Rich? - Jerome Valeska

7

They debated handcuffing me.

They said I could very well be a suspect, that I knew so much about the murder, and I was only a minor; why should they trust me?

Lee didn't let them, though. Her excuse was that I was tired, and Jerome was tired, and we were both only kids, so we shouldn't be treated like adults. Jerome made the valid point that he was eighteen, and not a kid, but they weren't even considering cuffing him, since he was apparently traumatized.

When someone mentioned his mother, though, he didn't go soft like most would. His eyes looked intrigued, like the ability to feel trauma had been eliminated from him. I watched as he confused himself with trying to feel some sort of pain, but clearly there was more to his life than the circus.

They didn't cuff me as they led me inside, but they held my hands behind my back and kept their eyes on me, threatening that I could very well be put in a cell the moment I get inside. As we walked in, Jerome kept his head down and his eyes off of me. I think he knew that I didn't want to be treated like an object, stared at or awed over. His knowing this made me feel slightly better, but he still thought of me as weak.

We got inside the building, where the rest of the circus were already being questioned separately. We were led to the detectives' desks, where Gordon said Jerome should be questioned. He called over detective Bullock to watch me, which the other detective didn't seem too willing to do.

"Gordon, I don't know how you could pull a more elaborate prank," Bullock complained. "I dunno what I did to deserve this."

"Just question the kid!" Jim shouted. Before slamming the door he led Jerome to for questioning, Jerome peeked over Gordon's shoulder at me, then through the glass when the door was shut. He shot a quick smile at me before Jim turned around, which I returned.

Bullock grabbed the back of a rolling chair and rolled it to me, which I caught and sat down in. He took a seat on his desk, placing his arms on his knees and clasping his hands. "You know," he said, squinting at me, "I can't tell if I can trust you."

It had been the first time anyone had gathered the nerve to say anything like that to me, and instead of being angry, I was just gaining interest. "Why?"

Harvey glared at me for a moment, taking a teen breath, then opened his mouth to say something, but groaned slightly when he looked over my shoulder. "What is it, Ed?"

I turned around to see a lanky man holding a clipboard and tapping the end of a pen on the side of it, grinning ear to ear, his cheekbones so high on his face that they moved his glasses when he smiled. "What do you usually get when you buy a new watch, but can never tell you the time time?"

Bullock looked like he was about to have a breakdown. "Ed, just stop with the riddles, for one day!"

"Instructions," I muttered after a few seconds, laughing. The man nodded briskly, pointing his pen at me. "Do you have any for me, detective?"

The detective sighed, and replied, sounding vexed and raising his voice a bit, "No, Ed. Nothing. I've got nothing. Go ask Lee what to do!"

Ed frowned, then he nodded again. "Right. But, may I ask, who is this?" he added, glancing towards me.

"What can be useful in a fight, but deadly to a conversation?" I shot back. "You're a distraction. I just want to answer my questions and get out of here."

He looked down, blushing slightly, then quickly walked away, clutching his clipboard. Harvey looked back at me and nodded slowly, chuckling. "A distraction. I'll have to remember that riddle. You're quick, kid."

"Thanks," I mumbled. "Now hurry up and ask me hat you wanna know."

The detective raises his arms in question. "Hell, I don't know anything about this case. Seems like a joke to me."

"It is not a joke!" I yelled, frustrated. Seeing a few heads turn over, I lowered my voice. "A woman was killed, who just so happened to be one of my only friends' mother. You have to take this seriously, no matter how, well, odd it may look right now."

"Yeah, yeah, cut the crap," Harvey muttered. "I just don't have any questions for you right now. Sorry, I'm just supposed to watch you."

"Then watch me leave!" I spat, standing up and swiftly making my way to the door. A couple of cops noticed and shouted, but I only stopped when Gordon called my name from across the room. That meant Jerome was finished with his questions.

I spun around, smiling smugly. "Yes, officer?"

"I don't wanna have to cuff you," he admitted, gesturing for me to go to the room Jerome was walking out of. "I have a few questions for you, then you can go."

My smile spread even wider. "Thank you, detective," I called back, waltzing across the station to the officer.

Jerome was walking out of the room as I went in and headed for the seat he had been in. When I passed him, he hissed in my ear, "Pretend I never said anything bad about my mother." I strained my memory, and when I sat down, I glanced back at him, to see him wink as he was led to Harvey Bullock. James closed the door and sat across from me.

"Alright," he started, sighing. "What all did you see, again?"

"I already told you," I complained, and repeated the same story I fed him last night, of how the woman was hit with something repeatedly and I never saw the killers faces. I didn't say anything about the hatchet, because then they might think of me as a suspect.

He listened to the story again, but didn't seem to buy it completely. "You said she was hit with something?" he asked. "Did you see it?"

"N-no," I stammered. "But it wasn't a fist. It looked like something with, uh, a handle."

"Like a gun?"

I shook my head. "No, it was two separate colors, it seemed like. I was far away, though, and didn't get a good look until I broke the glass bottle I used to magnify my view."

"A glass bottle?" he asked, thinking for a moment. "You couldn't see it? The park isn't that far away from the hill."

Tilting my head slightly, I remembered what my view looked like. "It's far enough away for it to be so blurry that I could hardly tell if the people were men or women at first."

He shook his head. "No, you would be able to tell. Are you sure you were seeing this from the park?"

"Yes," I said immediately. The difference between under the bridge and the park was scarcely anything; it didn't matter. "I was going for a walk and was resting."

"Do you wear glasses, Ms. Campbell?"

I laughed. "No, I don't need glasses, detective."

"You might. You should get your eyes checked," he said, sounding frustrated as he rose from his chair. "I know you don't want to hear this, but you're going to have to hang out with us for awhile longer. What you've given me is starting to sound like false evidence."

"False evidence?" I scoffed. "That's ridiculous, I don't understand - "

"Sorry, kid," he muttered, locking a pair of handcuffs around my wrists.