Love You More - Lisa Gardner [45]
“I was spending the night at my best friend’s house,” I said at last. “Juliana Howe. Thomas was her older brother. The last few times I’d been over, he’d made some comments. If we were alone in a room together, he stood too close, made me feel uncomfortable. But I was sixteen. Boys, particularly older boys, made me uncomfortable.”
“Then why’d you spend the night?” D.D. wanted to know.
“Juliana was my best friend,” I said quietly, and in that moment I felt it all again. The terror. Her tears. My loss.
“You brought a gun,” the detective continued.
“My father gave me the gun,” I corrected. “I’d gotten a job in the food court at the mall. I often worked till eleven, then had to walk out to my car in the dark. He wanted me to have some protection.”
“So he gave you a gun?” D.D. sounded incredulous.
I smiled. “You’d have to know my father. Picking me up in person would have meant getting involved. Handing me a twenty-two semiauto I had no idea how to use, on the other hand, got him off the hook. So that’s what he did.”
“Describe that night.” Bobby spoke up quietly.
“I went to Juliana’s house. Her brother was out; I was happy. We made popcorn and had a Molly Ringwald movie marathon—Sixteen Candles, followed by Breakfast Club. I fell asleep on the sofa. When I woke up all the lights were off and someone had put a blanket over me. I assumed Juliana had headed up to bed. I was just going to follow when her brother walked through the front door. Thomas was drunk. He spotted me. He …”
Both detectives and my lawyer waited.
“I tried to get around him,” I said finally. “He cornered me against the sofa, pressed me down into it. He was bigger, stronger. I was sixteen. He was nineteen. What could I do?”
My voice trailed off again. I swallowed.
“May I have some water?” I asked.
My lawyer found the pitcher bedside, poured me a glass. My hand was shaking when I raised the plastic cup. I figured they couldn’t blame me for the show of nerves. I drank the whole cup, then set it down again. Given how long it had been since I’d last given a statement, I had to think this through. Consistency was everything, and I couldn’t afford a mistake this late in the game.
Three pairs of eyes waited for me.
I took another deep breath. Gripped the blue button and thought about life, the patterns we made, the cycles we couldn’t escape.
Sacrifice judiciously.
“Just about when … Thomas was going to do what he was going to do, I felt my purse, against my hip. He had me pinned with the weight of his body while he worked on the zipper of his jeans. So I reached down with my right hand. I found my purse. I got the gun. And when he wouldn’t get off me, I pulled the trigger.”
“In the living room of your best friend’s house?” Detective Warren said.
“Yes.”
“Must’ve made a helluva mess.”
“Twenty-two’s not that big of a gun,” I said.
“What about your best friend? How’d she take all this?”
I kept my gaze on the ceiling. “He was her brother. Of course she loved him.”
“So … DA clears you. Court seals the records. But your father, your best friend. They never forgave you, did they.”
She made it a statement, not a question, so I didn’t answer.
“Is that when you started drinking?” Detective Dodge asked.
I nodded wordlessly.
“Left home, dropped out of school …” he continued.
“I’m hardly the first officer with a misspent youth,” I retorted stiffly.
“You got pregnant,” Detective Warren said. “Grew up, wised up, and sobered up. That’s a lotta sacrifice for a kid,” she commented.
“No. That’s love for my daughter.”
“Best thing that ever happened to you. Only family you have left.”
D.D. still sounded skeptical, which I guess was warning enough.
“You ever hear of decomposition odor analysis?” the detective continued, her voice picking up. “Arpad Vass, a research chemist and forensic anthropologist, has developed a technique for identifying the more than four hundred body vapors that emanate from decaying flesh. Turns out, these vapors get trapped in soil, fabrics—even, say, the carpet in the back of a vehicle. With