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two hours.Questioning us.
And now it was close to dawn, and you know what? I was really, really tired
of beingquestioned .
But not so tired that I missed the implication in her words.
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"What do you mean, it sounds 'suspicious'?" I demanded. "What are you
suggesting?"
Special Agent Smith only regarded me thoughtfully with her pretty blue eyes.
I let out a laugh, even though I didn't really see anything all that funny
about it.
"Oh, I get it," I said. "You think Rob and I did it? You think Rob and I
kidnapped Heather and beat her up and left her for dead in that bathtub? Is
that what you think?"
"No," Special Agent Smith said. "Mr. Wilkins was working in his uncle's
garage at the time Heather first disappeared. We have a half dozen witnesses
who will attest to that. And you, of course, were with Mr. Leskowski. Again,
we have quite a number of people who saw you two together."
My jaw sagged. "Oh, my God," I said. "You checked on my alibi? You didn't
wake Mrs. Wilkins up, did you? Tell me you didn't call Rob's mom and wake her
up. Jill, how could you? Talk about embarrassing!"
"Frankly, Jessica," Special Agent Smith said, "your embarrassment doesn't
concern me at all. All I am interested in is finding out the truth. How did
you know Heather Montrose was in that house? The police searched there twice
after learning another girl had disappeared. They didn't find anything. So how
did you know to look there?"
I glared at her. Really, it was one thing to have the Feds following you
around and reading your mail and tapping your phone and all. It was quite
another to have them going around, waking up your future mother-in-law in the
middle of the night to ask questions about your dinner with another boy, who
wasn't even her son.
"Okay, that's it," I said, folding my arms across my chest. "I want a
lawyer."
It was at this point that the door to the little interrogation room a
conference room, Special Agent Smith had called it, but I knew better opened,
and her partner came in.
"Hello, again, Jessica," he said, dropping into a chair beside me. "What do
you want a lawyer for? You haven't done anything wrong, have you?"
"I'm a minor," I said. "You guys are required to question me in the presence
of a parent or guardian."
Special Agent Johnson sighed and dropped a file onto the tabletop. "We've
already called your parents. They're waiting for you downstairs."
I nearly beat my head against something. I couldn't believe it. "You told
myparents ?"
"As you pointed out," Special Agent Johnson said, "we are required to
question you in the presence "
"I was just giving you a hard time," I cried. "I can't believe you actually
called them. Do you have any idea how much trouble I'm going to be in? I mean,
I completely snuck out of the house in the middle of the night."
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"Right," Special Agent Johnson said. "Let's talk about that for a minute,
shall we? Just whydid you sneak out? It wasn't, by any chance, because you'd
had another one of your psychic visions, was it?"
I couldn't believe this. I really couldn't. Here Rob and I had done this
fabulous thing we'd saved this girl's life, according to the EMTs, who said
that Heather, though she was only suffering from a broken arm and rib and some
severe bruising, would have been dead by morning due to shock if we hadn't
come along and found her and all anybody could do was harp on how we'd known
where she was. It wasn't fair. They should have been throwing aparade for us,
not interrogating us like a couple of miscreants.
"I told you," I said. "I don't have ESP anymore, okay?"
"Really?" Special Agent Johnson flipped open the file he'd put on the table.
"So it wasn't you who put in the call to 1-800-WHERE-R-YOU yesterday morning,
telling them where they could find Courtney Hwang?"
"Never heard of her," I said.
"Right. They found her in San Francisco. It appears she was kidnapped from
her home in Brooklyn four years ago. Her parents had just about given up hope
of ever seeing her again."
"Can I go home now?" I demanded.
"A call was placed to 1-800-WHERE-R-YOU at approximately eight in the morning
yesterday from the Dunkin' Donuts down the street from the garage where Mr.
Wilkins works. But you wouldn't know anything about that, of course."
"I lost my psychic abilities," I said. "Remember? It was on the news."
"Yes, Jessica," Special Agent Johnson said. "We are aware that you told
reporters that. We are also aware that, at the time, your brother Douglas was
experiencing some, shall we say, troublesome symptoms of his schizophrenia,
that were perhaps exacerbated by the stress of your being so persistently
pursued by the press...."
"Not just the press," I said, with some heat. "You guys had a little
something to do with it, too, remember?"
"Regrettably," Special Agent Johnson said, "I do. Jessica, let me ask you
something. Do you know what a profile is?"
"Of course I do," I said. "It's when law enforcement officers go around
arresting people who fit a certain stereotype."
"Well," Special Agent Johnson said, "yes, but that's not exactly what I
meant. I meant a formal summary or analysis of data, representing distinctive
characteristics or features."
"Isn't that what I just said?" I asked.
"No."
Special Agent Johnson didn't have much of a sense of humor. His partner was
much more fun & though that wasn't saying much. Allan Johnson, it had often
occurred to me, just might be the most boring person on the entire planet.
Everything about him was boring. His mouse-colored hair, thinning slightly on
top and parted on the right, was boring. His glasses, plain old steel frames,
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were boring. His suits, invariably charcoal gray, were boring. Even his ties,
usually in pale blues or yellows, without a pattern, were boring. He was [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]