Tell me to Lie

by Charlotte Byrd

  “I had a choice, Nicholas. They found out about my little indiscretion and Internal Affairs were after me. The only way I could get out of it was to tell them what I know about you.”

  “This doesn’t sound like an apology,” I say, the words escaping my lips before I can stop them.

  “I’m sorry. I am,” he says, leaning closer to me again. “But I’m here to help you. For real.”

  I run my fingers over the handcuffs around my wrists and feel the smoothness of the metal.

  “I saw you on TV,” I say slowly. “You gave interviews to a bunch of different programs always talking about how much of a dangerous criminal I am and that I killed my partner.”

  The expression on Art’s face changes from eager to surprise. He wasn’t expecting this.

  “What’s the matter?” I continue. “Did you think they were broadcasting to some private channel rather than to millions of households around the country? Or did you just not expect me to see it?”

  “I had to do that, Nicholas. My boss wanted me to. We had to create buzz around your case. We had to have the public’s help in finding you.”

  I exhale deeply.

  “What do you want from me, Art?” I ask.

  “I want you to allow me to help you. I know that you didn’t kill your partner or your ex-girlfriend.”

  “Really? ‘Cause those charges they read to me say pretty much that exact thing.”

  Art stares at me. My eyes meet his and neither of us look away.

  “They have a strong case, Nicholas. You were with your partner when it happened. You’d just done a big job, it was worth millions. People have killed their partners for a lot less.”

  He was my best friend I’m tempted to say. I would never do anything like that.

  But I force myself to keep my mouth shut.

  “You have no alibi for that night. There are eyewitness reports of people who saw you in the area. We even have video recordings of you at a nearby convenience store.”

  “Is there a reason why you’re telling me all of this?” I ask smugly.

  “Of course, there is. I want you to understand the case that we have on you. I also want you to know that you can trust me. You need to tell me what really happened so that I can help you get out of this mess.”

  He’s trying to be my friend and, I have to admit, he’s doing a good job at it.

  “Once your lawyer gets here, I won’t be able to help you anymore,” he adds.

  I laugh.

  “What’s so funny? You don’t believe me?”

  “You’re just so predicable Art. I thought you’d have a better line than that.”

  “It’s not a line. It’s the truth,” he insists.

  I glare at him again. He waits for me to say something and I wait to gather my thoughts and work out the exact thing that I want to say.

  One wrong word can send me to prison for life or worse.

  No, when in doubt, keep your fucking mouth shut. That should be the motto of every single person who has ever been arrested.

  There is no explaining to the cops.

  There is no pandering.

  There is no over-extending.

  Everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law, at least in this country. That means it’s in your best interest to stay quiet, no matter how much you want to speak up in your defense.

  I’m tempted to question their eyewitness reports and their video recordings. I’m tempted to find out more about what they have but they will only share things that will make me even more curious.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, sitting back in my chair. “I’m making another request to see an attorney. I already told the cop in the car on the way over here, the other FBI agents, and you. I’m entitled to representation and that’s what I want.”

  3

  Olive

  When I see him…

  When they pull him away from me and put him into handcuffs, I collapse onto the floor. Two police officers have to hold me up to keep me upright as my legs completely let go. Someone starts talking to me and when I don’t respond, another person pipes in. But I don’t hear a thing they’re saying.

  A loud buzzing sound reverberates in my head, blocking all incoming sound. I see their mouths move and I see them tugging at my arms trying to position me here and then there but I don’t respond. It’s like everything is happening to someone else. Is that possible?

  Some time passes before some of the shock wears off. The cops gather in clumps outside, holding their jackets around their necks as the snow starts to fall. I look out of the window to try to get a glimpse of Nicholas but they’ve taken him to some car out by the road. I can’t see him and he can’t see me.

  What must he be thinking at this moment?

  My heart tightens as my breathing becomes more laborious. What if…I don’t let myself go there at first. But then I can’t stop the thoughts from flooding in.

  What if he thinks it’s me?

  What if he thinks I led them here, on purpose?

  Someone talks to me again but his words don’t get processed. When he hands me my clothes, I put them on. When he hands me my coat, I put that on. When he hands me Solly, I take him in my arms and pet his head, letting out a deep sigh of relief.

  In all of the commotion, I actually forgot that I was a mother of a cat. Whatever happens, I need to make sure that he is okay.

  A strong gust of wind rushes through my open coat as I step outside. Another cop hands me my hat and I pull the zipper closed to keep some of the cold out.

  They show me to a car and put me in the back seat.

  I buckle the seat belt and don’t bother asking where we’re going. They have questions that they want me to answer. Solly purrs under my fingers as I try to figure out what I should and shouldn’t tell them about Nicholas.

  He’s on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.

  He has a warrant out for his arrest.

  The fact that I was found in his trailer, with him, means that they will want to get me for aiding and abetting a fugitive.

