Chapter Thirteen Whereabouts

CHAPTER THIRTEEN WHEREABOUTS

I was attempting to instil my artistic flourish on a sketch of the humble mitochondrion when the familiar beep of the school intercom sounded. The flurried scratching ceased as twenty pencils disengaged from their diagrams.

‘Can Sophie Gracewell please report to the principal’s office immediately.’

I could feel the colour draining from my face, the stares of my classmates. A small chorus of ooooh s came from the back of the room.

Ms Henderson, my biology teacher, glared at me over her glasses. ‘You’d better go, Sophie.’

I rolled my shoulders back and pushed my chair from the desk, trying not to appear worried. I walked, a lot slower than I could have, out the door and down the corridor to the principal’s office, praying that whatever was bringing me there was something minor.

The secretary was already on her feet, ushering me into the office, her cheeks flushed bright pink as she muttered her own chorus of ‘Come on, come on, hurry up now,’ her hands flapping around me as if the slight breeze would move me faster.

‘Ms Gracewell, we meet again.’

Oh, God, kill me now.

‘Detective Medina. Detective Comisky.’ I nodded curtly to each of them, keeping my smile tight, all the panic inside me corseting me in. ‘This is a surprise.’

‘Is it?’ said Comisky, his eyes slitting. He was leaning back against the desk. His suit was the colour of vomit. He gestured for me to sit. I sidled around Medina, who was hunched by a disused bookcase, and did as I was told, all too aware that by having the detectives standing above me, I was giving up vital higher ground.

I was also keenly aware that Principal Campbell was outside the door with her ear pressed up against the glass. She obviously had yet to be told that frosted glass is, in fact, still somewhat transparent.

‘Yes,’ I said, eyeing them both up. ‘Of course it’s a surprise.’ I lifted my chin and met their penetrative stares with my own. I had nothing to hide.

More or less.

‘We were sorry to hear about your mother,’ Medina said, flicking an affected glance at his partner. His eyes were softer, his stance a little more relaxed.

‘Is that why you’re here?’ I asked. ‘Because I told the detectives working the diner case that I don’t know any more than they do, and before you ask, no, I haven’t seen or heard from my uncle since it happened.’

Oh, and the next time I see him, I’ll be killing him. K?

Comisky shook his head, the movement bringing the faintest jiggle to his cheeks. ‘No, Ms Gracewell, that’s not why we’re here.’

I channelled Valentino and kept my features smooth.

‘Where are you staying, Sophie?’ Comisky asked, dispensing with the formalities. His big grey moustache was twitching in anticipation. Honestly, why do people grow moustaches in the first place? Do they set out to look like human terriers or does the look just sneak up on them?

‘With my friend,’ I said. ‘Until the guardianship paperwork gets sorted out. What with my uncle still being away…’ I shrugged, and then decided to try out the old puppy-dog-eyes routine to diminish my underlying aura of sarcasm.

Medina hunkered down until we were at eye level. I had the sudden urge to jump out the window and bolt all the way back to Evelina .

‘Ms Gracewell,’ he said carefully, ‘I am going to ask you a question now, and I want to make you very aware that if you don’t answer it one hundred per cent honestly, then you will be obstructing the course of justice and there will be consequences.’

My palms were starting to sweat. I pressed them together and tried to keep my movements very still. My brain was exploding with theories. I tried not to let it show. Did they know about Libero? Did they know what I was going to do on Saturday? Had the Falcones been arrested?

‘Are you listening, Sophie?’ Comisky asked, over Medina’s shoulder. He shoved himself away from the desk and plodded over to me. ‘Will you pay careful attention to what we’re saying?’ He looked like a very angry, very stout grandfather. But not the sweet kind. The I-drink-way-too-much-at-family-gatherings-and-shake-my-cane-at-children kind.

‘I’m listening.’ I tilted my head and fluttered my lashes, preparing my lie before I even knew what I would have to say. ‘Ask away.’

Medina shifted forward, his elbows finding purchase on his knees. ‘Sophie, do you know where your father is?’

‘Huh?’ I scrunched my nose. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Answer the question,’ he said.

‘That is my answer.’

Medina fell back on to his hunkers. He looked up at Comisky and another uneasy glance passed between them.

‘What’s going on? Where is my father?’

Medina stood up. ‘Sophie, your father was granted furlough from Stateville Correctional Center on Sunday morning for your mother’s remembrance ceremony.’

‘Yes.’ I could feel myself nodding, but all my immediate thoughts were wrapped up in what they were now attempting to tell me, and what I was praying wasn’t actually true. But I could feel it, sucking the ground out from underneath me, building and building, until it rolled back towards me like a tsunami.

‘And you were seen with him at the memorial service for your late mother,’ Comisky supplied.

Again, I said, ‘Yes.’

‘We know you two were in contact.’

‘The whole town knows. It’s not a secret.’

‘Do you know where he went after that ceremony?’ asked Medina.

‘Back to prison?’ I said. ‘Where he was supposed to go?’

Please say he went back to prison.

Please tell me this isn’t happening.

Medina’s lips disappeared, his mouth settling into a hard line. ‘No, Sophie. Your father didn’t go back to prison.’

‘He had an escort with him,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘I saw him. He was there the whole time. My father was being monitored. He had a guard,’ I repeated, as if I could convince them.

‘ Had being the operative word,’ said Medina. ‘That guard is now in hospital recovering from a severe concussion…’ He trailed off, expelling all the air in one long sigh, before adding, ‘Your father’s tracking bracelet has been deactivated, and your father is nowhere to be found.’

I gaped at them.

This was a joke. This had to be a joke.

‘We’ve been searching for him for several days,’ Comisky added.

‘And you’re only telling me this now ?’ I said, more shrilly than I meant to.

Another shared glance. ‘The situation is delicate,’ said Medina. ‘We didn’t want to alert you until…’ He trailed off.

I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Until you definitely couldn’t find him and you started to suspect my involvement, right?’

He nodded. ‘Something like that.’

‘Sophie,’ interrupted Comisky, picking up the thread and being a lot more gruff about it than Medina was, ‘let’s speak plainly. We want to know if you’re hiding him.’

Where were the words? Why weren’t they coming out? They were all jammed in a revolving door, struggling, pushing and prodding. I opened my mouth, all the dread piling on my tongue, gathering and pooling, until eventually, a sound sprang from me.

And that sound was laughter.

Manic, terrified laughter.

‘Detectives,’ I half-choked out. I patted my jean pockets for good measure, pretending to check if he was inside them. ‘Where the hell would I be hiding him?’

‘You tell us,’ said Comisky. ‘That’s why we’re here.’

I flopped into the chair, my head lolling backwards until all I could see were the flecks of grey on the ceiling. ‘Oh my God,’ I muttered. ‘ Oh my God .’

So the blood war raged on, and now my father was part of it too, standing across a trench of bloody history and relentless vendettas, right opposite me.