I flip the page, looking at the gobbldy gook written on the forms, wondering what this has to do with me. I look up at them and my confusion must be apparent on my face because the officer smiles, though it's not a warm and happy smile. It's more condescending than anything.
"That page, Miss Moore, confirms that you share alleles with the professor."
I stare at him blankly, wondering what it is he's actually trying to tell me. "I’m sorry. I've said that I don't speak DNA. You're going to have to talk to me like I'm a toddler."
The older officer snorts a laugh, and the younger one that's been talking to me about all of this sciencey bullshit glares at him.
"What that means, Miss Moore, is that you are related to the professor. A 50% match."
My heart stops in my chest as I try to process his words.
"That can't be right. My dad, I know who my dad is, and it definitely isn't the professor."
My mom would have told me if he was my dad. Surely. I know she's a pro at keeping secrets, but this one seems like a hell of a coincidence, and I tell them as much.
"Professor Crawford is not my father, so your test must be wrong."
"We ran the test three times to confirm, Miss Moore," the younger officer says back to me, smiling sadly, as if realizing that I actually had no idea of the news that they were about to deliver to me.
"My father lives on the West Coast," I tell them. "You must have it wrong. You need to check it again."
"We don't need to check it again. Evidence like this doesn't lie. DNA doesn't lie. The Professor is your father," the older officer snarks. "It was his DNA we found on the bodies and you were the one in the places of the murders right from the very first one. That alone is enough to make anyone suspicious. Don't you think?"
* * *
They’ve asked me the same questions a dozen times over, in different ways, and I want to cry. I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, and I’m just done.
I've been here for hours and answered every question that they've thrown at me. I don't know why they're being so hostile, because I didn't do this.
I mean, I get that it looks suspicious from their perspective, but if they have Crawford's actual DNA on the body—which is still baffling as fuck to me, considering he’s dead—why are they looking at me so closely?
Even if I do have matching alleles with him, and even if heismy father—which I still don't believe—why would that make me a suspect?
I open my mouth to say as much and beg, yet again, for some water, or to leave since I'm technically not under arrest, when the door swings open and Thomas St. Vincent barges into the room. "Gentlemen, I believe you've had my client here without cause for most of the day. I suggest you wrap this up and step outside. Briar, don't say another word."
The police officers look at each other. The older one seems to get his feathers ruffled by the senior St. Vincent’s arrival, whereas the younger one just smiles and nods. "Of course, Mr. St. Vincent. If we'd have known she was your client, we would have called you earlier."
"Of course you would have," he responds sharply. "Is my client under arrest?"
"No, she's not, she's just been here answering our questions. She's been free to go at any time."
My jaw drops as I stare at the police officers. "No, I haven't. I've asked to leave several times. You haven’t given me anything to drink or eat either."
The older police officer's face turns a beautiful shade of purple as Mr. St. Vincent barks out a laugh. "Oh, dear, gentlemen. It sounds like someone's in trouble."
Confused, my eyes bounce between Mr. St. Vincent and the police officers. The younger officer ushers the older one out of the room before apologizing to me for having kept me for so long.
Once the door closes, Thomas sits down beside me and pulls a bottle of water from his suitcase. "Here you go, sweetheart. Drink up."
I take the ice-cold bottle of water, moaning as the cool liquid sloshes down my throat.
"Do you have it in you to answer some more questions? Just for me, so I can make sure that everything is all lined up."
After downing three quarters of the bottle of water, he hands me a protein bar, which I basically inhale in one second flat.
"Can you just walk me through everything they asked you and told you today?" he asks at first. So I run him through everything they told me, from supposedly being a DNA match with Professor Crawford, all the way through to the questions that they asked me about my whereabouts and what I knew about the victims and the murders. "My brain is a little fried," I tell him. "But I think that's everything though."
He nods, tapping his fingers against his chin. "Is there anything else I should know, Briar? Anything that could bite you in the ass if they try to pursue this?"