  Whether or not they can prove this, I am not sure, but what I say to them will be of t paramount importance.

  The interrogation room is small and windowless and they allow me to keep Solly in my lap even offering me something to drink. Freezing to my bones, I opt for some hot tea.

  The first FBI agent introduces himself and takes a seat across from me. His eyes look kind as does his demeanor but I know that’s all a facade. They are being nice right now because I have something they want.

  But what?

  Something to help them make a case against Nicholas.

  Whatever I say or don’t say, I know that I have to protect him. I can’t let them frame him for something he didn’t do.

  “Your boyfriend is in a lot of trouble,” the agent says, sitting back in his chair.

  “Ex-boyfriend,” I correct him even though it hurts me to say the word.

  “Is that so? Didn’t you spend the night with him?”

  “Doesn’t mean that we aren’t exes,” I say, shrugging. “We broke up and that was just a brief reunion, nothing else.”

  The agent nods but makes it clear that he isn’t convinced that I’m telling the truth. My heart starts to race. I rub Solly behind the ears until my blood pressure drops.

  “Nicholas Crawford is a dangerous man,” the agent says.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insist.

  “He is wanted by the FBI he is, in fact, one of our Ten Most Wanted. I’m sure you’ve seen the shows—”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head, looking as much as possible like a deer in headlights.

  If I can convince them that I know nothing then that’s my best chance of getting out of this mess without any charges.

  “There have been programs on 20/20, Dateline, all of the big ones—”

  “Like I said,” I interrupt him. “I don’t watch TV and I had no idea this
was going on.”

  “What is it with your generation and the cord cutting,” the agent mutters under his breath. “I mean, what the hell do you do in your spare time if you don’t watch TV?”

  “I like to read and watch Netflix,” I say innocently.

  “Tell me what you know about his old partner.”

  “I don’t know much. Nicholas never shared much with me. That’s one of the reasons we broke up.”

  “Oh, really?” someone says, walking into the room. I look past the agent and see that the voice belongs to Art Hedison.

  I swallow hard but don’t let him see me sweat.

  “I happen to know that you and Nicholas are actually very close,” Art says, taking a seat in between me and the agent. I shrug.

  For a moment, I consider pretending that I don’t know who he is but we had met, before his meeting with Nicholas at the mall.

  “What’s that look on your face, Olive? Don’t you remember me?”

  “I remember you questioned me about some paintings you thought I stole, which I didn’t,” I say.

  He didn’t have any proof and was hoping to get some through his questioning but I didn’t give him any. And I won’t now.

  “Olive, I know that you know that I was working with Nicholas. Everyone knows that.”

  “No, I don’t,” I say with a shrug. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “This is going to go a lot more smoothly if you cooperate. We know that you are not involved with this, so you don’t have anything to hide.”

  “If you know that, then why am I here?” I ask. “What do you want from me?”

  “We want you to tell us about Nicholas. Anything you know.”

  I take a moment to think about that. “I know that he didn’t kill anyone,” I say. “I know that you have the wrong person.”

  “We don’t think so,” Art says, shaking his head, laying out the case that they have against him.

  Millions were stolen.

  People are killed for a lot less.

  There’s video surveillance from a nearby store showing him in the area.

  I listen to the whole story, thank him, and repeat that I don’t know anything about that.

  On the outside, I act like I’m made of iron. Nothing can hurt me.

  But on the inside, I’m trembling.

  What if he did do that horrible thing?

  What if Nicholas is a murderer like my brother has thought all along?

  Hours pass as we go in circles, getting nowhere.

  Two more agents try to get me to open up but I stand my ground. I ask for a lawyer and pressure them to press charges against me or to let me go.

  They don’t respond and continue to barrage me with questions. Finally, I’ve had enough.

  I get up and say that I’m leaving.

  I hold my breath as I walk out of the station, waiting for them to throw a pair of cuffs on me and arrest me but they don’t.

  4

  Olive

  When I go back home…

  The cops and the FBI have kept me for hours in their interrogation room, alternating between having me just sit there staring at the walls and telling one person after another that I would like to see an attorney.

  Outside, I inhale the cold fresh air of the season’s first snowstorm and open my mouth for a snowflake to land on my tongue. When it does, I promise myself that I’m going to find out the truth about Nicholas.

  I wrap my coat tighter around Solly to make sure he doesn’t catch a chill (can cats get colds? I have no idea) and walk purposely out into the parking lot and then toward the nearest diner.

  Twenty-four hours later, I walk down the slushy street outside Logan International Airport looking for my Uber. The driver tries to make small talk but I am too tired to respond. He mentions that I am lucky to get in when I did because they are cancelling flights all along the East Coast, apparently the first big blizzard of the season is about to hit.

