Her Dangerous Revenge

CHAPTER 30

"Hey," Cooper replied dully, slipping inside the small room. It was brightly lit, and he

blinked a few times to clear his vision. A rectangular wooden table sat in the center of the room, occupying most of the space. One chair sat on the far side of the table,

while two others were positioned closest to the door.

"Well. I suppose I should start with the good news." Detective Schuster gestured for Cooper to sit in the chair furthest from the door. Cooper did so warily, eyes trained

on his reflection in the one-way glass.

An interrogation room? Why the hell was he being interrogated? What happened to

formalities ?

"Good news?" Cooper repeated quietly, tapping one foot against the floor. He really

needed to pee.

The detective sat across from him. He smiled and spread his hands. "You didn't kill

Rachel Smith."

Cooper nearly choked on his own spit. He coughed to hide his shock.

The detective took a swig from his water bottle and then sighed. "Anyway. That's

the good news. The bad news? A girl is dead. And you were that girl's date to the

dance."

Cooper flushed. "I..."

"I know, kid. She was a pretty girl. Nice. And let me be the first to say—you aren't in

any kind of trouble. We really just need some help here." He scratched behind his

ear with his pen. Up close, the detective looked even more exhausted, the circles

under his eyes more pronounced. "Unfortunately, Greenwitch is a small town. Your

school is...well, old. Outdated. The cameras that work have no line of sight. Or

they're busted."

The last part was added as a low grumble. Cooper realized whoever this guy was,

he wasn't from Greenwitch. Maybe he was from a neighboring county, or even

Raleigh. An outside man working a small town gig that had suddenly turned into

regional news.

"All we know," Detective Shuster continued, "is that no one left the school until

10:30. Rachel was still alive then, according to eye witnesses." He raised an

eyebrow. "Can you confirm that?"

Cooper stared down at the table. Calla hadn't told him what to do if the police came

asking questions. She'd probably want him to keep quiet. Lay low. Keep his mouth

shut.

But that wasn't going to get him any answers.

Cooper placed his hands on the table and fidgeted with his fingers. "I wasn't

keeping track of time," he admitted.

The detective nodded. "Understandable. But anything will help us, Coop. Do you

remember checking your phone at all?"

Coop. The guy talked to him like he knew him.

Cooper contemplated the question. Remnants of that night drifted through his mind.

"We were with a big group," he said slowly, furrowing his brow. He rattled off a few

names, just for the sake of being thorough. "At some point I went back to our table.

I wanted to check my phone. Rachel found me, said something about the bathroom.

It was definitely past eleven. So I guess, yeah. She was still fine."

She was alive.

The detective nodded, clicking his pen and jotting down a note on his legal pad. He

glanced back up at Cooper. "Is it safe to say that, while you were on your phone,

Rachel was murdered?"

Cooper looked back down at the table, miserable. "Yes."

"And how long do you think you were there, waiting for Rachel to come back?"

He shrugged, rubbing his forehead. "I dunno. A long time. I remember wondering

where she was."

"And?"

"And then Calla came over." He sighed. "Calla Parker. She's her best friend. Was her

best friend."

"What did Calla want?"

"She was looking for Rachel. Stephanie came up to us at some point. She was

looking for Jessica."

"Sneider?"

Cooper nodded.

The detective contemplated him for a second. He made no move to jot down the

name, the pen hovering in the air.

After a minute or so had passed, the detective asked, "A few students told us you

and Ms. Parker ran for the bathrooms. Why the hurry?"

Cooper shrugged, ignoring the rushing in his ears. He couldn't say anything about

the note they'd found in Rachel's purse. That much he knew for certain. "I dunno.

Neither of us had seen Rachel, and it was getting late, and just...I guess we had a

bad feeling? We were both worried." He paused. "I'm the one who found Tracy.

Kinda made me paranoid, I guess."

"I can imagine," the detective murmured. This time, he jotted down a note. And then

he cleared his throat. "These questions are very important, Cooper. You see, without

any cameras, all we have to go on is testimony. What people saw. What people

didn't see. That's why we brought you in today. We're just trying to get a clearer

picture of what happened."

Cooper nodded.

"Now," the detective continued, setting down his pen and leaning forward. "We have

several witnesses who claim they saw you on your phone, right around the time you

said Rachel left to use the bathroom. It was late. Kids were drinking." He smiled at

Cooper's guilty face. "Yes, we're aware there was alcohol going around. Among

other things. That can make it hard to pinpoint exactly what happened and when.

But a chaperone for the event confirmed what you just told us. A miss..." he

glanced down at his notes. "Esperanza, I believe. She distinctly remembers seeing

you in the timeframe that we believe Rachel was killed."

Cooper could have sighed with relief, even despite the morbidity of the

conversation. He wasn't exactly the most noticeable kid in school, so it brought him

some comfort that he wasn't totally invisible. Perks of bringing one of the most

popular girls in school to the dance, he supposed.

Detective Schuster continued. "But there are some holes. Stories that don't match

up. Witnesses with conflicting testimony. You see, we have a fairly solid idea of

where most of your classmates were and when." He leaned back in his seat. " Most

of your classmates. We just need...some clarification, you could say."

The door opened, and the man from before—the one with the sandy hair that had

been sitting across from Cooper in the main area—came in. He smiled kindly down

at him, and something about it sent a flicker of recognition through Cooper.

Michaels. This was Cory's father.

He handed Detective Schuster a folder with barely a word, pulling out the only

empty chair left in the room. He sat with his hands clasped on the table, his eyes

scrutinizing every movement Cooper made.

He'd never had to pee more in his entire life.

Detective Schuster set the file on the table and opened it. He carefully produced six

pictures, lining them up in a row in front of Cooper, who stared at them in disbelief.

Six familiar faces stared back at him, pulled from this year's set of yearbook

photos.

Detective Schuster tapped the corner of each photograph. He was looking at

Cooper intently now, eyes never wavering from his face. "Do you recognize these

six people?"

Cooper swallowed audibly, the sound like a gunshot in the silent room. "Yes."

Six bright, smiling faces. He knew those faces. He knew them well. Cooper had

grown up with these people. As children they'd run around the playground together,

seeing how far they could go, how high they could jump. And then—when he grew

up and the social hierarchy was established, leaving him solidly on the outs—he'd

watched them from afar, occasionally making awkward small talk at parties Vincent

dragged him to.

No matter how distant, no matter how strained, these people were a part of him—

were a part of his life. So he could think of no reason Detective Schuster would

show him these pictures.

No reason except one.

Stories that don't match up, the detective had told him. Witnesses with conflicting

testimony.

Cooper knew what that meant. Someone was lying. Someone was lying, and the

authorities had figured it out. They didn't have the answer—but they were getting

closer.

A girl is dead.

He stared at the pictures, their faces so familiar, and he didn't feel any fear. No. For

once, Cooper was not afraid.

He was angry.

The detective hadn't said what those pictures meant. He didn't have to. Cooper

knew from the moment they hit the table what it meant. What it really meant.

One of them was a killer.