The Model Spy

Chapter 16 - The Interrogation

The interrogation room was located in the cold, damp basement of the Paris police headquarters. Like in movies, the suspect was put in a brick room with a small, single light hanging from the ceiling. It moved ever so slightly with the chilly draft that entered the room whenever the door was opened. It wasn’t the friendliest looking room, but then again, the police weren’t interested in interviewing friendly-looking people.

In a nearby, more welcoming room, Zach and I sat in front of a monitor broadcasting the interrogation room in a very crisp and clear picture thanks to a hidden camera in the room’s ceiling.

The policeman was checking his watch rather impatiently. Christinne, the diva that she was, was running fashionably late. Her lawyer had called the headquarters that morning and said Christinne needed time to “freshen up.”

“Agents Porter and Freeman?” An intern offered us two bottled waters.

“Thank you,” Zach and I said in unison, each taking a nice, cold bottle.

I definitely needed it. I was parched. I uncapped the bottle and took a large gulp, hoping some refreshment may calm my nerves. This could be it. This interrogation could make us or break us. The entire case rested on the answers Christinne gave. If we were wrong again…I didn’t know if I could handle starting over from stage one. If I even still had my job, that is…

Zach was anxious too. He tapped his foot rapidly as his fingers played with the plastic water bottle lid.

“I don’t think we are the only ones suspicious of Christinne,” I said finally, hoping to break the tense silence as we waited for the interrogation to begin. Zach turned to me expectantly, almost thankful that I had said something.

“Dylan told me yesterday about her rivalry with all of the other girls and how she threatened them. He trusts her no more than we do, and he knows her much better,” I continued.

“I’d say,” Zach mumbled before taking a large gulp of water.

Huh? My stomach dropped and I felt a little sick. It was a feeling that wasn’t entirely foreign to me. I knew what jealousy was, often being the girl not asked to dances or Friday night football games. Still, I didn’t expect to have such a jealous reaction at those two words Zach had muttered under his breath.

“What does that mean?” I asked Zach, trying to sound calmer than I felt. I had no right to be jealous. Dylan wasn’t my boyfriend or anything.

Zach shrugged his shoulders before giving me a look filled with slight pity. “Christinne was telling me how they went out for a while. Dylan didn’t tell you?”

No, he didn’t share that little piece of info with me, but suddenly I was more concerned with something else. “When were you talking to Christinne?” I bit my lip nervously. My words took on a reproachful tone I hadn’t intended.

Zach slowly took another sip of water and I did the same, in an attempt to stop myself from saying anything else that I would have undoubtedly regretted.

“She asked me to coffee yesterday,” he said finally, screwing and unscrewing the lid to his water. “I thought it would be a good opportunity to learn more about her, you know, delve into the mind of a suspected serial killer.”

His explanation didn’t make me feel any better. “What did you find out?” For some reason I couldn’t force myself to look at Zach, so I watched the policeman in the interrogation room. He was now pacing back and forth, his face visibly annoyed as he waited for Christinne. He snuck a quick glance at his watch and rolled his eyes.

“We went out to this little café and had a chat. She asked where you were, how I was able to get away. When I told her,” he laughed though I couldn’t find anything funny about the situation, “she was furious. I was surprised she didn’t throw her hot coffee in my face simply for telling her.”