Trigger (16 page)

The detective nodded, tapping the notepad with his pencil. “Anything else?”

“I don’t think so. Should there be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Am I a suspect?”

“Not at the moment.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? If I’m not a suspect, why did you come here?”

The detective took another long look at me. “Because Dylan Whitman told me you were looking at him and Emma like you wanted to kill both him and her. And that you tried to push him off a very high cliff when you and he were out hiking one day recently. Did you do such a thing?”

I stared at the middle-aged man on the couch, the thoughts racing in my mind. I soon concluded that there was no point in denying what he’d said. I’d already told Ricki about the push and if this detective brought it up to Ricki, pressed her a little, she’d instantly crack. When it came to any type of authorities, Ricki cracked open as easily as a hardboiled egg. But I would give
my
version of that unfortunate cliff incident, which was clearly much different from Dylan’s. Even now, after I’d emailed him and tried explaining myself.

I quickly swallowed back the sudden sob that threatened to escape me and said, “Yes, I did, but not on purpose. It was really an accident. Kind of like a reflex, because, like I just told you, something about him totally freaked me out. I really thought he’d kill me. I know that sounds a bit out there, but that’s how I felt. I just
had
to get him off of me.”

The detective wrinkled his bushy eyebrows and contemplated me like I was an insect under a magnifying glass. Then he said, “May I ask you a personal question?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

“Are you the victim of some sort of sexual assault?”

“No.” I was the victim of other types of assault, but none of them had ever been remotely sexual. I didn’t feel like talking about my traumatic high school year, though, nor did I feel it was pertinent. I looked at the detective with earnestness. “For whatever it’s worth, you should know I’m truly grateful I didn’t succeed in pushing Dylan off that cliff. I don’t think I would’ve been able to live with myself if I’d done that.”

“I don’t blame you.” Brando got to his feet. “Well, I think we’re done here for now. Thanks so much for your time, Ms….” The detective looked down at his notepad, obviously searching for my surname.

“Nina. You can call me Nina. And I’m happy to help.”

I followed him to the door. When he was gone, I sank to the floor and began to cry.

Dylan

“What the hell?” I was reading articles online about the Emma Patterson murder. Almost a week had passed since the incident and no one had been arrested. How come Nina was still going free? Had that detective not listened to what I had told him? It
had
to have been she who did it!

I dialed up the station and asked to get connected to Detective Brando, who, miraculously, happened to be at his desk despite that it was a quarter to nine a Thursday evening.

“Brando,” a gruff voice said in my ear.

“Good evening, detective. This is Dylan Whitman. I came by your office last Saturday to tell you about the girl I used to date who I believe murdered Emma Patterson. Nina, Russian last name. Do you remember me?”

“Yes, I do. What can I do for you?”

“How come she hasn’t been arrested? Did you even speak to her?”

“Yes, I did speak to her and to the friend who was there with her that night. There isn’t any evidence or witnesses to warrant an arrest. All the girl was guilty of was drinking too much alcohol. So much so that she passed out at the club and had to be carried out. Being drunk and glaring at a guy with his ex in his arms isn’t a crime.”

“What about trying to push someone off a cliff to his death?”

“She told me something about you freaked her out and that the push was an unfortunate defense mechanism. An accident.”

“I freaked her out? I did nothing to freak her out! I’m telling you, this girl’s not right in the head!” But even as I said those words, something within me began to turn. The moment when Nina had pushed me materialized in my head. I tried to picture her face right before the push. But I couldn’t. Which wasn’t strange since I didn’t think I’d ever gotten a glimpse of it. An image of her face as she sat in my bed our first night appeared instead. An image of that weird expression on her face.

Had she actually been
scared
of me that night? Had I freaked her out somehow, prompting her to bolt?

“Besides,” Detective Brando continued, “you haven’t pressed charges against her. Do you want to press charges?”

“Press charges?” I thought about the detective’s unexpected question. Did I want to press charges against Nina? Why hadn’t I done so
already
if I truly thought she’d wanted to kill me?

