Free Lunch

Part 1

“Um...uh, k.” What was she supposed to do…? She opened the door and she stepped into the coolness, wiping sweat from her brow. The man tailed her.

“Let’s talk in the living room,” he said. She summoned her courage.

“This can’t take long.”

“Oh no, it won’t. Actually, I’ve got to leave soon anyhow."

“Okay.” She took her shoes off and dumped her backpack on the floor, plunking herself on the worn blue sofa. The room was clean, but school flyers and pencils and things that didn’t seem to have their own place all sat on the computer desk wedged in a corner. The kitchen door was ajar, revealing a few flies buzzing above a fruit bowl on the black table on a graying linoleum floor. I’d better clean up after this is over, she thought, or Bobby might get mad. And mop up too, maybe. He was tired-always tired- after school yesterday, and told her to clean before he got back from work-which she hadn’t done. When he came back from work, he just spoke in a whisper, as frail as an old man, to please do what I said, and left his backpack on the living room floor as he went to bed. That was bad; he would normally scold her to shame, or sometimes even tears, but he was dead tired this time.

She realized she should have gotten a chair for the policeman, but he sat on the far end of the sofa. She relaxed, feet going up to the coffee table before lowering them again- it would be disrespectful, and Bobby didn’t like it if people put their feet up there. A thunk, and she cricked her neck to see. A black briefcase rested by his feet; she was too preoccupied to notice it before.

“Don’t worry,” said the policeman.

“What is it about my brother? I can’t think of him doing anything wrong.” His eyes searched hers, wheels turning.

“I’ll cut to the chase, then.” He took a breath. “It’s a shock, but…” he paused. “It seems like your brother killed your parents on purpose.” Her head shook no before the words even took hold. He raised a hand. “I know, I know, but-”

“He- how-” Indignation moreso than shock surged through her and she stood. “You’re wrong. You made a mistake or something.” He raised both hands, defensively this time.

“Look, the department has evidence-here, I’ll show you.” He set the briefcase on the table and opened it like a laptop, and turned it towards her. Plastic bags with grainy photos and other bits were scattered inside. But the centerpiece was the gun, its flat black forbidding against its pitch velvet background, robbing attention from all else. “We found this in his backpack. Only his fingerprints were on it. There are pictures of him being in places where he didn’t have to be from the security tapes on the day of the party. And some notebook paper and printouts with diagrams of-wait.” He leaned forward. “Bobby is a smart boy right? Aces his tests?”

“Usually…” How did he get the gun? “M-my parents-” her voice caught, pain still fresh. She swallowed. “They didn’t die from guns.”

“I’ll get to that. Bobby is good at mechanical things, huh?”

“He used to help with changing the car oil and stuff… and he fixed my bike when the chain was broken.”

“So he’s good at that sort of thing?”

“Yeah, probably…”

“The papers we found had his fingerprints on it and it was his handwriting. They’re his for sure.” He took another deep breath, gazing into her eyes. “They were various ways of setting up accidents and how to kill people, like a partially cut tree that needed a good push to fall over, for example. One of them was the very way he killed your parents, with the wire and car explosion. We found out after he was behaving suspiciously and took the backpack…” His voice went on but she didn’t hear it, like when she was engrossed in a book and was deaf to the TV. Her throat constricted, skin burned, hands trembled, and even her eyes didn’t work how they used to, she couldn’t see properly. She burst into tears, shaking. It wasn’t an accident. Why? An arm enveloped her shoulders, and she cried into it.

“Why-why did…?”

“We’re still trying to find out. It looks like he may have been angry about something your parents did, maybe something he wanted but didn’t get. He gets angry with you, doesn’t he?”

“If I d-don’t clean up-or if I for-g-get to p-put the f-food b-back in the f-fridge-” She gasped and cried harder.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair. He pulled a phone out of his pocket. “I’m going to have to go-”

She jerked her head up. “N-now? But-”

“Not yet, don’t worry. I’m going take a quick look around, see if there’s anything dangerous, like drugs or weapons. You learned about them in school, right?” She nodded. “If I find anything dangerous, I'll make sure you're safe from it. For now, just do as he says and you'll be fine."

He searched the house, looking through her brother's room last. A cry reacher her ears and she ran. The policeman raised a gloved hand, holding a clear bag with white powder. "Drugs. He’s desperate for money. I'm going to wait here for him and place him under arrest." By now, she was too wrung out to be surprised. The man went back to his briefcase and handed her something that looked like a big glasses case. “Hide it. Don’t open it. I’ll tell you later. Okay?” She nodded. “I’m Officer Leroy. Yours?”

“Jemma.” His hands enclosed hers in a handshake, then she bounded to her room. Officer Leroy waited until a clinking of a key signaled him before the turn of a knob. Bobby stepped in, and the officer grabbed his arm and swept his leg beneath Bobby's, making him fall flat on his back with a gasp.

"What-happened?" he wheezed, fighting for wind. "You tell me," replied the cop, and handcuffed him.