We avoided each other’s gaze for a minute, and then Jerry got up.
“I’m clearly not going to get a nap here,” he said. He walked to the door and glanced down at the scuffed-up lock. “Will you listen to a bit of advice?”
“OK.”
“Go back to being a good girl.”
I lifted my head, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.
He turned to leave but stopped. With his back still to me, he said, “Or, if you don’t, learn to kick down a door correctly. JV soccer isn’t the same as breaking and entering. You’re not big enough. Just use a crowbar.”
He left.
“Thanks for the advice,” I called out to his back.
He didn’t answer. Maybe it was because he knew it was too late.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
As soon as Jerry’s footsteps faded, I sprang into action. It was an old combination lock. Maybe it was Mason’s from high school. For whatever reason, it was the fastest I had ever picked a lock.
The mechanism clicked open, and I ripped it off. The bag was still there, sealed up and pristine. It looked like even more capsules up close.
And they were all capsules. No tabs.
I only needed a few. In fact, it was probably better if I took just a couple, or even one, so Mason wouldn’t catch on that any were missing before I had a chance to go to the police.
But I looked at piles upon piles of little white capsules and knew that each one equaled one Simone.
I took them all.
I went straight to 1 Police Plaza, before I could change my mind. Sweat trickling down my cleavage, I walked up to the nearest uniform and said, “I need to talk to a Detective Joey Rockford.”
The cop looked me over as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing. “Why do you need to talk to Detective Rockford? Are you reporting a crime? Because he might not be the right guy for you to talk to.”
“I’m not exactly reporting a crime.” I could feel the weight of the capsules in my backpack like an anvil. “I have information regarding one of his ongoing investigations.”
He smiled indulgently. “And how does a little girl like you end up even knowing what one of our detectives is investigating?”
He meant it kindly, affectionately, even. Sometimes I looked older than I was, but mostly I looked younger, and I’m sure I was so pale, I was almost green. But something about being called a little girl made me stand up straighter and speak more clearly. “I need to see Detective Joey Rockford,” I said firmly, looking the officer in the eye. “If you tell him Kendall Evans has information about Mason Frye, I think he’ll want to see me.”
Sixty seconds later, I was sitting alone in an interview room. Rockford made me wait.
After five minutes, I started looking carefully at the mirror on the wall to my right. He was probably behind there, I decided. He was watching me. He wanted to see how I would act.
I decided that if he wanted a show, I would give him one. I shook off my cardigan and leaned back in my chair, sliding into the girl in the photograph like a glass slipper. I bent over my backpack and removed a single capsule. I put it on the table, waited a beat, and then put my feet up next to it.
Rockford opened the door and sat in the chair across the table from me. He looked much more like an adult than the last few times I’d seen him. Maybe it was because he was wearing a tie. Then again, maybe it was because he didn’t have me pushed up against a wall.
He spoke first. “Miss Evans,” he said, his voice even and cordial. “I’m impressed that you even knew to come here. I need to know who you’ve told about turning yourself in.”
“I’ve told one friend who has had no involvement with Mason whatsoever,” I lied. “I don’t intend to tell you their name. I don’t want them involved.”
“As long as none of our mutual acquaintances know, that’s fine.” He picked up the capsule on the table. “Now, tell me about these.”
I had intended to cooperate. That was why I had taken such risks and gone to him. But at the command in his voice, the dismissal of my risks, the idea that I was turning myself in—suddenly I felt angry and in no mood to cooperate.
I crossed my arms across my chest. “First, why don’t you tell me what a cop is doing abducting teenage girls from their homes and threatening them with knives?”
He stiffened, and his eyes flickered to the back corner of the room. I turned my head and noticed a small black box hanging from the ceiling. I looked back at Rockford, and he had his finger up, warning me to wait. He got up and went back to the door, where he flipped a switch. An ambient noise I hadn’t even noticed before ceased.
Rockford sat back down, looking tired. “Obviously I was undercover, OK? Which you already knew, because you’re not an idiot. It was never my intention to ‘abduct’ you, but I was very close to wrapping up my case against Vincent Rainier—Vin, as you know him—and when Jerry mentioned you, he had the idea. Rainier was a long-standing, if rather small-time, rival of your pal Mason’s, as you may have also figured out. I took Rainier into custody yesterday, in fact.”
I absorbed that information—which I had not figured out—and he rubbed his forehead, like he was in pain. “You’re the one who came to me, Kendall,” he said. “Cut the shit and tell me what you have.”
I contemplated his face for a moment: his intense, annoyed, but underneath it all, eager face. I didn’t like him having the upper hand. I didn’t want to be the one to squirm. “Did you make detective fairly recently, Rockford?” I asked, probing. “You’re pretty young. Young enough to pass for college-age anyway. You must be ambitious.”
“Stop it,” he said flatly.
“Stop what?”
“Stop trying to throw me off by psychoanalyzing me. Your little mean-girl mind games aren’t going to work here.”
“They’re not? Oh no. Whatever shall I do?”
“Tell me where you got this pill and get on with your life.”