  I pay his tip on my phone and slug my stuff upstairs. I don’t have much besides a small suitcase but it feels like I’m trying to walk two large duffel bags full of bricks all of the way to my apartment.

  It doesn’t occur to me to knock until I see the surprised look on Sydney’s face. I have been gone for a long time. I did start a new life in California and she is definitely not expecting to see me here tonight.

  “I’m really sorry,” I mumble into her ear. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, I just had to come home.”

  After a long embrace, we pull away from each other and she asks how I’m doing.

  The question is so loaded, I have no idea how to even begin answering it.

  Instead, I take a few steps down the foyer and see that she is playing hostess. Her mother and James are seated around the dining room table with polite expressions on their faces.

  I’m tempted to just say a brief hello, introduce them to Solly, and go hide in my room. But I don’t want to be rude so I take my cue from Sydney.

  I glance at her trying to figure out what she wants me to do. They invite me to join them for dinner and when Sydney gives me the nod of her approval, I agree. It would be a lie to say that I’m not starving. There’s freshly ordered Italian food from one of my favorite restaurants and James pours me a big glass of red wine.

  The conversation focuses on me and my trip to California with Sydney’s mom occasionally interjecting and telling me about her experiences at Palm Springs. Almost two hours later, dinner, dessert, and coffee are finally over and I retire to my room right after everyone leaves.

  “What are you doing here?” Sydney bursts in, as I change into loose-fitting pjs and climb under the covers.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Nicholas is custody,” she says. “I read about it online.”

  “So, I guess it’s a short one.”

  “What’s going on, Olive?”

  I take a deep breath.

  “I went to see him. I needed to talk to him. I ended up staying the night…”

  “Olive,” Sydney admonishes me.

  “It’s not like that. He’s a good person, Syd. It was a mistake.”

  “He’s a con man.”

  I shake my head.

  I mean, it’s true but so I am.

  And he wasn’t conning me. Right?

  “They arrested him for murder, Olive. They wouldn’t do that if he was innocent.”

  “They arrest innocent people all the time,” I say.

  She shifts her weight to her back foot.

  She knows that what I’m saying is true, she just doesn’t want to admit it.

  “How do you know he’s innocent?”

  I pat the edge of the bed, insinuating for her to sit down.

  She does and I tell her everything that has happened that led me to Montana, including how I found Solly. She pets his head and gives him a little kiss while she listens.

  “I thought you didn’t like cats.” I smile.

  “Normally, I don’t.”

  “Sydney, I’m here to find out the truth,” I say, sitting back against the tufted headboard. “About Nicholas. About what he did and didn’t do. I don’t think he killed his partner. I don’t think he killed his ex-girlfriend but I need to get to the bottom of it. I need to know the truth. I deserve to.”

  “Of course, you do,” she insists. “But how?”

  “That I have no idea.”

  We sit silently for a little bit until I pivot the conversation to her.

  One of the last times we spoke, she’d caught James cheating on her.

  She’d called me in tears, completely distraught, and broken.

  But today, he was sitting there with her mother as if nothing had happened. I played along for her sake when I first came in, not wanting to make a scene, but now I want to know the truth.

  “What is going on with James?” I ask.

  She looks away from me.

  She wants me to change the topic but I refuse.

&n
bsp; I simply wait for her to respond. After a few minutes, she takes a deep breath.

  “He begged me to take him back,” she says quietly.

  “And you did?”

  “He promised he would never do anything like that again.”

  “So you forgave him?” I ask.

  She shakes her head.

  “Why was he here then?”

  “My mom,” she says quietly.

  I stare at her, not fully understanding what she’s saying.

  “I was about to tell her what happened but she was going on and on about how great he was and how if anything happened, I was going to be the one to screw it up…so I couldn’t come out and say it.”

  My mouth nearly drops open.

  “So, are you still together?” I ask.

  “He begged me to take him back and I sort of did. For my mom.”

  “Sydney,” I say, shaking my head.

  “I didn’t want her to be disappointed. I didn’t want her to have one more reason to think I was a loser.”

  “But he’s the one who is the loser,” I insist. “He’s the one who cheated on you. Surely, she would understand that and wouldn’t want you to be with someone who cheated on you.”

  But Sydney just shakes her head. I wrap my arms around her and hold her for a while.

  “She would just blame it on me,” Sydney finally says when she comes back up for air.

  Our eyes meet and I stare into hers trying to understand what the hell she is talking about.

  “She would blame me for making him cheat on me,” she mumbles. “I didn’t want to talk to her about it and I don’t want to talk about it now.”

  “Sydney, you have nothing to be ashamed of!” I yell after her as she walks away.

  “The wedding is back on,” she says, slamming my door behind her.

  5

  Olive

  When I try to figure out what to do…

  The following morning, we meet again over breakfast. I’m feeling considerably better and pour myself a big bowl of granola. There’s no milk so I eat it dry.