Part 10 (2/2)
”Okay. Foxes. The animals. What about them?”
”Do you want to see some?”
”Here?” Zach looked around. ”In Central Park?” A Mercedes drove by. Four bikes with riders tricked out in dazzling fluorescent zipped past.
”Yes, here. C'mon,” I said, taking off at a slow trot. ”Follow me!” I breathed deep, sucking in fox scent, weeding out all other odors. Mine. Zach's. Car fumes. Rubber. Urine. Rain getting ready to fall. I left the path and headed deeper into the park.
Zach followed.
When we came to the den, I led us upwind and crouched down on rocks behind bushes.
”Now what?” Zach asked.
”Now we wait.”
”But I don't see anything.”
I pointed at the brush a little downhill from us. ”In there is a fox den.”
”That's just bushes.”
”And a fox den.” I couldn't believe he didn't see the trampled gra.s.s. Or smell the sharp meat-eater odor. ”See those white and brown things lying there?” I pointed.
Zach nodded.
”Bones.”
”Fox bones?” Zach asked.
”No, bones of stuff they've eaten. Probably chipmunk or rabbit. Though mostly they get into the trash cans and eat our leftovers.”
”You're really serious? That there are foxes in there?”
”Yes! Shhh, now. Wait. You'll see.”
Zach blew air through his teeth but he hunkered down lower, his thigh brus.h.i.+ng mine.
When the first fox emerged it was dusk. Its snout was in the air, orange and white, black tip glistening, tongue hanging out.
”No s.h.i.+t,” Zach whispered. ”A fox!”
AFTER.
”When we interviewed you last Tuesday,” Detective Stein says, ”you said you'd never spoken to Zach.”
”Yes,” I say, because that's what I'd said. I don't like them calling him ”Zach.” They didn't know him. They should call him ”Zachary” like all the other clueless adults.
This is a house visit. Even though we live in an apartment. A tiny apartment. We are in the kitchen. My dad leans against the fridge next to Detective Rodriguez, who's leaning against the sink. They are mere inches from where me and Mom are seated side by side on the other side of the kitchen table from Detective Stein. I hope one of the bicycles falls on him.
Mom has offered both of the detectives coffee and tea and juice and water. They've rejected everything. She offers Rodriguez the seat next to Stein. He says no, he prefers to stand. At the last interview he sat and Stein leaned.
I figure they reject all forms of hospitality to make it clear that they don't trust me and thus, by extension, my parents. It feels petty. I wish I could ask them questions. Where did they find Zach? Who killed him? Why?
”Now, we hear that Zach's your boyfriend,” Stein says.
I look down at my hands. I want them to think that I am shy and afraid of them. Not that I am p.i.s.sed that I have to talk to them. Mom takes my left hand in hers and squeezes it. Like Yayeko did at the first interview.
”Is that correct?” Rodriguez asks.
”What?” I ask. Maybe if they think I'm stupid they'll leave me alone.
”Is it true that Zachary Rubin was your boyfriend?”
”He was Sarah Was.h.i.+ngton's boyfriend.”
Stein s.h.i.+fts in his seat and accidentally kicks the toaster under the table. There is a loud clang that echoes around the tiny kitchen.
”And also your boyfriend,” Detective Stein says, as if he hasn't just hurt his toes. ”Or was every student who told me that lying?”
He leans across the table. I can smell his breath. He's a smoker. He's tried to cover it up with something peppermint flavored, but the nicotine is stronger. Three of his fingers are stained yellow. ”I hear that it's you who tells lies. Is that true?”
The unanswerable question. So I don't. I stare at my fingers interlaced with Mom's. My nails need tr.i.m.m.i.n.g. Mom squeezes my hand a little tighter.
”You're a liar, aren't you, Micah?” Stein hisses at me.
”Is your rudeness necessary, officer?” my father asks in his calm tone of voice, which means he's really angry.
”Detective,” Stein and Rodriguez say at the same time.
”Detectives, I'd appreciate it if you didn't yell at my daughter. We agreed to this interview because we want to a.s.sist with your investigation. I don't want to call my lawyer, but I will.”
As far as I know Dad doesn't have a lawyer.
”Sorry, Mr. Wilkins,” Stein says, not sounding even slightly apologetic. ”We're trying to get to the truth.”
”We're very sorry, ma'am, sir,” Detective Rodriguez says, looking first at my mom and then my dad, and sounding more sincere. ”But we have to ask these questions. We can also conduct this interview at the station. We don't want to insist on that, but this is a criminal investigation.”
Dad opens his mouth to object and Stein talks across him. ”Was he your boyfriend, Micah?”
”No,” I say. We never used that word. Well, okay, sometimes I did, but in my thoughts, not out loud. Zach never called me anything but Micah. I glance at Dad, who gives me half a smile, but he is not happy. Mom's squeezing my hand again. I'm glad for the comfort of it, but I don't think it will continue after this interview.
”He wasn't your boyfriend?”
”No.” I think about telling them that it's a lie Brandon has been telling. He says he saw us kissing in Central Park. We never kissed, I could tell them. He's such a liar. It is dawning on me that I am a suspect. Not just at school but with the police.
”Did you see him outside school?” Stein's cheeks are red. He looks like he wants to shake me. I glance at Rodriguez. He's harder to read, but he doesn't seem kind.
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