Long Live the Queen

Two: Good Cop, Bad Cop

JACK
Caution: Vulgar language, mature content.

"How often do I have to tell you? My brother wasn't a flight risk - or whatever the fuck it is you call it. We lived together. Don't you think I'd know if he was likely to go and jump into the bottom of Lake Erie?"

"So that's what you think happened, Mr. Fosse?"

I sigh. "Fuck's sakes, dude. I've told you already I don't know. Believe it or not, no new information has come to me in the last five minutes."

Officer Perty - every time I look at his name tag I fight the urge to laugh because it's so similar to Officer Pervy - glares at me. His face is round with a pig's snout, and I've been so busy snickering because he looks ready that I haven't even made a joke about his eating too many donuts. I kind of wish I had his teeth, seeing how perfectly white they look, but if that means I need to get his greasy hair and oily skin, I think I'll take a pass on the exchange.

"I'd appreciate it if you don't make things any more difficult than necessary, Mr. Fosse. I'm trying to figure out exactly what happened."

"No," I say, my voice pointed and most likely rude, though by this point I couldn't care less, "you aren't. You're trying to find some tiny detail you could use to paint Aaron in a way that suits your case. All you want is to get this over with and stop dealing with this pain in the ass brat."

The atmosphere is tense - even I can tell that, and anybody who knows me will say I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed. Officer Perty is sighing as melodramatically as possible, trying extra hard to show his frustration with the uncooperative kid in front of him. I'm glaring right back, my thoughts mingling between annoyance at Perty's uselessness and worrying that he decides to search the house for evidence. He'd most likely find a few questionable things and use them against me.

If anyone was watching, this would be quite the picture.

"Listen here, kid," he says. Though his tone is rough and his physical stance is imposing, his bravado is very clearly fake. "I can play this in two ways: good cop and bad cop. Trust me when I say that you wouldn't like bad cop."

"And you'd like my responses to that even less."

Perty groans, but makes a point of reigning his nerves back in check. "I've got to admit, of all the loved ones I've met with, you're one of the most unpleasant."

"Thank you."

As soon as Perty pulls out papers from his coat, I know things are about to get worse - though I'm not quite sure how. The victorious smirk on his mouth doesn't exactly help the impression, though it's better than the disgust with which he was looking around at our - my - house earlier. It's a small, rickety thin, though I'm not sure what he would've expected from two brothers living together without a college education. Aaron was working his ass off to save money for my schooling, and I've already been accepted to Penn State for Psychology studies. I was going to live a better life.

"You called us a few days ago, reporting the death of a certain Miss Lindsey McKay, correct?"

"Yes."

For an instant, surprise crosses Perty's face as he waits for me to add a sarcastic remark, but it doesn't come. "Why would that be?"

"Ingrid looked a fucking mess. So I asked myself WWJD and all that Good Samaritan bullshit."

"WWJD?"

"What would Jesus do."

"I see." Perty notes something down in his notebook, then looks back up at me. "So you're a Christian, then?"