him and he swallows and pulls himself together.
“Hi, kids,” the first cop says with a smile. He’s a stout, friendly looking guy who’s about three inches shorter than me and Carmel. He handles this by staring Thomas directly in the eyes. “Doing some studying?”
“Y-yeah,” Thomas stutters. “Is there something wrong, Officer?”
The other cop is poking around our table, looking at our open textbooks. He’s taller than his partner, and leaner, with a hawk’s nose full of pores and a small chin. He’s bug ugly, but I hope not mean.
“I’m Officer Roebuck,” the friendly one says. “This is Officer Davis. Mind if we ask you kids some questions?”
A group shrug passes amongst us.
“You all know a boy by the name of Mike Andover?”
“Yes,” Carmel says.
“Yes,” Thomas agrees.
“A little,” I say. “I just met him a few days ago.” Damn this is unpleasant. Sweat is breaking out on my forehead and I can’t do anything about it. I’ve never had to do this before. I’ve never gotten anyone killed.
“Did you know that he’s disappeared?” Roebuck watches us each carefully. Thomas just nods; so do I.
“Have you found him yet?” Carmel asks. “Is he all right?”
“No, we haven’t found him. But according to eyewitnesses, you two were among the last people seen with him. Care to tell us what happened?”
“Mike didn’t want to stay at the party,” Carmel says easily. “We left to go hang somewhere else, we didn’t exactly know where. Will Rosenberg was driving. We were out on back roads off of Dawson. Pretty soon Will pulled over and Mike got out.”
“He just got out?”
“He was upset about me hanging with Carmel,” I interrupt. “Will and Chase were trying to make nice, calm him down, but he wouldn’t go for it. He said he was going to walk home. That he wanted to be by himself.”
“You are aware that Mike Andover lived at least ten miles from the area you’re talking about,” Officer Roebuck said.
“No, I didn’t know,” I reply.
“We tried to stop him,” Carmel pipes up, “but he wouldn’t listen. So we left. I thought he would just call later, and we’d go pick him up. But he never did.” The ease of the lie is disturbing, but at least it explains the guilt clearly written on all of our faces. “He’s really missing?” Carmel asks shrilly. “I thought—I hoped it was just a rumor.”
She sells it for us all. The cops visibly soften at her worry. Roebuck tells us that Will and Chase took them out to where we dropped Mike off, and that there was a search party started. We ask if we can help but he waves us off like it’s better left to professionals. In a few hours Mike’s face should be plastered all over the news. The entire city should have mobilized into the woods with flashlights and raingear, combing for traces of him. But somehow I know that they won’t. This is all Mike Andover is going to get. One lame search party and a few questioning cops. I don’t know how I know. Something in their eyes, like they’re walking half-asleep. Like they can’t wait for it