The Lost Girls

Chapter 8

I sat morosely in my dad's office while Cristian and David Milne were questioned in separate interrogation rooms. I was slumped, my arms crossed, as I watched the activity out in the main room through the half closed blinds in his office windows. I'd turned the desk lamp off so I could watch everyone without them noticing me.

It was less busy than the day before. Only a few officers were left in the station, doing things I couldn't interpret at their desks, and in the corner I saw that a few spare desks had been crammed together for Albrict and his cronies. I didn't see the cold detective anywhere, but a few of the men I'd seen with him the day before were still there, talking in low voices with several files spread out in front of them.

All in all, nothing interesting was happening, but I watched closely anyways just to take my mind off what had happened that night. I sighed and rubbed my head, noting glumly that it felt like I was getting headaches more often these days.

I looked up when the door to the office opened gently. My dad shuffled into the room, smiling tightly to me as he closed the door behind him. We were both quiet as he went to both of the windows, closing the blinds slowly.

I clicked the lamp on, and I was apprehensive as I waited for him. When he'd shown up in the warehouse parking lot, he'd rushed over to make sure I was okay, but once he was satisfied I was fine he hadn't spoken a word to me since. I wasn't sure if he would be angry or disappointed, or both at the same time. I didn't really know what I would prefer.

Instead of sitting in his chair behind the desk, he sat down in the one next to me. He didn't say anything right away, rubbing his temple like I had been doing only a minute earlier.

"How are you doing?" He asked me quietly.

I looked at him steadily. "I'm fine. Is Cristian in trouble?"

Milne had gone in Deputy Williams' car, and Cristian had gone in my dad's car. I'd followed behind the two cars in my own car, worrying about Cristian's bloody knuckles and whether he'd be charged with assault.

My dad was quiet again, his eyes on the back of one of the frames on his desk."No, he's not in trouble."

That surprised me. "At all?"

"At all."

I frowned in confusion. "But wasn't David going on about pressing charges?"

His hand drifted to his nose to pinch the bridge. I couldn't really complain about my headaches; from the look on my father's face, he was having it worse than me. "He was, but he dropped that tack right away when we asked about the pictures he had with him. Tom's trying to figure out some kind of deal with him about them, in turn for leaving Cristian alone."

The Tom he was talking about was Thomas Benoit, the one prosecutor we had in town. I digested this information, wondering what that conversation would look like. "Thank you for doing that." I said slowly. Cristian could've been in a lot of trouble – he should have been in a lot of trouble, if it wasn't for my dad.

He finally looked up at me. His blue eyes were exhausted but hard. "I didn't do it for him, Zoe." He said simply, his voice terse. "I don't know when it happened, but that boy ended up your friend and I didn't want my daughter associated with a criminal."

It was like a slap to the face. "Dad – "

"No, it's my turn to talk." He turned suddenly, leaning his elbows on his knees as he looked at me. "What is going on here, Zoe? First you show up yesterday with the boy who has been responsible for ninety percent of the station's headaches for the last three years, and then I get called in tonight since our town florist is accusing you two of assaulting him. I don't know what's happening here, and I don't like it."