Chapter 4: The Precinct Waiting Room
The fluorescent lights of the county police precinct hummed with a low, headache-inducing frequency that matched the frantic rhythm of Eleanor’s pulse. The waiting room smelled of industrial floor wax, stale coffee, and old paper. Eleanor sat on a hard plastic chair, keeping Lily tucked securely against her side. The little girl had finally stopped crying, exhausted by the sheer terror of the afternoon, and had fallen into a restless, twitching sleep with her head resting in Eleanor’s lap. Around them, the station was surprisingly quiet for a Tuesday evening. A few desk officers glanced their way with expressions that hovered somewhere between professional indifference and quiet annoyance. They were waiting for Detective Vance—no, Detective Miller had said the investigator handling the initial intake was named Sergeant Cross. The coincidence of the name sent a cold shiver down Eleanor’s spine, though she rationally reminded herself that Vance was not an uncommon surname in this region. Still, every glance from the passing officers felt like an evaluation, an unspoken judgment of a mother who let her daughter ride a bicycle too close to a wealthy man’s expensive vehicle.
After what felt like hours, a door marked ‘Interviews Only’ swung open, and Officer Miller stepped out, holding a manila folder. He looked tired, rubbing the bridge of his nose beneath the brim of his cap before walking over to Eleanor.
“Mrs. Hayes?” Miller asked softly, lowering his voice so as not to wake the sleeping child. “We’ve processed Mr. Vance. He’s currently being held in the temporary lockup pending a formal arraignment in the morning.”
Eleanor stood up slowly, careful not to disturb Lily. “And the video? Did you log it into evidence?”
Miller hesitated for a fraction of a second—a micro-expression of unease that did not escape Eleanor’s watchful eyes. “Yes, ma’am. It’s logged. But I need to warn you about something. Mr. Vance has already invoked his right to counsel, and his lawyer is Marcus Sterling.”
Eleanor felt the breath catch in her throat. Marcus Sterling was the most feared defense attorney in the tri-county area, a man known for systematically destroying witnesses and discrediting victims with surgical precision.
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“He’s entitled to a lawyer,” Eleanor said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to sound resolute. “That doesn’t change what he did to my daughter.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Miller agreed quietly, sliding a business card across the reception desk. “Keep your phone close, Mrs. Hayes. And don’t talk to anyone from the press.”