I leaned forward, this time invading his space. He moved backward. “I think I have a better idea. Since my mean-girl tricks are powerless in the face of your big strong copness, why don’t I just call my mother, the former assistant district attorney turned high-powered litigator, and tell her all about the time you threw me around an empty warehouse in nothing but my underwear, undercover or not? See if she thinks that’s something we should discuss in a room where the tape recorders are on.”
“If you didn’t come here to show me that pill, then why are you here?” He looked me in the eye. “What do you want?”
His glare jolted me back into the reason I was there. “I want to help you nail Mason Frye,” I told him. “And I want you to stop treating me like a little girl.”
Somebody knocked on the door. “Come in,” called Rockford, not taking his eyes off my face.
“There’s a call for you, Rockford. She said it’s urgent.”
“Fine. Give me a minute. I’ll be right there.” The other cop left the room and shut the door behind him. Rockford pocketed the pill. “I’m going to take this call,” he said. “When I get back, let’s have an honest conversation, OK? I won’t try to fuck you over and you don’t try to fuck me over. We share what we know. Deal?”
I hesitated but nodded. “If you’re serious. But I’m going to need something in writing that I’m not going to be charged with anything. I am not an accessory to Mason.”
“You are a lawyer’s daughter, aren’t you,” he said, getting up.
After he left, my phone beeped. I pulled it out of my pocket and frowned when I saw the text was from a restricted number.
Hey Kendall, read the text. What are you up to?
I don’t have this number in my phone, I typed back. Who is this?
What’s your favorite scary movie?
Despite the situation, I smiled at the reference. Is this Gilly? Why is your number restricted?
Not Gilly, ridiculous name that that is. It’s your friendly neighborhood ghostface. So what is your favorite scary movi
e?
I rolled my eyes. It’s The Breakfast Club. I’m busy, Gilly.
I don’t think that’s really your favorite scary movie. Anyway, it shouldn’t be. Take a look at this.
A video was attached to the text. I pressed play.
At first I wasn’t sure what I was watching. The video was blurry and loud, and all I could tell for sure was that there were people moving around a room. Then one of the people stepped out of the frame, and I could see the bed.
I knew that bed. I had been in that bed. It was Grant’s bed.
A girl in a white tank top and black underwear was on her side facing away from the camera. A male voice—Burke, I recognized, out of the corner of my mind—laughed and said, “Dude, she is trashed,” rolling her onto her back. A hand reached into the frame and pulled black hair out of the girl’s face.
It was Simone.
She mumbled something, and her eyes fluttered open. “I’m here,” she said softly.
“Sure you are, cutie pie,” said Pete, putting the phone on the dresser and joining her on the bed. “We’re all here.” The video cut out.
A new text popped up at the top of my screen. Seen enough? That’s just a trailer. Want to see the feature presentation? We’ll invite everyone.
I clutched my stomach, willing myself not to vomit in the interview room. When my abdominal muscles stopped contracting, I pulled myself together and typed, What do you want?
Leave the police station, go to the Upper West Side, and bring me back my fucking doses.
I swallowed. And if I don’t?
Then the uncut version of this video hits every screen at Howell.
I put the phone down. It was too late. I was in a goddamn interrogation room at NYPD headquarters. I had shown Rockford that I knew where the pills came from.
And in doing so I had fucked over Simone.
My breath started to come faster and faster as I contemplated the space the pill had occupied on the table. Rockford was taking a long time on his call.
I picked my phone back up and pressed play. Again Simone was rolled to her back and her hair pulled away from her beautiful face. She tried to focus her eyes and whispered, “I’m here.”
I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t be the one responsible for making that incident—no, say the word—that rape define her forever. I couldn’t be the one to shame her.
Panic breathed new life into my body as I stood and picked up my backpack. I looked at the mirrored wall and listened closely, straining to hear any ambient noise, any monitor picking up my movements. There was nothing.
I zipped the compartment, securing the rest of the drugs, opened the unlocked interrogation room door, and left the station.
Mason was waiting for me. He had never been waiting for me before. He was always playing video games, or scrolling through his phone, or even occasionally doing what looked like homework. He never seemed concerned about when, or even if, I was going to show up.
Not this time. He was alone, sitting in one of the metal chairs with his arms folded. There was a second chair set out in front of him. When I hesitated in the doorway, he motioned toward it.
“Sit, Kendall.”
I looked behind me. If I sat in that chair, I would have my back to the door. I didn’t like that.
“Sit down,” he said again. “Shut the door.”
I swallowed hard and straightened my shoulders. Jamming my hip to the side and tossing my hair, I scrambled into the girl in the picture. I shut the door and sat down, facing Mason.
He spoke first. “I was hoping not to have to use that video. You didn’t leave me any choice.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“That depends on you. If you stay with me, I won’t do anything with it. If you leave, or go to the police, I’ll send it to every e-mail address on the Howell LISTSERV.”
I shook my head, confused. “You want me to keep making your deliveries? Why? Why not just destroy my future and be done with it? Wasn’t that the plan all along?”
Mason thought a moment before answering. “Would you believe me if I said I liked your spirit?”
