Big Air by Lorna Schultz Nicholson

Author:Lorna Schultz Nicholson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: James Lorimer and Company Ltd., Publishers
Published: 2013-08-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

I ran to my car, started it, and called my dad’s cell. When he didn’t answer I called again.

Pick up. Pick up.

It would be seven in the morning in Montreal. He was probably out for his run or in the shower. Then I tried Serena, but her cell phone wasn’t on and my call went straight to voice mail. And I tried the home phone. No answer there either.

I had no idea what to do. Now I had to meet with the police; I had no choice. My heart hurt for Marc, ached like an open wound, and I wondered where he was. What if he was lying in a snowbank somewhere? I’d phoned and squealed on him and that was something I’d never done. Dad always said I had a face of stone and a tongue as stubborn as a mule.

Now, I’d talked to a cop and if I didn’t go in, it would look bad on both of us. I put my car in reverse and drove slowly down the empty streets. It took me twenty minutes to arrive at the police station. Fully expecting the place to be noisy and crazy like the police stations in the movies where drug addicts and street workers screamed at one another, I was surprised at how quiet it was. I walked up to the desk and asked for Constable Peters.

“Your name?”

“Jax Barren.”

“Take a seat. I’ll get him for you.”

I sat in the chair beside the little end table, picked up a dog-eared magazine from the table, and leafed through it. Without reading one word, I put it down and pulled out my phone. It was four in the morning and I honestly felt as if I was in a really bad dream. Guaranteed tomorrow afternoon when I was teaching, I’d be tired. I couldn’t think about that now.

Five minutes later Constable Peters came out from behind the desk.

“Mr. Barren. Thanks for coming in. Follow me.”

I did as I was told and followed him down a hall and into an area of the police station you couldn’t see from the front. Then I was led into what must have been an interrogation room — it looked exactly like the ones on the crime shows. There was nothing but a table and a couple of chairs and what I figured was a one-way mirror. The female officer sat on one of the chairs. She stood when I walked in and gestured for me to sit in the chair across from her.

On television this is when the actor asks for a lawyer.

“Can I get you some water?” she asked with a kindness to her voice that I liked. “Or a coffee?”

“Water is fine,” I said.

Constable Peters put his hands on the table and interlaced his fingers. “You have the right to an attorney because you are giving a sworn statement.”

“I don’t need one,” I said. I was going to tell the truth now. Why would I need a lawyer?

“We will tape your statement so we have it on record.

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