Criminal by Terra Elan McVoy

would be appreciated.”
    I stared at both of them. Suspect. This man was calling Dee a suspect . I remembered his name then. DuPree. He was like this the other day too. Nice as pie. Like he was just coming over for a cup of coffee. And not in a fake way, either. In a way that made you almost want to do what he said. And now he was here. Here on our step.
    Bird turned and looked at me, though she was talking to the police.
    â€œWhy. On earth. Would my car. Be anywhere near some ‘investigation’?”
    I wanted to sink into the ground, disappear. Bird’s eyes on me, full of rage, and the lights on top of the police cars, spinning. They could be at Dee’s house, doing the same kind of search. He could be arrested. There were witnesses. My whole body was water. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
    â€œMs. Brown, this shouldn’t take much of your time. We’d appreciate it if you’d just let us begin.”
    I expected her to scream at them, throw herself in front of her precious Mustang, act crazy like a lady on TV, but she just made this defeated gesture toward the car and sighed. “Let me get the keys.”
    I hadn’t moved—couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t believe any of this. She got past me again, somehow, without even touching me. I heard her in the kitchen, the sound of her jangling key chain, murmuring to Jamelee. Lifting her into her arms. When she came back toward the door, I stepped out of the way. Found my voice.
    â€œBird, I—”
    â€œYou ain’t speaking to me,” she hissed, gliding past. She gave the detective her keys and then stood there, at the top of the driveway, watching them. Solid and unmoving, save to bounce the baby up and down a little. I wasn’t sure what do to or where to go. Were they going to search the house? Had I really gotten rid of everything? I wanted to run to my back room, checkeverything one more time, make sure there was nothing, but another part of me—the truly terrified part—made me stay on the top step, riveted. Watching every move the police made: pulling on their gloves, sliding the seats forward, going through the compartments, opening the trunk, lifting up the floor mats, slipping their hands down in between the seat cushions. Even, of course, looking for fingerprints. A cold sweep came over me as I realized I’d forgotten to wipe down the car again after the other night. Would they find anything, or would it all just be a bunch of smears by now? Could they tell how old they were? Would it matter?
    I was so tense, so afraid, that I nearly screamed when I saw the officer in the backseat drop something square and shiny into a clear plastic bag. Dee’s condom wrapper. Shoved between cushions in the backseat after we’d done it on Saturday. The earlier one, from Wednesday night, I’d known enough to pick up and shove in my purse. By that point, I was on my guard. But this one—this I hadn’t thought about. Maybe I’d been too freaked out then to even care. Too turned on to notice. But now it mattered. Now it could make a difference. Even after the officer put it away, it still stayed burning in my mind. Dee’s spit could be on there, from when he tore it open with his teeth. Gunpowder residue from his fingers might have lingered—I didn’t know. All I thought was that this was from Saturday, andthere could be anything on it. Even the smallest thing could trace him to that day, that moment. To Bird. And there they were, placing it in that bag.
    I almost fell to the ground. It was all I could do to stay standing up, to not plead with them not to take it, swear to them . . . what, I didn’t know. The awfulness of what I did know—and what it would mean to Dee if I said any of it—was all that kept me shocked and silent.

THEY WENT THROUGH THE ENTIRE CAR. TOOK A COUPLE OF other things out, but nothing that stopped my heart in