Falling Down The Stairs

Chapter Two

The interrogation rooms were in the back of the police station –– past the front desk and the cubicles and even the head crossing guard office. Just past those rooms were a series of holding cells, all fresh and new and still being built, with a welder inside a cell that wasn't occupied. There were a few overnight drunks sleeping one off in the cells, and Sarah could hear their snoring.

The hallway that led past the front desk and cubicles and the rest ended at the entrance to the cells, and turned hard left towards the interrogation rooms. Sarah stood just past that hard left turn, leaning against the wall. She held an empty coffee cup in her hand, and thought about going back to the front desk for another. But before she could move, she heard footsteps and conversation behind her, in the hallway. It was Marcus and Principal Johnson.

"No more falling down the stairs," Sarah heard Dr. Johnson say. That was the second time Sarah had heard that phrase.

"Mm," Marcus said, and Sarah took five quick steps to get away from the corner. She was glad they did, because they soon rounded said corner, and she pretended she was drinking from her empty coffee cup.

"Morning!" Marcus said brightly.

"Good morning," the principal said.

"Morning all," Sarah said.

Marcus opened one of the interrogation room doors, and Principal Johnson went inside. Before Sarah could follow her in, he closed it, leaving the two of them in the hallway.

"What?" Sarah said.

"I think you should let me take point on this," Marcus said.

"You've already interviewed her," she said.

"And she's more comfortable with me. She knows me," he said.

"Her discomfort is exactly what I want. I don't want her feeling safe and comfy. I want her feeling like she has to answer some questions."

"I think that's a bad idea."

"Noted," Sarah said, and she opened the door and went inside.

Dr. Johnson was seated at the table. Before Sarah had been a private investigator, her sense of what interrogation rooms looked like was based entirely on popular media. A metal table, in the middle of a rectangular room, with a big glass one-way window overlooking the proceedings. As it turned out, they often looked more like the breakroom of a mechanics shop. Small, one table, four worn chairs with no padding left. Chips missing from the table, outing the wood design as composite board. This is what Sarah stepped into. No big glass one-way, and no metal table. Dr. Johnson looked very uncomfortable in her once-padded chair.

Sarah took out a notebook from her pocket. It wasn't the same one that she had all of her notes in, but a different one. It also had a label and a date, one she had printed out at a local UPS that morning.

"Thanks for coming in," Sarah said, as she sat down.

"Mhm," Dr. Johnson said. Sarah flipped open her notebook, to where the Principal couldn't see it, and wrote a few things, none of which were relevant or useful. She could see Dr. Johnson out of the corner of her eye, and Dr. Johnson was pretending she wasn't watching Sarah write things down.

Sarah snapped the notebook shut. She put a recorder on the desk, taken from her pocket.

"We'll start with the basics," Sarah said. "Where were you when the murder occurred?"

Sarah already had the answer to that question, and several more, from the statement and Marcus's notes. But she wanted to see the Principal's reaction.