Preservation by Charles Lemoine

Author:Charles Lemoine [Lemoine, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-11-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A cool breeze came through the open car window, drying the sweat from Mariska’s brow. The city never slept, and now she wondered if she ever would again. Wulf had picked her up at a gas station; she’d been hiding between the garbage can and the last row of pumps. The worry on his face had pulled the tears from her eyes, and that’s where her memory began to fade. He’d had a lot of questions, and she was pretty sure she answered all of them, but specifics didn’t seem to matter right now. Jane was dead, and her heart was broken. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d convinced Wulf to take her by her apartment to get her laptop and a change of clothes she kept in her car. He brought her there to retrieve the items from her car while he officially called everything into the department. Within a few minutes, the parking lot was swarming with cops, ambulances, and a CSI team.

“Where can I go now?” she asked.

“I’m going to have to take you down to the station and take a statement.” His face betrayed this tough-guy demeanor. The look of pity on his face tore at her soul, and she bit back a new round of sobs for her beloved, Jane.

She nodded and rested her head back in the seat while he drove her to the precinct headquarters. A numbness washed over her, and everything seemed to happen as a blur. Somehow, she managed to answer his questions—not that she remembered what most of them were. Although, she’ll never shake the sickening feeling of being asked if she’d killed her friend.

Detective Wulf looked up from his computer. “How about I get you home? I’d be happy to take you to your parents’ house.”

She shook her head. “Have my parents been informed about Jane?”

He nodded. “Yes…I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Is my mom okay?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes.

“How could she be?” Wulf reached across the desk and held her hand. “How could either of you be?”

She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I can’t face them…I feel like this is all my fault.” She shook her head. “Can you take me to a hotel?”

They got up from the desk and walked to his car in the parking lot. He unlocked the door and rushed over to open the door for her. She got in and closed the door. He got in the other side and sat in silence for a few moments before turning on the car.

“Are you sure you should be alone tonight?” He turned to face her, the concern in his eyes brought the tears back to hers.

She shook her head and closed her eyes. Tears running down her cheeks in a steady stream. He pulled away from the station, and she didn’t open her eyes until car stopped and he turned off the engine.

They were now parked outside his home, a small Spanish-styled two-story, in West Hollywood. The neighborhood was quiet, almost too quiet, by Los Angeles standards.

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