Chapter 4 - The Statement
The police station smelled exactly the way Harper remembered.
Old coffee.
Paper.
Cleaning solution.
Fear.
She had been inside three times before.
Each time, Derek had eventually walked her back out.
The first time, she had come to report a broken wrist.
An officer Derek knew had pulled him aside.
Ten minutes later, Harper had changed her story.
The second time, she had come after Derek shoved her into a kitchen counter.
A sergeant had told her domestic disagreements could become “messy for everyone.”
The third time, she had never made it past the lobby.
Derek was already waiting.
Tonight was different.
Gabriel sat in the waiting area.
He had brought an attorney named Rebecca Sloan.
Noah was asleep beneath Mrs. Morrison’s coat.
Marcus had given police copies of the videos.
Harper sat across from Detective Melissa Grant.
Grant was not from Precinct Twelve.
That mattered.
Rebecca sat beside Harper.
“You can stop whenever you want.”
Harper nodded.
Detective Grant turned on a recorder.
“Start with tonight.”
Harper did.
She described leaving Derek four days earlier.
She described Noah’s call.
She described hearing Derek enter the apartment.
Then Grant asked the harder question.
“Why did you leave your husband?”
Harper stared at the recorder.
Her throat tightened.
Rebecca waited.
Nobody rushed her.
That was new.
Harper finally spoke.
“Because I thought he was going to kill me.”
Grant’s face remained neutral.
“When did you first become afraid of that?”
“About eight months after we married.”
“What happened?”
Harper closed her eyes.
Memories came in pieces.
A dinner plate breaking against a wall.
Derek apologizing with flowers.
Her mother telling her marriage required patience.
A hand around her wrist.
Another apology.
Then the first punch.
Then another.
Harper talked for almost an hour.
She expected someone to interrupt.
Nobody did.
When she finished, Grant pushed a box of tissues across the table.
“Did Officer Lawson ever threaten you using his position?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He said nobody would believe me.”
“Anything else?”
“He said reports disappear.”
Detective Grant’s pen stopped.
“Those exact words?”
Harper nodded.
“He said he had friends who could make reports disappear.”
Grant exchanged a look with Rebecca.
“Do you have evidence?”
Harper almost said no.
Then she remembered something.
An old phone.
Three months earlier, Derek had smashed Harper’s phone after finding messages from a coworker.
Harper had kept it.
The screen was shattered, but the device still worked when plugged into a computer.
She had hidden it inside a box of Christmas decorations.
“Maybe.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“What kind?”
Harper’s heartbeat accelerated.
“A recording.”
Grant sat straighter.
“Of what?”
“I don’t know everything that’s on it.”
Harper rubbed her hands together.
“One night Derek came home drunk.”
“He was arguing with someone on the phone.”
“I started recording because I thought if he hit me again I needed proof.”
She looked at Rebecca.
“He talked about money.”
“What money?”
“I don’t know.”
“He kept saying something about payments and officers getting their share.”
Detective Grant stopped writing.
“Where is the phone?”
Harper’s stomach dropped.
“In the apartment.”
The same apartment Derek had entered.
Grant stood immediately.
“Do not go back there.”
Harper almost laughed.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Grant opened the door.
“Give me five minutes.”
She disappeared.
Rebecca turned toward Harper.
“You realize that recording might explain why Derek was so desperate to find you.”
“I never told him I kept the phone.”
“Maybe he found out.”
Harper thought about the way Derek had searched drawers after arguments.
The way he checked her bags.
The way he sometimes knew things she never told him.
Then another memory surfaced.
Three weeks earlier, she had caught him standing beside the Christmas boxes.
He had asked why one felt heavy.
Harper had said it contained old ornaments.
At the time, she thought nothing of it.
Now she felt sick.
Detective Grant returned.
Her expression was grim.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“Officers went to secure your apartment.”
Harper grabbed the table.
“And?”
“Someone got there first.”
Her voice lowered.
“The place has been completely searched.”
Harper’s chest tightened.
“The phone?”
May you like
Grant shook her head.
“Gone.”
