Part 3 (1/2)
Emily wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. ”You get all that defensive training, you know? I wasn't even going to be a police officer and I got it. And I paid attention. I thought it was important.” She s.h.i.+vered, some memory stirring her.
Jamie winced, wished she could make this all go away.
”But it didn't help,” she whispered. ”I didn't do any of the things we learned. I couldn't even think. I just shut down.” She looked up, tracks of tears like stripes on her face. ”I just laid there and let him do it.”
Jamie felt her own tears well and fought them back. ”It's not your fault, Emily. Whatever happens, you cannot blame yourself for this.” Jamie searched for something more to say but came up empty.
Emily straightened her back. ”Let's get this over with.”
Jamie stood. ”You're sure?”
”Positive. I just want it over.”
Jamie slowly began the process. ”Let's start with his hands. You think he wasn't wearing gloves, so where do you remember his hands?”
”He touched my-” She caught her lip in her teeth. ”My neck. He grabbed it.”
Using clear tape on the skin, Maxi tried to lift prints off of her neck. The process took ten minutes and in the end, Maxi shook her head. No prints. They printed her hands, arms, and inner thighs with the same result.
”Okay, Emily. The last thing we have to do is talk about the s.e.xual a.s.sault. Did he put his p.e.n.i.s in your mouth?”
”No.” Emily cupped her face and started to sob. ”Thank G.o.d, no.”
They'd already taken a v.a.g.i.n.al swab, so the physical collection was done. ”I think we're ready for that c.o.ke now.”
”I'll go,” Maxi said.
”Thanks.” Jamie pulled money from her pocket and offered it to Maxi, but she waved it away.
”You want diet or regular?”
”Regular,” Emily said.
”You?” she asked Jamie.
”Regular's perfect.”
Maxi left and Emily turned to Jamie. The tears had momentarily subsided when Emily said, ”G.o.d, I wish I was just regular again.”
Jamie exhaled, the knot in her gut heavier than ever. ”Me, too, Emily. Me, too.”
When Maxi returned, they drank their c.o.kes while Maxi photographed Emily using a highly-sensitive film designed to pick up any marks that were emerging on the skin. Aside from the obvious injuries, Emily had a series of bruises that had yet to fully form and a jagged mark inside her thigh that Jamie suspected may have been caused by the knife during their struggle.
”We're done with the physical evidence. I just need to ask about anything he might have said.”
Emily's mouth dropped open. ”G.o.d, I almost forgot.” She paused and the weight of Emily's stare felt like a physical burden.
”What did he say?” she asked.
”He said to tell the inspector h.e.l.lo.”
Chapter 6.
Jamie arrived at the station at 1:10 a.m. The a.s.sistant district attorney, Chip Was.h.i.+ngton, was seated in an interview room, drinking bottled water. Jamie set her things down, poured a cup of thick, overcooked coffee, and brought it to the table.
Was.h.i.+ngton wore navy sweatpants and a gray Cal Berkeley sweats.h.i.+rt along with his dress shoes. ”Nice outfit.”
He glanced at his feet. ”They were the closest to the door when the phone rang.”
”Sorry.”
He shook his head. ”Don't be.”
”Any word on what CSU found at Marchek's?” she asked, afraid of the answer.
”No hood, no blood. They're doing a sweep for fibers, but you've been in his house.”
”He's clean.”
Was.h.i.+ngton raised a brow. ”That's an understatement. He's obsessive.”
Jamie dropped her head. ”Christ.”
”They did find a single blond hair on a jacket in the closet,” Was.h.i.+ngton said.
She looked up. ”Emily Osbourne is blond.”
Was.h.i.+ngton nodded. ”I sent someone to General Hospital to pick up her sample.” He glanced at his watch. ”That was an hour ago. They promised to run it ASAP and call me.” He patted his cell phone.
”You want to wait for the call?”
Was.h.i.+ngton shook his head. ”Let's bring him in.”
”Try to shake something loose? I did this earlier tonight and it didn't get the reaction I'd hoped for.”
”Maybe we can nail him now. He didn't have long to clean himself up.”
”I hope you're right.” Jamie buzzed the guards to bring Marchek in. The process took him out of jail custody and into hers. It looked good for the record, that they'd treated him respectfully. She made a note about offering him something to drink. That looked good, too. Somehow, though, she always managed to forget to actually do it.
Though the interview room was barely large enough to fit a table and four chairs, Marchek would come here. The room they'd used before was bigger, more industrial. This had more of a conference room feel and she hoped a new venue might make Marchek more agreeable. She needed every little edge.
She wanted him to think he was about to leave. The closer to freedom he felt, the more apt she was to get something out of him. This was just a little chat between old friends.
Marchek arrived a few minutes later. He wore jeans and a T-s.h.i.+rt, shoes without socks. They'd dragged him from home without any notice.
She thanked the officers for bringing him over and motioned Marchek to a chair.