Death In The Family

Chapter 2

Simone spread her hands open on the narrow table separating her from Special Agents Maier and Gladwell, letting the cool of the smooth laminate surface fund her composure. It had been nearly one hour of her trading answers to their questions for information they had about her father and she did not have the social stamina for this even on her best days. There was no time for the delicacy required of her to properly navigate this give and take and it was showing in her rapidly decreasing patience with these men.

Gladwell took off his glasses and rubbed at the pink imprints the nose pads left on his white skin. "Simone Valstad, although we do sympathize with what you've been through, we need your full cooperation. If you're not helping, then you are obstructing. Do you understand the seriousness of that charge?"

Simone met his weary gaze with the false poise of indignance. When she spoke to them, the only thing subduing her tone was the physical pain in her bruised throat. "Refusing to answer questions is not an obstruction of justice, sir. If I'm wrong on that, go ahead and arrest me so I can invoke my right to remain silent."

Both Gladwell and Maier shot her the same brand of exasperated glare and she met it spitefully. In her experience with lawmen of any stripe, there seemed fewer things they despised more than having to interact with someone well-versed in their rights. Not that citing such knowledge had always protected her; she had a scar hidden on the back of her scalp to remind her of that, courtesy of the NYPD. For all the destructive force afforded to them by the power of law and biology, these weren't men she had to fear. Their threat was toward a freedom that had already been taken and a body already bled and bruised.

"We have no obligation to provide you any information," Maier said, his gentler tone playing the good cop to Gladwell's bad cop. The cup of coffee Maier had set down in front of her at the beginning of the interview sat cold and untouched. As dehydrated as she was, she understood these little power plays and gestures too well. Being in her father's company for so long had made her hyperaware of manipulation and resentful of it. "We're willing to extend you the goodwill of considering your questions, but only if you answer ours. Fully."

"Goodwill is only as good as it gives. So far, your goodwill has given me bullshit," she responded dryly. "I can't abide bullshit. Why aren't you telling me anything? He escaped, so he's alive, right?"

"Why is that so important to you?" Maier asked with genuine curiosity in the lilt of the query. "After everything he's done, you're still so concerned for his wellbeing. Why is that?"

"I'm concerned for the wellbeing of my uncles," she answered, careful to steer away from the topic of her feelings about her father. "As long as he's out there, they're in danger."

"Yeah, well, them and everyone else in this town," Maier added. "Except not everyone else is under police protection. Your father killed a lot of people, Ms. Valstad. We think you know that."

"I don't know that," she insisted. "You keep saying he's some kind of prolific murderer, but present nothing further to support that accusation. What are the crimes he's been accused of? What evidence do you have? If you're building your entire case against him on a witness statement from me, you might be fucked."

"You're getting awfully defensive of a man who beat you black and blue," Gladwell interjected. "Maybe you're not his victim at all. Maybe you're his accomplice."

Simone's chest tightened with the memory of bloody muscle ghosting over her teeth and tongue as she clenched her jaw and swallowed her nervousness. "I'm not like him."

"But he wanted you to be, didn't he?" Maier asked. "His obsession with you demanded intimacy but his sociopathy prevented him from ever truly achieving that. What better way to simulate emotional intimacy than by having you become something he felt he could relate to?"