Part 11 (1/2)
They really believe I could have killed Zach. I move my head-something that's half nod and half shake. They take it as a yes.
”Why didn't you tell us last time that you knew him outside of school?” Stein asks.
”It was a secret. I promised I wouldn't tell anyone.”
”I'm sure,” Detective Rodriguez says, ”that Zach wouldn't have meant the police.”
Well, he's dead, isn't he? None of his wishes mean anything now. My promises are as dead as he is. I still don't want to talk about him. Not with them.
Detective Stein is leaning across the kitchen table, staring at me. It's creepy. I wish the table was wider. I wish the kitchen was bigger, too. Or that there was a living room. Instead of it being Mom and Dad's bedroom and where we watch TV.
”What did you do together outside of school?” Stein asks, in a tone of voice that implies we must have been doing something he didn't approve of.
I look at my mom. She squeezes my hand tighter. Dad nods and smiles.
”We ran,” I say. ”Training. I like to run.”
”She's very fast,” my dad says, sounding proud.
”Where did you run?” Rodriguez asks.
”Central Park mostly.”
”When did you last see him?”
”Friday night.”
”You ran at night?” Rodriguez says, as if that's unusual.
”Lots of people do,” Dad says, in a tone that says he thinks Rodriguez is stupid and from the sticks. It's one of Dad's favorite tones. Stein briefly transfers his glare from me to Dad. But then he's back to glaring at me. I want to tell him he's not getting to me but that would probably prove to him that he is.
”So you ran together? You didn't chat or go get a malted?” Stein asks.
”We ran,” I say. I wonder what a malted is. I know it doesn't matter. I don't want to think about them believing I killed Zach.
”What time did you stop running that night?”
”I'm not sure,” I say. ”Maybe 9:00 or 9:30?”
”Was it any different from your normal running sessions?” Rodriguez asks.
”No,” I say. ”We stretched. We practiced sprints. Then we did distance. A bit more than ten miles.”
”Ten miles?” Stein asks. ”What time did you start?”
”Must've been by 8:30.”
”You started your ten-mile run at 8:30 and were done by 9:30? What? You're running six-minute miles?” he asks. He thinks I'm lying. I never lie about running.
Six minutes? I am tempted to tell him that I go sub-five all the time. But Dad hates it when I show off. Besides, if they know how fast I run maybe that will make them suspect me more. ”We were running for a long time,” I say.
”I told you she's good, didn't I?” Dad says.
”We were building up to twenty-six,” I add.
”That's the length of a marathon,” Dad explains, to show them how stupid he thinks they are. ”Twenty-six miles, 385 yards.” He is not helping me.
”When you were done training that night,” Rodriguez says, ”what did you do?”
”Went home.”
”Did you go home together?”
”No,” I say, even though we did. ”He lives-lived-in Inwood and I'm all the way down here.”
”And that's the last time you saw him?” Rodriguez asks.
”Yes.”
”Did he seem upset?” Rodriguez asks, trying to sound concerned.
”No.”
”Did he say he was going to meet with anyone?”
”No. He said he was going home.” Didn't just say it. I ran with him every step of the way from the park to Inwood.
”Did he ever tell you he was afraid of anyone?” Stein wants to know.
”No. Never. I don't think he was afraid of anything.”
”Or anyone?”
I shake my head. He wasn't even afraid of me, which made him different from almost everyone else at school. Most of them are too scared to look me in the eye. It's like they think my lies are contagious. Or that looking at me will turn them into as big a weirdo as I am.
”What was his frame of mind when you last saw him?” Rodriguez asks.
Frame of mind? I want to mock him, but he is a policeman who thinks I might have killed Zach. ”He was tired. Beat. But he seemed happy. I didn't think it would be the last time I'd ever see him.” I have to concentrate to keep my voice steady. I can't cry in front of them.
”Was it the last time?”
”Yes,” I said. ”Like I told you.”
”We have an account from another student who says you saw him late Sat.u.r.day night. Or rather, early Sunday morning.”
Sarah. Had to be. Why had I lied to her about that? Because I wanted her to feel bad, wanted her to think I was the last one who kissed him, not her.
”No. You can ask Mom and Dad. I was here all of that Sat.u.r.day. Sunday, too.”
Rodriguez turned to Dad.