Page 62 of Ethan & Grace

Message from Grace to Rose

Grace

The smell of rain hung heavy in the air, though not a single drop had fallen yet. Dark clouds had chased away the sun hours ago and were now gathering into a storm. Nervous, I paced the pavement in front of the police station. I wasn’t sure whether my unease had more to do with the upcoming meeting with Detective Carter or with the idea of seeing Ethan, who was due to appear any minute now.

I hadn’t been able to get him out of my head for days and kept thinking about the last time we’d been together. About how right and natural it had felt to be with him. Which was a problem, because that feeling of closeness could so easily turn something simple into something complicated. And I really didn’t need any more complications in my life. Still, I didn’t want to give up on Ethan quite yet, because no one else could quiet my thoughts the way he did.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to focus on what lay ahead. Ethan had mentioned that in addition to the surveillance cameras outside the underground car park, there were a few installed inside as well. His dad had apparently forgotten to delete this footage on them, and Hank had handed it over to the police.

Detective Carter had never mentioned the recordings to me or my parents, and though I doubted she would be willing to show them to us now, Ethan had insisted we at least try our luck. Maybe one of our five suspects could be seen on the footage driving out of the car park around the time of the accident. Which would solve the case faster than I’d ever have thought possible.

A police officer leaving the station gave me a sceptical look but didn’t stop. I pulled out my phone and checked the time. Ethan wasn’t late—I was simply early—but my nerves were frayed. If he didn’t show up soon, I might just go in without him . . .

I wouldn’t really, but the thought crossed my mind.

“Hey. Am I late? I got held up in a lecture,” came Ethan’s voice behind me.

I gave a sigh of relief as I turned to face him. Despite the gloomy weather, yesterday had been the official start of spring, and Ethan had apparently already stored his winter coat away. Today, he was wearing a dark-brown leather jacket. “No, I was just very early.”

“Good. I was worried for a moment,” he said with a smile that immediately sent my heart down reckless paths. “Shall we go in?”

I nodded.

Ethan went ahead and held the door open for me. A wave of warm air hit me, along with that same indefinable smell I’d noticed the first time I’d come here with my parents right after Amy’s death. It was a combination of cleaning products, metal, and something else—perhaps the stench of regret, fear, and bad decisions. There was something about this place that instantly made you feel uneasy, even if you hadn’t done anything wrong.

Ethan didn’t seem in the least bit affected by the tension. In that moment, I was infinitely grateful that he’d offered to come with me today. With his shoulders squared as if the place belonged to him, he walked with me to the reception desk. Behind it sat a man looking grim. He was staring at his computer screen and didn’t acknowledge us until Ethan cleared his throat.

“Yes?” the man asked curtly.

“Good afternoon. We’d like to talk to Detective Carter,” I said.

The man’s eyes flicked irritably between Ethan and me, as if his time were so precious that every second spent talking to us was a waste. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” I replied. I hadn’t even thought to make one. The last few times, I’d simply called to ask how the investigation was progressing, and Detective Carter had always made time to talk to me. “Is that a problem?”

“People usually make appointments in advance.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time, but I’m here now,” I said, stating the obvious.

“I don’t know if Detective Carter is available.”

“Then find out,” Ethan replied, matching the man’s condescending tone.

The man shot Ethan a dark look but reached for his phone without comment. He dialled a number, and it didn’t take long for someone to pick up. “Hey, Lisa. I have someone who wants to talk to you,” he said, then turned back to me. “Your name?”

“Grace Claymore.”

He repeated the name to Lisa, then asked, “Is this about your sister’s accident?”

Of course. What else would it be about? I nodded.

“Yes,” he said, and then paused to listen to Detective Carter’s response. “Mm-hm. Mm-hm. OK.” He looked up at me and, without lowering the phone from his ear, said, “There are no new developments in the case. I’m sorry.”

“I’d like to speak with Detective Carter anyway.”

“She wants to talk to you anyway,” he relayed into the phone.

I thought I heard an exasperated sigh through the receiver, though maybe I was just imagining it.