I laughed out loud, a completely mirthless laugh, and he smiled briefly. “There really doesn’t seem to be any point to fucking with me anymore,” I told him.
“I’m not,” he insisted, leaning forward. “I think you’re a great find. I got lucky.”
I felt my lip curl up of its own accord. “There’s no luck involved here, just criminality.”
“Oh? No luck?” He moved in closer. “You took the shot, didn’t you? You didn’t have to.”
I drew in my breath. “What do you mean?”
“It would have been much harder to blackmail you if you hadn’t taken it. You were a good girl before Grant and that gym, Kendall. Even if I had pulled the trigger on the TA, you might still have been believed over him. But no one believes a bona fide bad girl. If you’d said no to that shot, you might never have seen me again.” He smiled. “That’s when I knew you and I were fate.”
I needed to scream. Screaming wouldn’t help. I felt stupider than I had in years.
“But, but . . . I was about to turn you in,” I managed finally. “I don’t want to work for you anymore, to the point that I’m willing to let you get me thrown out of YATS or even high school. I don’t like you.”
“That’s why I like you.”
I felt nauseated. “You’re kind of disgusting, aren’t you?”
This time he laughed. “You see, this is why we’re going to make a good team. Jo liked me too much. That’s why I had to replace her with someone who understood me a little better. Someone like you.”
“You said she quit.”
“I lied. She wasn’t useful to me anymore. Her loving me made her mushy and weak. I needed someone sharp with a good stockpile of misanthropy—just general loathing—to work with. Jo’s aggressive, sure, and that’s been helpful, but she doesn’t have any subtlety to her. She can’t seduce or lie. She can do angry, but she can’t do nasty. And once you get past her muscles, she’s not scary. She’s not ruthless, just in love. I needed someone willing to burn shit down. I needed a mean girl. And then I found you.”
“I’m not—” My voice croaked a little. I cleared my throat. “I’m not any of those things.”
He cocked his head at me. “You were willing to burn down your own life on principle. And now that you know what kind of people I deal with, you’ll be more than happy to rip them to shreds if it seems necessary. Even if it doesn’t seem necessary. Cultivating fear in my clients is useful. You can do that.”
I pulled off my backpack and pulled out the liquid capsules. “I won’t deliver these. Under any circumstances.”
He looked at me closely. “Not even to protect Simone? Every college admissions counselor she deals with will see the video. And that video gets pretty gnarly. I’ve watched it a few times. Believe me, you don’t want to be responsible for that getting out in the world.”
I swallowed. “I’ll keep delivering the tabs,” I said in a rush. “But not the capsules.”
He thought a moment and nodded. “I can live with that. For now.”
“And this is only until YATS.”
Mason leaned forward again and picked up my wrist. He ran his fingernail all around the bone and then started stroking the palm. “Kendall,” he said. “This doesn’t end with you going to YATS anymore. This ends with you either by my side or in jail.”
I forced myself to stare him down. “We’ll see about that.”
Mason grinned. “You are the best. I like you so much.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
After the fifth call from an unfamiliar Manhattan phone number that night, I shut off my phone.
Fifteen minutes later, at dinner, the landline started ringing. I made sure to grab it before either of my parents did.
“Hello,” I said, wishing fervently for a telemarketer.
“Hello, this is Detective Joe Rockford from
the NYPD major crimes division. Who I am—?”
“Wrong number,” I broke in and hung up. The phone immediately started ringing again, and I surreptitiously yanked the cord out of its socket before answering it again.
“Hello,” I said into the silent receiver. “Hello?” I put the phone back in its cradle and turned to my parents. “They hung up,” I explained, returning to the table.
My mother didn’t answer. In fact, she hadn’t spoken to me since our conversation about my suspension. Not really anyway. She said, “excuse me,” and “pass the salt,” even a polite “good morning,” but nothing that would have alerted a casual viewer to the fact that she was my mother.
“Kendall?”
“Yeah, Dad,” I said, turning to my father.
He smiled at me. “How’s student council going?” he asked.
My fork clattered to the floor. I bent to pick it up, my face burning. I hadn’t even run this year, and my father had no idea. Why should he? I had been out of the house every afternoon on my deliveries anyway.
When I resurfaced, I did something I had never done before.
“It’s going fine,” I lied, looking my father straight in the eyes.
My mother didn’t even bother to look at me, and so the deception stayed where it was.
The worst thing is, I slept well that night. I found it frighteningly easy to fall in line with my mother, to become impersonal. In fact, it was an enormous relief for me to be blank, detached, unemotional—and that in itself was a terrifying realization.
So I went to school, still on autopilot, and easily lied to Simone.
“How’d it go?” she asked, leaning against my locker before homeroom.
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to inject some life into my face.
“Mason was there,” I said, avoiding looking directly at her. “I’ll have to try later this week.”
“Oh.”
My breath caught in my throat, and my answer came out strangled. “It will be OK,” I said quietly. “I promise.”
I finally looked up at her, and she was frowning. She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Ms. Arnold, the art teacher, stepped between us.
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