“Is there anyone else in these recovered memories?” he asks. “Or are you all alone?”
I wince at the wordrecovered, as if it makes them somehow less legitimate, as if I’ve fabricated them rather than excavated them from the fog in my mind.
“No, there’s no one else in the memories. I was by myself,” I say. “But I want to make clear, if I didn’t the last time we spoke, that I wasn’t hungover. I know what being hungover feels like.”
“Okay.” His puffy face remains impassive, but I catch the subtle hint of doubt in his tone.
“I was drugged. That’s why I fell and blacked out.”
His eyebrows shoot up, skepticism etched into the doughy flesh of his forehead. “You didn’t mention this theory of yours on Sunday.” There’s an edge to his voice now, a hint of open suspicion that makes my stomach clench.
“Well, I did mention the tox screen. I know I did.” I try to keep the frustration out of my voice. I won’t get anywhere aggravating him. “I’ve been thinking about, how did I end up in the basement? And all that blood? Someone must have taken me there.”
“Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Jankowski says. “We don’t know that’s your blood. We’ll ask the Allards if we can take a sample of the carpet, but until we run the tests, we can’t be sure. Did you get the results from the tox screen back yet?”
I shake my head. “They said it would take a while. How long will it take to get the blood from the carpet tested to see if it’s a match to mine?”
He blows out a long breath. “Could be a while. A month?”
“A month? I have to wait a month to find out?”
“Could be longer. Wheels of justice turn slowly and all that,but be patient.” He shuts his notebook with a decisive snap. “We’ll get the results eventually. If you remember anything else in the meantime, call us.”
He turns back to the house. That’s it. Ten minutes of his time, and he’s filed me away. I feel dismissed, small, hysterical. With nothing else to do here, Finn and I turn to go, walking toward my house on familiar streets.
“That was so anticlimactic,” he says, kicking at a stone on the sidewalk. “I didn’t expect it to be like on TV, where they pull up with some special gadget and test the carpet right there. But still, a month or longer?”
“I just hope the Allards don’t give us any trouble for going into the house. I need them to say yes and let the police test the carpet. It feels like the first real piece of evidence that something bad happened Saturday night.”
He nods. “I know how you feel. They took some DNA from the night Autumn was killed, and they just came back with the results a little while ago. And that was almost a year ago.”
“A year? That’s crazy. What did the results say?” I ask softly.
“They don’t really say anything. It’s more a profile that you can match suspects to. If they ever arrest any suspects.” Bitterness creeps into his voice. “Which I’m starting to wonder about.”
“And you still don’t think it was a robbery?”
He shakes his head, jaw tightening. “We were on a FaceTime call that night. I heard the doorbell ring. She was upstairs in Tori’s room, and she looked out the window and said, ‘One of the neighbors is at the door.’ She answered the front door, and she was shot.”
“I’m sorry. That’s so intense.” My words fail the moment.I can’t imagine being on the phone with a loved one seconds before they were killed. “A neighbor, huh? I wonder who it was.”
“You and me both.”
“You still talk to the detective on the case?” We turn onto my street, my house coming into view.
“Sometimes we touch base. He’s a decent guy. Tries to keep me updated in the most general way.”
We stop in front of my house. It’s such a pretty house—brick Colonial with black trim and a blue door. I loved it the moment Miguel and I first saw it. Zach was a baby, and I was pregnant with Rachel. This was going to be our forever home, in a safe neighborhood, with excellent schools. We were set.
Now everything feels upside down. What kind of mother doesn’t know her daughter was breaking and entering? I’ve blown the only job lead I’ve had in a year. And someone in my own neighborhood drugged me and stuck me in a basement.
A small white butterfly lands on a purple phlox that Paula gave me last year. Normally seeing butterflies gives me hope, and I try to see it as a reminder that the natural world goes on no matter what problems we humans face. “Your landlady gave me those.” I point at the flowers. “She’s always giving away plants. But you probably know that.”
He smiles sadly. “Yeah. She’s very generous.”
“I’m really sorry I made you late for work, but I appreciate your being there today,” I say. “Whatever happens, it feels good to have remembered at least one part of my story.”
“Happy to do it.” He narrows his eyes. “Whose party did you say you were at when this happened?”