Page 95 of Demo
Monty pinches his brows together, like he’s really considering the question, then answers easily. “No. She was ready to break, too. We were meant to be together, and we knew it. It’s just, somebody had to bend.”
We both swing our feet along the floor, making scuff sounds. Then I bump my shoulder into his. “You’re my best friend, Monty.”
“No, I’m not,” he replies, with a shoulder nudge in return. “Dee is.”
“Ha!” I let out a laugh. “You’re right. But you’re definitely up there. Definitely next in line.”
“I know,” Monty says as he lifts an arm and—after brushing crud off his palms—drapes it around my shoulder, pulling me in for an awkward hug.
“Although, I honestly don’t know how you tolerate her sometimes,” he adds. “Dee is certifiably crazy.”
“Oh, for sure,” I concede.
“And incredibly vulgar.”
“Definitely. Did I tell you about the ear of corn?”
“No!” Monty throws his other hand up in the air. “And I don’t want to know.”
We hear footsteps approach again and this time the door swings open.
“Alright, I think we’ve got some things sorted out,” Chief Scott says, arms braced on the doorframe, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loosened around his neck. “Come with me.”
Monty and I are led to a new room, which, much like the one we were in before, is bare. Just a metal table with folding chairs surrounded by cream-colored walls.
Henderson is already seated at the table, his big, bulky forearms resting on the tabletop, fingers interlocked, head bowed down lower than his mammoth shoulder blades. It shoots up when he hears the door open and his eyes find mine, and a look of apology passes over them.
Arms crossed over my chest I make my way over to a chair as far away from him as I can get and slam my ass down, effectively pouting. Monty is a little more graceful, pulling out a chair beside me and lowering himself into it like an adult.
Henderson looks at me again. “Lyz—”
I throw a hand up, indicating for him to shut the hell up. My face is turned away from him. I can’t even look in his direction. “I thought you were better than that,” I say through gritted teeth.
“He is,” I hear Scott’s voice as he enters the room. He kicks the door shut behind him and takes a seat next to Henderson. “Clark has been looking into the King case, as have you,” Scott says to me. “I stuck Henderson on the case, too, just to keep an eye on Clark.”
“Clark’s a douchebag,” I say without reservation, and Monty elbows me.
“Clark’s a giant douchebag,” the chief replies instantly, to our surprise. “But he’s got a lot of years with the department, his uncle is a former chief, and I can’t do much but just work around him at the moment. And he’s not a bad officer. However, he is being disciplined for the stunt at the ROC Record offices. That shit should have never gone so far.”
“And what about breaking into my apartment?” I ask.
“That wasn’t us,” Henderson finally speaks up.
I shoot my eyes to his. His hands are still folded on the table. “What do you mean that wasn’t you?”
He shrugs. “We’ve been at the station all morning, reviewing video surveillance.”
I look at the chief, who nods in confirmation. I slink back in my chair and look at Monty, who looks just as puzzled. “Well, then who the hell broke into my apartment?”
Scott shuffles and opens a folder I hadn’t realized he brought in with him. He pulls out a photo and slides it over to me on the table. It looks like a screenshot from a security camera. I recognize an illuminated sign in the background from a bodega just a few buildings down the street from my apartment. Walking down the street are two men. One with his hands in his pockets, hood pulled up over his head, but he’s looking over his shoulder and the camera got a perfect shot of his face.
Leaning in, I identify the man as one of the paramedics I spoke with regarding the King case. “Sanders?” I ask, looking up between Henderson and the chief.
“His rig was parked around the block from your place, even though he was supposed to be covering a different zone,” says Scott. “But it was only there for about twenty minutes.”
“Which is long enough to make it to your apartment, do whatever the hell he did there, and make it back into service before anyone really noticed,” adds Henderson.
“Well,” I look back at the photo, at the other man. He has short spiky black hair and a lip ring. “Why the hell would they break into my apartment? Why would they break into it and not take anything?”
