Night of incident: Roof w Kotsonis, Kwan, Reed approx 9:30 pm. Drinking beer, gin prep by Reed. Reed left for Matchless 10 (CHK). Grp to concert in 6E approx 11. Took cab home (CHK)
Fight with Iredale on Saturday 8/15 re: “controlling,” unexpected
Conf. breakup bw Iredale + Kotsonis around 7/4; cause unknown
Decedent moody, withdrawn
Iredale “never used drugs”
I remembered that interview, a few days after Edie’s death: the freezing-cold interrogation room done up to look a little cozy with a coffee machine and ugly cushions on the chairs. I’d felt so young and scared, tempted to ask if I should really be speaking to them without my parents being present.
And the notes were so vague. Had I told the cops that I’d headed to 6E with the crew or that the rest of them went out while I hailed a cab? I scanned the jottings again: interesting that I’d said Kevin had made our first drinks; I thought it was Alex. I looked around for notes from my friends’ questionings and brought up Alex’s, squinting again to read the scrawls:
Kotsonis, Alex
#488
24 yo
Met Iredale in winter, approx. January 2009, can’t confirm. Building, other apt.
Dated 3/09-7/09. Lived w Reed, Kwan & Iredale moved in 4/09 (apt 4G, scene of unattended death)
“Growing apart” no details
Night of incident: Last saw decedent approx. 5:30 pm. Night of: apt w Bach, Reed, Kwan 9:30, then roof; Reed to Matchless Greenpoint. Drinking gin; no drugs. Left for 6E (CHK) w Kwan and Bach.
I leaned back and pursed my lips around a long, slow exhale. There—Alex knew I went to the show. Although the notes made it sound like we’d gone directly, while the Flip cam video showed I’d made my way from the roof to SAKE. How drunk had we all been? I heard Alex’s voice again, low and trundling: I want that bitch out of my apartment!
I scanned the notes from the interview with Sarah, whose last name they erroneously spelled “Quan” (or, once, “Kwon”) instead of “Kwan.” It started the same as Alex’s and mine—the origin story of their friendship, mention of a meaningless fight not long before, similar memory of the beginning of The Night. Then:
“Tiny fight” w Bach when Bach left; Quan & Kotsonis to concert apt 6E check.
I read it twice more, my eyes circling back at the end as if it were music and I’d bumped against a repeat symbol. A tiny fight? I thought hard but couldn’t remember anything, either the dustup itself or a later mention of it. There was the burbling sound on the Flip cam video a few minutes in, but nothing I could decipher. Had it happened in my memory’s seams, while we were worm-holing between the roof and the concert? Although she said here in the report, too, that I hadn’t gone along to 6E. A direct contradiction, one the detectives hadn’t caught.
I’d read once that in emotionally distressing moments, your brain can rewrite an ending, stitch together a memory that feels real. After Columbine, for example, the school principal swore he’d made it through a job interview with a potential new teacher and had offered him a gig, while everyone else—the candidate, his secretary—insisted he hadn’t gotten nearly that far. Distressed, we construct realities that feel just as real as the world around us. Whose brain had concocted a new version of that night—mine or Sarah’s?
I kneaded the back of my neck. All these factoids, all these nuggets I took such pleasure in uncovering as a fact-checker—not pleasure, exactly, more like scratching an itch, stamping out a red-hot drive to know, discover, confirm. Making the world orderly and predictable and objectively real. I’d always assumed I’d wound up as a fact-checker by accident, when there were more open roles in research than in the features department. But maybe some part of me had always been scratching away, clawing at the coating over things I’d forgotten.
I pulled my messages up in front of the detectives’ notes and texted Sarah: “Can you call me?” I stared at the screen, willing the bubble to appear that would mean she was responding, but…nothing. I thought briefly of looking at her social feeds, trying to gauge where she was right now, why she was taking so long to reply. In