Redesigning Fate (Revive #1) - A. M. Wilson Page 0,69

with Elias about last Saturday?

The Saturday where he didn’t come home on time.

The Saturday where he had blood on his shirt.

The Saturday he won’t tell me where he was.

Oh god.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Yes, come on in. Have a seat and I’ll be right with you.”

I hear Elias respond to the detectives, and my brain jumps to life. After scampering down the hall to his room, I slip into his adjoined bathroom, right my dress, and finger comb my slightly sweat damp hair into submission. Mid swipe of reapplying my lip-gloss, the bedroom door swings open. Through the mirror, I can see Elias scrub his hand over his face and release a deep breath.

“Marlee? Can I come in?”

“Yeah, I’m just fixing myself up in your bathroom.” My voice comes out too high, squeaky almost. He pulls open the ajar door, stopping within the frame.

“I want you to come back out there with me. There are some detectives here from SPPD with some questions about last Saturday.”

“Were you expecting them? You don’t seem very surprised they are here.”

He looks too calm, confident. Whatever is going on, this isn’t a surprise. He merely shrugs. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come down to this, but I guess I’m not entirely surprised.” He stretches out his arm, offering me his hand.

With nerves returning full force, I place a tentative hand in his warm grasp. He give it a light squeeze before turning to head back out to the living room.

We seat ourselves along the sofa; the two detectives had chosen to stand. Elias never releases my hand. I try to quell the nerves boiling in my stomach as I wait for this conversation to begin.

“Thank you for waiting. I want to introduce you to my girlfriend, Marlena. Whatever you need to ask me, you can ask in front of her.”

“Good afternoon, Marlena. I’m Detective Nelson,” the older man speaks to me. He has short, salt and pepper hair and a hardened stare encased in thick square glasses. He’s average height with a round belly, which is testing the strength of the thread on his shirt’s buttons.

“Hello,” I respond shyly, hoping to be a spectator and keep all attention away from me. The other detective ignores the introduction and brings the attention back to Elias.

“Mr. Brooks, can you tell me where you were Saturday night between the hours of eight and ten p.m.?” He’s younger than Detective Nelson, probably in his 40’s. His hair is a rich chestnut brown and wavy. He looks fit and athletic for his age. His eyes are much warmer and softer than his partner’s are. He pulls out a small notepad from his breast pocket along with a pen, which he poises along the paper, ready to take notes. Elias clears his throat, giving me a sidelong glance before he speaks.

I squeeze his hand gently, trying to convey that it’s okay.

“I was at Sinclair’s. My buddy is the owner.” His gaze is moving between the two detectives, his hand squeezing mine once more, reassuringly, I think.

The men glance briefly at each other before Detective Nelson speaks. “Do you have anybody who can verify your whereabouts? You’re girlfriend, perhaps?” Minutely, I shake my head, feeling guilty that I can’t lie for him. However, to this very minute, I still don’t know where he was that night and what he was doing. This whole scenario is unsettling. My mind is having a hard time wrapping around two police officers questioning my boyfriend about his whereabouts.

Elias speaks up when I fail to voice my response. “Alex Sinclair, the owner. He was with me the entire time.”

“Are you familiar with this young woman?” Detective Nelson produces a photo from a file I hadn’t noticed he was carrying.

As he hands the photograph to Elias, nausea rolls through me when my eyes snag upon the image. It’s a color photo; the same image of the black and white portrait that was in the newspaper.

“Yes, Katie Martin.” He keeps his hand firmly attached to mine; however, he’s no longer sneaking glances in my direction. What is this about? I’m so confused.

“And can you define the nature of your relationship with Miss Martin?” Elias swallows audibly beside me.

“She’s an ex-girlfriend.”

Huh?

“What?” The question slips out before I can contain my surprise.

“Are you aware that Miss Martin has been missing since last Saturday evening?”

What the fuck is going on? Katie and Elias dated? Does this make Elias a suspect? Where was he really on Saturday? I swallow hard against the bile rising in