Free A Cold and Lonely Place: A Novel by Sara J. Henry

that too. He gave me a hug so warm and tight I didn’t want to let go. I felt that swell of love, so intense it nearly hurt, like I’d felt not long after I’d rescued him last summer. I’d known then I would lay my life down for this kid. That hadn’t changed. I didn’t think it ever would.
    Afterward Philippe and Jessamyn and I sat in the library, fire blazing, and talked about anything but Lake Placid until we couldn’t keep our eyes open. We went off to our rooms, and I saw Jessamyn close her door. I hoped she’d be there in the morning.
    And she was. A little wan, but she was there. We left right after breakfast, taking along an enormous box of food from Elise, who thought we didn’t eat well enough. She was probably right.
    We didn’t talk much on the drive. I repeated what Jameson had said, to just tell them facts, and to stop answering questions if it got uncomfortable. “And if you don’t know something, just say so—don’t make something up,” I added.
    “I
won’t
,” Jessamyn snapped. “I’m not stupid, Troy.”
    I guessed I did sound patronizing. I should have been surprised Jessamyn hadn’t been sharp-tongued before now. In a way it was good to see her like this, more like her old self.
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that it’s no fun being questioned by the police, and these guys are going to be pros, not like thatyahoo from Saranac Lake. They can trick you or hammer at you until you want to say anything to shut them up.”
    She looked at me curiously. I hadn’t told her the police here had considered me a suspect in Paul’s kidnapping last year, and I didn’t go into it now.
    We drove for an hour before she spoke again. “Do you think Tobin’s parents are in town?”
    I thought about the parents from Connecticut, the rich parents, the parents who had just lost a second son. “I imagine they are,” I said. They would, I thought, have come up to ID the body if nothing else. I didn’t know if Jessamyn hoped to meet them, or hoped not to.
    We got to the state police headquarters before noon and waited in not particularly comfortable chairs. It seemed there might be security cameras recording what we said and did, so we said and did nothing. Finally Jessamyn was called, and I opened the paperback I’d brought. After I’d pretended to read three chapters, she was back. She gave a shrug that seemed to say
No big deal
. The investigator turned to me.
    “Miss Chance?”
    I nodded.
    “I need to talk to you as well.”
    This I hadn’t seen coming. I’d been so concerned about Jessamyn, I hadn’t given any thought to the notion I might be questioned. I gave Jessamyn a fake smile and followed the man. The room we entered was a regular office, not an interrogation room, but still reminiscent of when I’d been questioned in the Ottawa police station last summer. The investigator was typical of most New York state troopers I’d seen: tall, tightly muscled, white, male, with a brush cut.
    “We’d like to ask you a few questions,” he said briskly. Which made me want to ask who “we” were, if someone was in the closet or under the desk. But I didn’t.
    He asked when I’d met Tobin, when I’d last seen him, the names of his friends. And about Tobin’s relationship with Jessamyn.I wasn’t going to out-and-out lie, but neither was I going to throw Jessamyn under the bus.
    “It seemed fine,” I said brightly.
    “They got along? They didn’t fight?”
    I shook my head. “I never saw them fight,” I said, which was true. Jessamyn could have gotten that fat lip from running into a door. I’ve done it: walked slam into the edge of a door standing open—it hurts like heck, and you feel really stupid. Or someone other than Tobin could have done it.
    “How often did you see them?”
    “When Tobin was in town, he was at the house at least every other day, sometimes more.”
    “And what was your relationship with him?”
    “Relationship? He dated my roommate. I never