The Thrashers(37)

“I’m not letting you walk into that fucking courthouse with a glorified stenographer while your rich friends walk scot-free thanks to their $15,000 retainer,” he snapped.

Jodi swallowed, listening to the truck engine rattle through the phone. “Yeah, of course.” She took a deep breath, relaxing her voice, directing the conversation back to exactly where he wanted it to go. “Miranda will be fine. I’ll just stay quiet and let her do the talking.”



* * *



Jodi met Miranda at a coffee shop after school the following Monday. Her appointment with the DA’s office was at four, and she hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything that day. She’d Snapchatted the others, asking if they’d been interviewed about anything. They hadn’t. Julian, Paige, and Lucy had received arraignment paperwork in the mail, and Zack had been formally charged when he was arrested, but none of them had had a one-on-one with the investigative team.

“Why would they even want to interview me if I have a lawyer present? What do they expect to get out of me?” she asked Miranda.

“Well, they might be just applying pressure, hoping you know something. I know that’s scary, but just remember—you did nothing wrong.”

Jodi nodded, hoping that was true.

“You’re not a hothead, are you?” Miranda smiled into her latte.

“No, not really.”

“Then this should be a breeze. Honestly, I don’t know what they want out of you, either, but if they can’t rile you up, then they won’t get it.”

Miranda drove them over to the courthouse, full of beige hallways and asbestos air. There was a small lobby with four uncomfortable chairs, and Jodi sat on the edge of one while Miranda stood, checking her phone.

“Jodi Dillon.”

Her head snapped up, and there was Detective Harding—red lipstick, ponytail, and fake shoes. She was smiling at Jodi, but it was different than the catlike smile from three months ago. This time it was an imitation of sincere, encouraging.

She stood and introduced Miranda. She watched them shake hands. Then she followed Detective Harding into a room with a large table and two other people sitting in chairs facing the door.

“This is Assistant District Attorney Buechler and his colleague Henry Yang.”

Buechler stood and shook Jodi’s hand. He was a good-looking man with silver hair and thick-framed glasses. He could have been an eyewear model in another life. Yang simply nodded at her before continuing his notes, the fluorescent lights casting odd shadows on his angular jaw. Miranda pulled up a chair for Jodi, then herself, and then Jodi was staring down the tunnels of Buechler’s dark blue eyes.

“Thank you for coming in, Miss Dillon. We’d just like to ask you a few questions to follow up on the interview Detective Harding had with you in July.”

Miranda cut in, “Can I ask for the record if Miss Dillon is being charged with anything at this time?” Jodi almost jerked at the firm, acerbic tone of her voice.

Buechler tilted his head at her. “Not at this time, no.”

She cast a quick glance to Miranda, who was pulling out a legal pad and a pen.

“Alright,” Buechler said, sitting forward in his chair. “Miss Dillon—or, may I call you Jodi?”

“Please refer to my client as Miss Dillon.”

Jodi tried not to let her eyebrows reach her hairline as Miranda’s “lawyer voice” reappeared. She didn’t look up from her notes.

“Miss Dillon,” Buechler started again. “How old are you?”

Jodi paused. When Miranda didn’t say anything, she responded, “Seventeen.”

“And when did you meet Emily Mills?”

“When she transferred to New Helvetia. My junior year, her sophomore year.”

“At the beginning of the year? Middle of the year?”

“We had a class first semester, but I probably didn’t talk to her until October.”

Yang cleared his throat. “And that would be October 2023?”

“Yes.” She watched him scribble.

Buechler tapped his fingertips against the table and continued, “So you were in a class with Emily a whole month and a half before speaking to her. Is that common for you, Miss Dillon?”

“No comment,” Miranda said.

Jodi chewed the inside of her cheek. It was common for her. She’d realized this during the current semester as she’d tried to make new friends. But it wasn’t intentional, like Buechler was trying to make it sound.

“What did you and Emily Mills talk about when you were together?”

“No comment.”

Buechler was unfazed, as if he expected her interjection. “Did Emily ever talk about suicide with you?”

“No comment.”

Jodi’s eyes flashed to Detective Harding, who was leaning back with a bored expression. “Like I told Detective Harding, Emily never mentioned suicide or that she was depressed.”

Miranda shifted next to her, and she knew she should have stayed quiet. But it was the truth, no matter what a journal said.

“Is there anything else you’d like to say on that, Miss Dillon?” Buechler asked.

Jodi shook her head. He flipped a page.

“When did you meet Zackary Thrasher?”

“In second grade.”