Was it possible it had all been a misunderstanding after all?

“What exactly did she tell you about the incident?” I said. “Can you expand on the ‘unfortunate defense mechanism’ part?”

“Certainly. She told me something about the way you looked at one point made her think you were about to kill her. So she had no choice but to get you off of her by shoving you.”

“I looked like I was about to
kill her
? Why would she think that?”

“Who knows? Maybe something happened to her when she was a kid. Could be many reasons. What’s more important is that I think she truly believed that. Do you want to press charges or not?”

I sighed, no longer sure what to believe.

“No,” I said. “I don’t want to press charges. Not at the moment.”

“All righty then. Have a good evening.”

As we disconnected, I remained seated in my office chair, mulling over Nina’s extreme behavior. Was it possible I had in fact done something that caused her to freak out to the point she’d seen no other choice but to do what she’d done? I really hadn’t thought so—-especially since she hadn’t contacted me to try to explain herself. But after hearing Brando’s take on the situation, I had to admit to myself that maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’d jumped to conclusion about what had actually happened up on that mountain.

I thought back to the night at the Blue Moon. Was it possible I’d only imagined the fury on Nina’s face? Seen things that hadn’t really been there because I’d
wanted
to see them, thought they had to be there. I supposed it was possible. It had after all been dark at the club and I hadn’t exactly been sober either. And Nina was smaller than Emma, a lot smaller. Now that I thought about it some more, wouldn’t it have been hard for her to strangle Emma in the middle of a club? Especially if she had been so incredibly drunk? Wouldn’t someone have seen Nina struggling with the much taller girl at least? According to Brando, no one had.

I rested my head on my fingertips. I was exhausted. What with my already demanding work schedule, the stressful incidents with Nina that culminated with Emma’s death, I could use a vacation. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken one anyway. It must have been more than a year ago since I’d had three days off in a row.

“Are you crying?”

I looked up. Elisa stood before me, holding onto the doorframe to my office. She was dressed in a short white skirt and snug glittery top, her hair was done and there was lots of makeup on her face. She was either on her way to dinner with her girlfriends or a date.

“No, why would I be crying?” I said.

“I don’t know. You just looked like you were crying…” She peered at me. “Wow, you seem tired.”

“Yeah, I haven’t slept that much lately,” I replied and ran my hands through my hair. “Where are you going all dolled up?”

“I’m meeting up with Katya and Lisa for dinner. Girls’ night out.”

“Oh. So what are you doing here then?” I checked the time on my computer screen on my desk. “It’s almost nine already. Kind of late for dinner. Don’t you have to be up early?”

“Yeah, I do, but Katya doesn’t get out until nine and she needs to have some fun since Ethan dumped her, so I’m rallying. I can always make up sleep over the weekend.”

She walked up to my desk and dug for something in her Louis Vuitton purse. She fished out a pair of tickets and dropped them on the shiny black table top.

“Here you go,” she said. “Tickets for the Lakers this Saturday. Courtside seats. That should cheer you up a little. I had a few minutes to kill, so I figured I’d swing by your office to see if you were here.”

I grabbed the tickets and stared at them like I couldn’t believe they were for real. Then I looked up at my pretty blond sister and grinned wide.

“Thanks! That
will
cheer me up. How the hell did you manage to score those? The only seats I’ve been able to get are crappy ones at the top this year and I’m pretty connected.”

Elisa flashed me a content smile. “Well, clearly not as connected as your little sis these days. One of my clients is Kobe Bryant.”

My jaw dropped. “For real? Kobe’s your fucking client?”

“No, he’s not my ‘fucking client.’ I’m not a prostitute, you know. I just happened to get to work with him yesterday because my boss needed help.” Elisa smirked. “It’s really her client.”

I got to my feet, walked around my desk and gave my sister a bear hug, lifting her off the ground. “Thanks, sis. Watching a great game courtside is just what I need to feel better. I hope you get to go, too.”

“Another time. I figured you’d enjoy them more than I would.”

