Free Broken Beauty by Chloe Adams

me in a room very unlike the one we were in. This one has all white walls, except for one with a mirror that I assume is a two-way mirror after watching all those cop shows on TV. There are four chairs around a metal table. The DA has a few files piled up on one side of him and is writing in his ledger on top of another.
    “Come in, Ms. Abbott-Renou. Do you need anything to drink?” he asks, glancing up.
    “No, thank you,” I say. I sit down, hands shaking again. I sit on them.
    Dom pulls a chair into the corner and sits.
    DA Tenet places a picture of the ID in front of me. “If at any time, you want your attorney, tell me, okay?”
    “Okay.”
    “Tell me about this,” he says and taps the photo.
    “There’s a guy from school who … specializes in getting us IDs,” I start. “Whenever we need one, we ask him. We pay him five thousand for an ID.”
    “Five thousand?” the DA looks at me. “How do you get your hands on five thousand?”
    “I’ve got two trust funds, one from Daddy I can’t touch until I’m twenty one, and one from my maternal grandfather. I was allowed to take money when I turned sixteen.” I shrug. “So I do.”
    “No parental oversight?”
    “I have shitty parents,” I tell him. “I’ve been taking care of myself since my grandpa died when I was eleven. Daddy’s team keeps me from messing up while he’s doing what he does and mom is drinking. When I need money, I take it out of my fund.”
    The DA leans back. He’s about Chris’ age and has the same game face. I can’t read him, but I don’t care. I just have to tell them what I know, and then I get to go home.
    “What’s the kid’s name you get the IDs from?” he asks.
    “Casey King.”
    “You have his address or phone number?”
    I nod. He slides me the pad of paper.
    “Is it one of the numbers under outgoing calls we pulled off your cell phone?” he asks.
    “I thought it went into the fountain,” I say, focusing on writing.
    “It did. We were able to pull everything off the memory card, though.”
    “Then yeah, his number is in there.”
    “Where does he get his IDs?”
    “I don’t know. I never asked him.” I shrug again. “I didn’t know he stole them. I thought he made them.”
    “He did a professional job putting your photo on. Did you ever see his equipment?”
    “Nope,” I reply. “We’d just call him and tell him we needed one. Gave him the money and he’d bring it to school or a café.”
    “If we can’t find Casey, can you provide a description?”
    “Yeah, sure.”
    “Thank you.” The DA closes the file in front of him and sets his pen down. He gazes at me for a moment. “How are you feeling?”
    “Fine.”
    “Are you in any sort of therapy? Seeing doctors?”
    “I have a shrink, yes.” My face feels hot at admitting it, and I roll my eyes. “The doctor cleared me a couple weeks ago. Said I was healing fast. No long term damage from the head wounds. My family would probably say my skull is too thick.”
    He gives a trace of a smile. He’s in his mid-40s with blue eyes and hair that’s brown streaked with gray. He’s been calm and quiet the whole time, but his eyes are like Chris’s: sharp and cool.
    “I’m glad to hear that,” he says. “Do you want something to drink?” he asks again.
    He’s still studying me. I start to feel uncomfortable.
    “Uh, no,” I say. “Is that all you wanted to ask me?”
    “There is something else.”
    I’m starting to get edgy, and his too-calm tone reminds me of when Shea is about to tell Mom or Daddy some bad news. I usually disappear when I hear that tone.
    “You forgot to sign your statement about what happened the night you were raped,” the DA says, pulling papers free from one of the file folders. I recognize my handwriting covering the fronts and backs of the papers.
    “Okay,” I say.
    “These read like a lawyer wrote them,” he says, skimming over them.
    “Chris said it needed to be as detailed as possible,” I