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He was referring to the rape kit Quincy endured once her wounds had been stitched up. She didn’t remember much. Only staring at the ceiling and trying to hold back sobs as the nurse calmly talked her through each step.
“It says you had engaged in sexual intercourse that night. Is that true?”
Shame scorched Quincy’s cheeks as she gave a single nod.
“Was it consensual?” Freemont said.
Quincy nodded again, the hot flush spreading to her forehead, her neck.
“Are you sure? It’s okay to tell us if it wasn’t.”
“It was,” Quincy replied. “Consensual, I mean. I wasn’t raped.”
Detective Cole cleared his throat, as eager as Quincy to change the subject. “Let’s move on. Let’s talk about what happened after your friend Janelle came out of the woods and you were stabbed in the shoulder. Are you certain you can’t remember anything that happened after that?”
“Yes.”
“Try,” Cole suggested. “Just for a few minutes.”
Quincy closed her eyes, trying for what felt like the hundredth time that week to conjure even the faintest memory of that missing hour. She took deep breaths, each one straining her stitches. Her head began to hurt. Another headache ballooning in her skull. All she saw was blackness.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I can’t.”
“Nothing at all?” Freemont said.
“No.” Quincy was trembling now, on the verge of tears. “There’s nothing.”
Freemont crossed his arms and gave her an annoyed huff. Cole simply stared at her, squinting slightly, as if he could see her better that way.
“I’m a little thirsty,” he announced, turning to Freemont. “Hank, could you be a sport and get me a coffee from the vending machine?”
The request seemed to surprise Freemont. “Really?”
“Yes. Please.” Cole looked to Quincy. “Are you allowed to have coffee?”
“I don’t know.”
“We better not risk it,” Cole decided. “Caffeine and those pain meds you’re on might not mix too well, am I right? That wouldn’t be good for you. Sheesh.”
It was the last word that tipped Quincy off. Spoken with such forced cheer, it all but announced that it was nothing more than an act. Cole’s handsome face. Those warm, vaguely sexy smiles. All of it was just a charade.
Cole confirmed this once Freemont was out of the room.
“I’ll give you credit,” he told her. “You’re good.”
“You don’t believe me,” Quincy said.
“Not one bit. But we’re going to find out the truth eventually. Think about that, Quincy. Imagine how your friends’ parents will feel when they find out you’ve been lying all this time.Sheesh.”
That time, he winked as he said it. His way of telling Quincy he knew that she knew.
“Now, you can talk all you want about how you don’t remember anything,” he said. “But you and I both know you do.”
Again, a strange shift began to take place inside Quincy. An internal hardening. Everything galvanized. She pictured her skin turning to metal, polished and gleaming. A shield protecting her from Cole’s accusations. It made her feel strong.
“I’m sorry my lack of memory makes you angry,” she said. “Youcan spend years asking me stuff, but until my memory comes back, my answers will always be the same.”
“I might just do that,” Cole replied. “I’ll go to your house. Every month. Hell, once a week. I suspect your parents will soon start to wonder why that handsome detective keeps coming over asking questions.”