“That’s probably true.” Out of us two, I was definitely the bigger Lakers’ fan.

She slapped my arm with her purse. “Okay, gotta go, bro. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better now.”

“Definitely feeling better. Thanks again. Let me know if you need a ride home later. I’ll probably be here at the office another couple of hours. Have some work to catch up on.”

“Think we already have our designated driver, but thanks anyway. See ya later!”

Waving her hand, Elisa swished out of my office, her blond curls bouncing. I was still smiling long after she had left, thinking how lucky I was to have such a sweet and cool sister. After having spent years apart when I was in college, we were now much closer again, just like we’d been when we were small kids. I looked at the tickets in my hands. I’d bring Victor to the game. Victor hardly ever got out of the house ever since his third child was born less than six months ago. He’d appreciate it more than my buddies. I should text him immediately to make sure he could make it.

As I pressed the Send button, my thoughts moved to Nina again. Surely Victor would want an update on what was going on with her, if the cops had seen her yet.

What would I tell him? That the cops not only believed Nina was innocent, but that maybe I had only
imagined
Nina staring at Emma and me like she’d wanted to kill us? That maybe I’d jumped to conclusion about her being the killer? I didn’t feel like doing that. I preferred having something more substantial to offer my uncle. Something new that didn’t make me come across as such a wishy-washy pansy. I could imagine the way Victor would look at me otherwise, like I was an immature, reactive teenager all over again.

Victor’s response arrived in my phone a few minutes later, letting me know he would love to come with me to the Lakers’ game.

That was it. I better find out more about the situation with Nina before I faced my uncle this weekend. Find out whether it had all just been a chain reaction of misunderstandings.

Nina

I froze when I discovered Dylan standing outside my apartment door. I had just been to a movie with Ricki and it was eleven p.m. It was the first time since this past Sunday when that detective had come to my house, asking me all those terrible questions, that I’d been able to pull myself together enough to leave my house. It had taken me days to feel somewhat normal again, to convince myself that I couldn’t have done anything to that girl, no matter what Dylan believed. I had been drunk and furious, yes, but I hadn’t actually
murdered
someone. I had even called in sick to work the following day I’d felt so bad, something I had never done before.

Hair slicked back, Dylan was wearing a blue-gray suit and a serious expression, looking very much like the corporate lawyer that he was. I glared at him.
What the hell does he want?
Wasn’t it enough that he’d sent the police after me?

“I realize you can’t be very happy to see me,” he said before I got a chance to ask him either of those questions. “But I really have to talk to you. How are you?”

The earnestness in his voice combined with the surprising statements took the edge off my anger.

I walked up beside him and unlocked my front door. “I’ve been better.”

“Me, too. Definitely been a lot better.”

Holding onto the door, I took a closer look at him. He wasn’t quite as polished as I’d first assumed. There was stubble on his cheeks and the beginning of bags under his eyes. Actually, I realized, he looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept in forever and the whole world’s problems rested on his shoulders. Not unlike how I’d been feeling lately.

I held the door open for him to enter, not able to stay mad at him any longer. “Wanna come in?” I swallowed the words
That is, if you dare. I might try to kill you, you know
that wanted to roll off my tongue. This was not the time to be cute.

Without a word, he walked into the apartment and I followed. It was dark and quiet in the living room, suggesting that Lorna was either not at home or in her room. Because no light slipped out from under her bedroom door, I was pretty sure she was out. I flipped on the light and offered Dylan to take a seat on the couch. He sat on the edge of it, looking uncomfortable.

“Can I get you something?” I asked. I had decided to be nice and give him a chance to explain himself. See what it was he wanted to discuss so badly he’d come to my house despite thinking I was a murderer. “Something to drink? I have bottled water, Diet Coke. Milk, if you like that. But no cookies. Ate them all, unfortunately.” I gave him a half smile.

Dylan held up a hand. “Thanks, I’m fine. I just wanted to come by and talk to you a little. Thanks for letting me come in. I won’t be long. I realize it’s late.”