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I don’t want to give them any reason to run after me. My heart races, adrenaline forced through my veins.

The lights on the car flash silently, lighting the whole street in blue and red.

They wait and wait and all the while I wait too, getting more and more anxious. Wondering what exactly they found that brought them here.

The lights go off.

Two cops climb out of the car in the dark of the street, talking to one another. They look around my neighborhood.

I swallow my defensiveness. I didn’t do anything wrong, I try to convince myself of the lie.

They come up the sidewalk slowly. That’s a good thing, right? If they wanted to pull something, they’d have come in fast so I didn’t have a chance to get away.

I don’t have to answer, I think. I debate on what to do, but fuck, part of me just wants this to end. The thought is quickly silenced by the image ofher.

They pause in the middle of the sidewalk to talk to one another again. One of them points in the direction of the shop and the other one nods. I’m glad it’s nighttime and long after I would have left the shop even if I put in extra hours. They could be coming to talk to me or question me or arrest me—whatever their plan is—in front of Rick and all the other guys if it was morning. And I don’t need more people poking around or questioning shit.

I wait in the living room until they’re out of sight.

A few seconds later, there’s a knock at the door.

Knock, knock, knock.

They don’t mention police or a warrant or anything. It’s quiet. Just a knock at the door. I make myself walk slowly and calmly just like they did. When I pull the door open, a fresh breeze comes in. Night air, cooled down from the day. The kind of air I rarely felt at that place.

“Evening, officers,” I say, my face mostly blank although I hope I look slightly shocked to see them. “Is there something I can help you with?” My voice is even as I glance down quickly. They each have their guns, their walkie talkies. Their uniforms are black, so it's the state not county.

My mind races and I get lightheaded so I hold on to the edge of the door.

The first one consults a notepad in his hand, then studies my face. “Evening. Are you Dean Quinell?”

“That’s me,” I say. I don’t say anything else, just let the silence hang between us.

The two officers exchange a quick glance.

“Could we come in and talk to you for a few minutes?” the second one asks. “We have a few questions we thought you might be able to help us with.”

My hand tightens even further. I know better than to let cops inside my house, but to kick them out would probably make it seem like I had something to hide. I go against my better judgment.

“Sure.” I open the door wider and step back into the entryway. “Come on in.”

“Thanks,” the first one says, and gives me a little nod.

They follow me into the living room. It’s a normal living room. I’m a normal person. They’re not going to find anything in here.

I’ll invite them in, but we’re not going to sit down for a long chat. I stop in the middle of my living room. “What’s this about?” I ask. The cops look everything over, from the soft gray sofa to the recliner I got for my dad when he comes to visit. There are a couple of pictures here and there, one of my mother and I when I was just a babe. The TV is hung on the wall and under it a couple of plants that were gifts. Everything gets a look with quick glances from the cops, then both of them turn to me, standing up a little straighter.

“We’d like to ask you about your whereabouts on a few different dates,” the second cop says, his eyes on mine. Now he’s watching to see what I’ll do.

The first cop clears his throat, then flips to another page in his notebook. “On the night of?—”

He goes through a few different dates. A few different nights, really. I listen to his list, blank-faced. That’s the only thing the school ever taught me.

When he’s finished with his list, they look at me expectantly.

I shake my head. “What’s this about?”

“We’re investigating a series of murders in the area,” the second cop says.