Sinister

Modus operandi

"Do you mind repeating what happened?".

"Suicide".

A story I had so carefully constructed to hide my true murderous intentions. The officer whose name I hadn't bothered to remember gave an awkward smile. "I know this was a very traumatic experience for you but it would really help everyone if you gave a little more detail". My bottom lip trembled with false remembrance. I continued this for about five seconds before letting my head fall into my palms. "Has she always been depressed?". What a fucking joke. Didn't they have her medicinal records? Why the hell were they asking me? "I don't know" I stated rather tonelessly. A light overhead buzzed as it flickered in and out. She cleared her throat, unsure of how to respond. Her walkie-talkie suddenly beeped, startling us both.

I watched as she muttered a couple of yes' and understood's. "The detective wants me to bring you down to his office," she said finally. First, it was, "you don't mind coming to the station do you?" And now this. Fuck. I stood up, fixing my low-cut top and mini skirt; both of which were carefully selected for the occasion. "Follow me" she instructed, moving away from the busy office cubicles. I made a mental note of how many turns we took and where the exit signs were. If all goes to hell, the least I could do was escape.

"Detective we're here" she spoke into the walkie-talkie as we approached a large door. I glanced up at a gold plaque that read detective...no name? "Oh he's new here, just transferred three days ago" she rambled on as if I was truly interested in the subject. "You can come in," said so-called detective from the other side. Remember, innocents. I opened the door wearing my oldest mask; its fibers fragile and crumbling as I stretched it onto my features.

"Mori was it?" He didn't bother to look up from the stack of papers towering over his desk. "Yes, you wanted to see me sir?", my voice was soft with confusion. "I did". A chair swiveled loudly as he stood up. My eyes quickly went over his appearance, collecting any potentially useful information. A nice tailored suit that wasn't too extravagant for the office, nice watch, face clean shaving reeking of youth, dark hair jelled back except for a single strand dangling above the brow.....And eyes, the most important feature, what did they say? His dark brown ones met mine, twinkling with interest.

"Are you okay?". I was caught off guard by the question, unable to determine if it came from a place of genuine concern. "Well...no". That was a normal response given the circumstances. "The bruises, they look fresh, how'd you get them?". I knew someone would eventually ask, but I had expected it to add a variation of sympathy.
With him, it was too casual. "A boyfriend, your mother?". "Self-inflicted" I corrected sheepishly. He motioned for me to come closer. I faked hesitation, then took a few steps forward. "May I?" He gently touched my bruised cheek. "How often does this happen?". I shrugged, "all the time". "And this?" He grabbed one of my wrists, brushing his thumb along the pink scar.
"Does anyone know?". "My daddy does yeah". He took a step back, seemingly flustered by my response.

"Well", he cleared his throat, "what does your dad do for work?". "Lawyer". I watched as the color drained from his face. I knew once that certain card was revealed, I would be at a disadvantage. No more unethical ways of persuasion in fear of the law. "How old are you?". "Sixteen". He looked as if he was seconds from fainting. "Er...has your dad been called yet, you're supposed to have an adult—". "Well, we're only having a conversation right?". In other words, I'm not going to tell anyone so just shut up and ask your stupid little questions. "Right. Of course a conversation", he scratched the back of his neck.

"Would you like a cup of water—or coffee?".

"No, thank you".

We stared at each other for a long time—so long that I was beginning to think he could see through my façade. Lights camera action. I sucked in my bottom lip and made a small whimpering sound. He removed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and offered it to me. I held the lavender-scented fabric to my face while forcing out a few tears. "I'm sorry, I know this must be hard for you". I sniffled, really getting into the role of a distressed daughter. "And I'm sure you don't want to re-live something so traumatic". Go ahead, ask me what happened. "But for your mother's sake, we need to know what happened". My lips fought back a smile. I just couldn't help it. Whenever I pictured her body laying all stiff with blood pooling around her head, a sense of euphoria washed over me.