Aubrey Is Missing and No One Understands

7. OUTRANK THE BOMBOLONI

        "Wait, so you don't really know this Audrey?" he asks while sloppily munching a chunk of his pink-glazed, sprinkle-topped, golden-brown-but-more-to-the-brown-side doughnut and rubbing his greasy, icky sausage fingers on his protruding belly. This guy has got to be the most stereotypical cop I've ever seen in real life.

        "No—I mean, I do. I do know her." I try to clarify this for the thirteenth time. "I've just never met her in person before. We talked on the internet."

        "Like, Instagram?" he says while sucking the remnants of sugar on his fingertips. "My daughter stares at that thing every single day."

        "No, no. We usually use WhatsApp to talk with each other." I awkwardly smile. Man, I feel bad for your daughter.

        "Oh, WhatsApp. I have that on my phone." He wipes his hands on his black outfit, leaving visible wet stains. "It's that one with the blue logo, ain't it?"

        "No, I think you're talking about Facebook. WhatsApp is green, Facebook is blue."

        "Nah, nah, nah. Pretty sure I'm talking about WhatsApp." He reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone. "Here, here. Let me show you."

        "How is this helping the case?" I quickly try to change the subject. I don't even want to argue with this guy.

        The cop lets out a long sigh. "Just tell me, kid. What were you doing out here in front of her house peeping in, huh?" He takes another doughnut from the Dunkin' box readily sitting on the car beside him.

        "No, you don't understand." I try to justify myself. There's no way I'm losing to this guy. "I was out there because Aubrey a—"

        "What don't I understand?" He interrupts me and starts shouting. "Tell me! Stop stalling, kid! Just tell me now!"

        I take in a big portion of air. This isn't going to get any easier. "Aubrey and I were planning to me—"

        "Why didn't you just wait patiently?"

        "I did! B—" 

        "If you were really Audrey's friend," he cuts me off, "why aren't you crying that she's dead?"

        For a second, my mind goes vacuum-blank. I haven't thought of that at all. He does have a fair point. Why am I not crying? Is it the shock, or the fact that her body isn't even in the house? She might be out there, alone.

        "Because..." I search deep through my brain for the most least-incriminating answer possible. 

        "Just admit it, for goodness' sake! You were trying to rob the Whitings!" He raises his arms, sprinkling specks of powdered sugar everywhere. 

        I will poke your—

        "It's OK, Mike. I'll take it from here." A handsome, slender young man approaches us. Which to that I say: Hallelujah.

        Without hesitation, the walking cliché stumps out of the scene. Prince Charming here must outrank the bomboloni. Nevertheless, I bet he's glad he gets to spend more time with his box of gluten and doesn't have to spend any more effort in understanding basic English.

        "I swear I wasn't trying to rob them." I try to focus on his beautiful, flawless face. It's like being 12 and obsessing over a celebrity crush all over again.

        The white knight glares down at me. "Detective Marco Cantu, Intelligence. Cassandra, right?"

        I'm not usually good at looking at people's face, because it feels weird, but I don't mind looking at this. His wavy jet-black hair is loosely combed over to the left, but still somewhat messy; extending downwards to form a thin frame around his lower jaw. A lock from his head hangs limp on his face, curving sideways before managing to touch his left eye. I can see his pupils are slightly constricted, so either he's on drugs, the sun is too bright for him, or he doesn't like me. I just hope it's not the last one.

        "Cassandra?" 

        "Y-yes! I'm Cassandra Yang." He knows my name. He knows my name. Am I swooning?

        "Mind coming to the station to answer a few questions?" He gestures to his car. "We need to cover all our bases. We're hoping you can give us a little hand with that."

        "Of course, of course." I bob my head up and down. "Anything I can do to help."

        "Very good. Come with me, please." He turns around and starts walking away.

        "Oh, can I please call my aunt first?" I ask back. "I don't even think she knows I'm out of the house."

        "Sure. Just get in the car." He pushes my back lightly, directing me to where his car is. "You can use my phone."

        Detective Cantu's car isn't quite the police car you'd imagine. It's shiny-onyx, sleek, and humongous. Not really the classic low-roofed po-po car you see in Hollywood movies.

        He swings the door open for me. Aw... We got ourselves a gentleman here, folks.

        As I tuck my head to Tetris myself into the car, I catch the shadow of a figure in the corner of my eye, sitting behind the wheel. As I take a closer look, it's a woman—no, a gorgeous woman.

        I can't force my eyes away from her rich dark skin. Maybe I'm fascinated because I'm not used to seeing this type of skin tone in Indonesia, but damn, she's glowing.

        Detective Cantu sits shotgun, next to the woman. "Cassandra, this is Detective Tracy. She's my partner." He gestures his head to the right.

        "Detective Carnation Murphy, Intelligence. You can call me Tracy." She makes eye contact with me through the rear-view mirror. She's quite the beauty. Her irises seem perfectly black, despite the blinding afternoon sun coating her. But when she shifts her head at certain angles, I can see iridescent strands of copper and gold strung in them. I can't stop looking at them. They're so mesmerizing. 

        "Nice to meet you." I gesture a slight wave. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.

        "Cassandra, listen to me." Detective Cantu turns his head to the loser in the back. "Apparently, you are our only lead for the time being. No one around knows the Whitings much. Sorry we're putting all the pressure on you, but just do what you can to help us solve this, you OK with that?"

        "Yeah, I'm alright." I raise my gaze to him. "Do... you think Aubrey's dead?" I slump against the car door. I feel like covering my ears, in case I hear a 'yes'.

        He looks at me with that expressionless face. "We'll do our best to find her." He hands me his phone. "Call your aunt. Tell her we're going to be at the 4th precinct."

        I snatch his phone. "Thanks." 

        Great, I don't know Christy's number.