Blood On Her Hands

Chapter 8

The glass of water sitting beside me dripped with condensation. The droplets added to the thin rim formed at the base of the cup, creating a small pool. I traced a finger down the side of the glass, creating a streak of clarity. 

The man I had thought was trying to kill me sat across from me. Though we sat at his desk, cluttered with paper, pens, and the occasional bobble head, he pulled his chair over so that nothing stood between us. I followed the outline of his loosely crossed legs to the bright socks pulled up past his ankles. They had cartoon French bulldogs on them. The glimpse of silliness behind his status as a detective was what probably lured me into following him to the police station. Not that I had much of a choice. 

Without the idea that he was going to kill me biasing me, I realized how good natured the detective's face was. His face was round, giving his features a childish quality. The wide set of his eyes only magnified that. I had seen him smile at someone when we entered the station together and saw he must have had the world's deepest dimples. He was youthful and I could tell from the way the older officers stared at him, he was one the younger of the bunch. 

He leaned over in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. I wanted to lean back. It felt like we were too close, like he could see me too well. 

"As I previously stated, I am Detective Mac." 

I still wanted to giggle when he said it. The name Mac reminded me of mac and cheese. It was slightly embarrassing to think I had been afraid of someone called Mac. It was like running from a man named Bubbles.  

All Detective Mac had said when he stopped me from racing out of the market was that he wanted to ask me some questions about Adonis's case. He hadn't mentioned how he had been following me around and I didn't know if I should let him know that I noticed him. He hadn't lied to me yet but there was something deceptive about how little he was saying. If he really wanted to have a chat about Adonis, he could have called to schedule a meeting or dropped by the house. He had been following me, purposefully trying to go undetected, for a reason. 

"Are you listening?"

With a jolt, I realized Mac had been talking. I turned beet red. 

"Sorry." 

He sat back and rested an arm along the table's edge. "You know what? Let's be frank with each other." 

His tone had taken on a casual nature that got the looks of a few surrounding officers. I was certain that despite having their heads buried in paperwork, they were all listening. People had to be coming in and out of this station all the time. What made this case or interaction particularly interesting? 

"I was following you around today," Mac said. "But you knew that already. You knew since the library." 

I stiffened. My hand grasped the arm of my chair tightly, the adrenaline of thinking I was in danger still lingering. I stared at the chips in my nail polish like they would tell me what to say. He would ask how I knew. Was it a good idea to tell him about the anonymous caller? 

"Am I that bad at my job or did someone tip you off?" 

"Why were you following me?" I must have taken Mac's statement about being frank seriously because I rambled on and on. I wanted him to know he couldn't play around with me. I wasn't stupid or naive. "You must be watching my whole family. There's no reason to single me out. You think we know something about Adonis's alleged drug trafficking - you might even think we were a part of it." 

His eyebrow quirked. "Are you?" 

"No." 

Mac sat back in his chair, slouching. It made me feel as though we were friends discussing everything over coffee. I wondered if this man knew what he was even doing.