Kayla tapped on the glass of the reception window. The same cat-and-bird reaction; the typing stopped.
“Yes?”
“How long do you think they’ll be?” she asked. “I have a husband and four children at home waiting for me to feed them.”
The officer scowled. Kayla thought of Officer Johnny Love, a kid not much older than Theo, playing policeman. She longed for him.
“I have no idea, ma’am.”
“May I please use your-” Her question was cut off when the heavy door opened and out came Val, Paul Henry, and the offensive detective. Val was staring resolutely at the floor, her arms crossed in front of her.
“Are you okay?” Kayla said. “What happened in there?”
“We’re ready for you, Kayla,” Paul Henry said.
“I’m not sure I’m ready for you,” she responded.
Val raised her eyes. “You might want to get a lawyer.”
“You are my lawyer.”
“Not anymore.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Val headed for the door. “I’ll see you later, Kayla,” she said.
Kayla trailed Paul Henry down the dim hallway past the holding cell, which looked like any jail cell-bars, cot, sink-and a couple of offices with desks and filing cabinets. And then, the interrogation room. A sign on the door said PRIVATE. Inside was a wooden table, four folding chairs, a water cooler, and perhaps to remind them that they were on Nantucket Island, one of the most charming locations in all the world, there was a poster of a Beetle Cat with a green sail breezing around Brant Point lighthouse. Kayla was thinking of Val. She felt bruised somehow by what Val had said. Val wasn’t her lawyer anymore? Why not? And Val had left the station. How was she getting home? Taxi? Kayla wasn’t even sure where Val considered home. Now that Val had left John, was she living with Jacob? Kayla wanted to run out onto the street after her friend, but there was little hope of that now that she was in the interrogation room. Kayla wondered if the door was locked.
Detective Simpson sat at the table with a yellow legal pad that was covered with scribblings. “Sit down,” he said. Paul Henry paced around by Kayla’s right, in the area near the door, as though waiting for a chance to escape. She couldn’t blame him.
“We’ve taken three statements so far,” the detective said. “One from Valerie Gluckstern, one from John Gluckstern and one from Lindsey Allerton, birth daughter of Antoinette Riley.”
Kayla shook her head. “John Gluckstern and Lindsey Allerton have nothing to do with this. I don’t see how statements from them would have any relevance.”
“They have relevance,” the detective said. “Because what we’re interested in here is motive.”
“Motive?” Kayla said. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She had known Paul Henry for years, and his idiosyncrasies-his crew cut, his cardigans, his quiet intensity-were accepted by all Nantucketers. He and Raoul were in Rotary together; he gave school assemblies on common-sense safety. Kayla didn’t exactly like him, but she cared about him. This new guy, the detective, was a stranger, and his arrogance pissed Kayla off. He was just a kid they imported from the mainland and gave a title: detective. Now here he was throwing around words like motive. “I don’t feel like playing games. My children are at home waiting for dinner. Why don’t you tell me what you know and I’ll tell you what I know and then I’ll go home and you two can get back to the business of finding Antoinette?”
The detective sniffed. “Your children are at home?”
“Yes.”
“Your son Theo. He’s at home?”
Kayla paused. So they knew. Okay, what did she expect? They knew about the affair, and maybe they thought he was the one who ransacked Antoinette’s cottage.
“He was at home when I left.”
The detective flipped a sheet on his yellow pad. Kayla saw him write her name and underline it. Then he looked at her with an annoyingly casual expression, as though he was surprised to find her sitting there.
“And you’re aware, I assume, that your son Theo was having a sexual relationship with Ms. Riley.”
Kayla nodded.
“And you’re aware that Ms. Riley is pregnant by your son?”
Kayla glanced at Paul Henry, her mind swirling with the furious tornado of the Nantucket rumor mill and how it damaged lives. Theo would be starting his senior year in three days, and every single kid would know.
“Can you prove she was pregnant by my son?” she said. “I mean, if she’s missing…”
“We know you found a positive pregnancy test in Antoinette’s house last night,” Paul Henry said.
“What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t find a pregnancy test in Ms. Riley’s house last night?” the detective asked.
“No.”
“Kayla,” Paul Henry said. “We know you took it. The woman’s daughter told us you showed her the pregnancy test.”
“You removed a positive pregnancy test from Ms. Riley’s house last night,” the detective said. “Even after we ordered you not to touch anything.”
Kayla pointed at the detective. “You have no right to talk to me like that.”
“So you’re going on record saying that you did not remove evidence from a crime scene?”
Kayla nudged her purse with her foot and then she pulled out the sandwich bag. She waved it in the detective’s face-the pregnancy test jiggled inside- and set it down on the table. He snatched it up.
“Do I need a lawyer?” she said.
“We believe it was your son who ransacked Ms. Riley’s cottage,” the detective said. “We could charge him with B and E right now. What you need is to start telling us the truth.”
“Paul?” she said.
“Would you like to call a lawyer?” Paul asked. “It might not be a bad idea.”
Kayla dropped her face in her hands. “Val is my lawyer.”
“Well, in that case you’re going to want to get another lawyer,” the detective said. “I guarantee it.”
The interrogation room was air-conditioned, and Kayla was chilly in her sundress. She rubbed her arms. Val was in trouble, then, and that was why she’d acted so strangely. “You have the pregnancy test,” Kayla said. “Are there any other questions?”
“Let’s get back to the events of last night,” Paul said. “Tell us again about Night Swimmers. What kind of group is this, exactly?”
“It’s not a group,” Kayla said. “It’s just three women. Myself, Val, and Antoinette. It’s a tradition we have, swimming at Great Point on the Friday of Labor Day weekend.”
“You drink champagne and swim in the nude,” the detective said. “You understand that’s a bit unusual? Why not wear bathing suits like other people? Does this… Night Swimmers group include any rituals of a sexual nature? Perhaps you’re more than just old friends?”
Paul Henry cleared his throat and turned away. Kayla sneered at the detective, although she wasn’t surprised. Men would always think what they wanted about what women did when they were alone.
“We drink a little champagne, we eat lobsters, and we swim. That’s all there is to it. And last night, at some point, Antoinette went into the water and didn’t surface. I called the police from the Wauwinet gatehouse, and you responded. That’s the whole story.”
“Let’s talk about when you called the police,” Paul Henry said. “You reached the pay phone and you called 911 right away? First thing?”
“Yes.” As soon as Kayla said this she remembered that she’d called Raoul first. Before she could correct herself, the detective stood up.