her mouth with tissue, and walked to the sink counter . Megan pulled out the little bottle of pills she'd just bought at the CVS and poured two pink pills into her hand. She tossed them into the back of her throat, grabbed her hair with one hand, and bent down to drink from the faucet. Just as she stood, the bathroom door opened and in walked Officer Storey from booking.
"What a nightmare, huh ? I've never seen it so crazy."
Megan swallowed and let go of her hair . "I know what you mean."
Officer Storey entered a stall and locked the door behind her. Megan took one more look in the mirror, hating everything she saw.
***
"I'm sorry you've had to wait so long," a female cop said, as she entered the interrogation room and sat across from Carrie. "I'm Detective Megan Ash."
Detective Ash extended her hand across the table. Carrie pumped it once and pulled her arm back, noting the clammy hand.
The detective set her notebook down and turned to a page that was already half filled with notes. Carrie watched from the other side of the table as Detective Ash read through the page, flipping her auburn hair back when it fell into her eyes. She kept her fingernails short. It was a habit of Carrie's to glance at a woman's fingernails when she first met them. Short nails, something they had in common. You can't get rubber gloves over a sharply manicured nail and expect the gloves not to get sliced open at some point. She assumed that the same hygiene policy applied to shooting a gun.
But something else caught her eye.
The detective's fingers quivered. Carrie imagined it might've been the pressure she had on her wrist as she rested it against the table while she read.
But maybe not.
Detective Ash raised her gaze to Carrie, leaned back into her chair, exhaled as if that little movement took an enormous amount of effort, then asked, "Ms. Atwood, how well do you know Dr. Randall?"
Carrie looked off and shrugged . "As well as anyone knows a person they've worked with for many years."
"How many years would that be?"
"Well, it's been four years, I guess. We worked together for four years." Carrie didn't want to mention Paulette and Trevor. No need to bring them up.
"But you're not working together anymore?"
"No."
"And why is that?"
"John, umm…Dr. Randall had to take a leave of absence."
"Had to?"
"Well, chose to."
"Did he choose to , or was he told to?"
Carrie fidgeted in her chair, not wanting to have to tell the story. It was such a sad story, and she hadn't thought about it for a long time—until John showed up, and it all came rushing back. Just six hours ago, when she rushed in to find John sitting on the edge of the table, hunched over, drunk and bloody. In a flash, she relived that terrible night one year ago. But she had work to do, and she was able to block it out while she concentrated on cleaning John up and getting the stitches started.
"Ms. Atwood?"
"I'm sorry."
"Did he choose to go?"
"Yes. He chose to leave."
"And why was that?"
"He…his…he lost his wife and son in a car accident."
Detective Ash nodded and wrote in her book. Carrie felt compelled to say more, as if that explanation just wasn't enough.
"He loved them very much . He was a great husband and father. He's very kind and loving. One of the best men I've ever worked with."
The detective set her pen down. She watched and listened as Carrie went on and on about John, only interrupting occasionally to get clarification. She took very few notes.
Finally, she asked, "What did he tell you about what happened to him early this morning?"
The question caught Carrie off guard , and she had to bring herself back to the fact that this was the reason she was here in the first place. "He said he thought he might have hurt someone."
"Did he say who?"
"No. Just that he thought he might have run her over."
"Run her over ? Like with his car?"
"I guess so."
"Did he say who the woman was?"
"No."
"Did he say where this happened?"
"No."
"How
"What a nightmare, huh ? I've never seen it so crazy."
Megan swallowed and let go of her hair . "I know what you mean."
Officer Storey entered a stall and locked the door behind her. Megan took one more look in the mirror, hating everything she saw.
***
"I'm sorry you've had to wait so long," a female cop said, as she entered the interrogation room and sat across from Carrie. "I'm Detective Megan Ash."
Detective Ash extended her hand across the table. Carrie pumped it once and pulled her arm back, noting the clammy hand.
The detective set her notebook down and turned to a page that was already half filled with notes. Carrie watched from the other side of the table as Detective Ash read through the page, flipping her auburn hair back when it fell into her eyes. She kept her fingernails short. It was a habit of Carrie's to glance at a woman's fingernails when she first met them. Short nails, something they had in common. You can't get rubber gloves over a sharply manicured nail and expect the gloves not to get sliced open at some point. She assumed that the same hygiene policy applied to shooting a gun.
But something else caught her eye.
The detective's fingers quivered. Carrie imagined it might've been the pressure she had on her wrist as she rested it against the table while she read.
But maybe not.
Detective Ash raised her gaze to Carrie, leaned back into her chair, exhaled as if that little movement took an enormous amount of effort, then asked, "Ms. Atwood, how well do you know Dr. Randall?"
Carrie looked off and shrugged . "As well as anyone knows a person they've worked with for many years."
"How many years would that be?"
"Well, it's been four years, I guess. We worked together for four years." Carrie didn't want to mention Paulette and Trevor. No need to bring them up.
"But you're not working together anymore?"
"No."
"And why is that?"
"John, umm…Dr. Randall had to take a leave of absence."
"Had to?"
"Well, chose to."
"Did he choose to , or was he told to?"
Carrie fidgeted in her chair, not wanting to have to tell the story. It was such a sad story, and she hadn't thought about it for a long time—until John showed up, and it all came rushing back. Just six hours ago, when she rushed in to find John sitting on the edge of the table, hunched over, drunk and bloody. In a flash, she relived that terrible night one year ago. But she had work to do, and she was able to block it out while she concentrated on cleaning John up and getting the stitches started.
"Ms. Atwood?"
"I'm sorry."
"Did he choose to go?"
"Yes. He chose to leave."
"And why was that?"
"He…his…he lost his wife and son in a car accident."
Detective Ash nodded and wrote in her book. Carrie felt compelled to say more, as if that explanation just wasn't enough.
"He loved them very much . He was a great husband and father. He's very kind and loving. One of the best men I've ever worked with."
The detective set her pen down. She watched and listened as Carrie went on and on about John, only interrupting occasionally to get clarification. She took very few notes.
Finally, she asked, "What did he tell you about what happened to him early this morning?"
The question caught Carrie off guard , and she had to bring herself back to the fact that this was the reason she was here in the first place. "He said he thought he might have hurt someone."
"Did he say who?"
"No. Just that he thought he might have run her over."
"Run her over ? Like with his car?"
"I guess so."
"Did he say who the woman was?"
"No."
"Did he say where this happened?"
"No."
"How
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