Thread of Truth, стр. 37

She picked up her phone and set it in her lap. “You don't know if you know anything?”

“Do you mind if we go inside?” I asked. “Would that be okay?”

She looked unsure for a moment, then stood. “Okay.”

I followed her into the living room. She immediately sat down on the sofa, in the same spot she’d occupied the other times I’d stopped by. She tapped at the screen on her phone, then set it down on the arm of the sofa. She looked at me, but didn't say anything.

I sat down on the opposite edge, facing her. “I spoke to Christine Gonzowski yesterday. At Seaside.”

She glanced at her phone. “Oh.”

“You know her, correct?”

“Uh huh.”

I waited for more, but didn't get anything else.

“She told me a few things.”

Olivia's bare foot tapped against the carpeting. “So?”

“You learned that she and Desmond had a relationship, correct?”

Her foot tapped faster. “Yeah, but that was...that was a long time ago.”

“But you found out about it, right?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

She bit the tip of her tongue.

“I had to use Desmond's phone for something. I saw a text.”

“And Desmond hadn't told you anything about that?” I asked. “About he and Gonzowski?”

She shook her head.

“What happened after you found the text?”

She looked away from me. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Yeah, nothing,” she said, still not looking at me. “I mean, I talked to Desmond about it. But it was...fine. It was nothing.”

“Did you go to school to confront her?” I asked.

“I should probably call my dad,” she said. “He really didn't want me talking to you anymore.”

“You can call him, but I'm going to ask the same question again,” I told her. “And so will the police when they come to talk to you.”

“The police?” she said, finally looking at me again. “Why?”

“I think they're going to want to talk to you about what was going on before all of this happened,” I explained.

“I don't see why it matters. It was private. It's our business.”

“Did you go to school to talk to her?”

“She's a liar,” she said, frowning. “Did she tell you that? Because she's a total liar. Desmond told me she's a liar.”

“Yes, she told me you came to school to confront her,” I said. “She told me where it happened, and she gave me some pretty specific examples of what you said. Are you telling me you didn't do that? That she's making it up?”

She pushed her toe into the carpeting and studied it for a moment.

“The police will be talking to her, too,” I said. “She's going to tell them what she told me. So if your story is different, I'd like to hear it.”

She shook her head in disgust and looked away. “Such a bitch.”

“Did you talk to her? Did you go and talk to her?”

“Yes, I went and talked to her,” she snapped. “Fuck her. What she did was gross and awful, and I wanted her to know I knew and what I thought of her. Yes, I went and told her what a bitch she is.”

“And this was at school?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she snapped again. “I waited for her in the parking lot. She took her fucking sweet time coming out, but I waited. And then I said everything I wanted to say to her. Everything.” She looked at me. “And I'm not sorry about anything I said. She trapped him. She used him. It was all her.”

“How do you know?”

“What do you mean how do I know?” she snarled. “Because Desmond told me. He told me she manipulated him and complimented him and did all these nice things for him. He just thought she was being nice. He had no idea until it was too late.”

I wasn't sure if she believed what she was saying, but I certainly didn't. It didn't even make sense. She was portraying Desmond as a victim, and while he certainly might've been influenced by an older person in a position of power, it didn't quite ring true that he had been some puppet and unaware of his actions. I wondered if Desmond actually told Olivia that or if she'd created the story to help herself deal with it.

“Did you talk to him after you spoke to Christine?” I asked.

“No,” she said, wincing. “I never saw him again.”

“So you'd just found out about the two of them? Before you went to see her?”

She started to say something, then stopped.

I waited.

“Yes,” she finally said. “I'd just found out.”

“And can you tell me how that went?” I asked. “The conversation with Desmond.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled, pressing her palms to the side of her head, as if noise was filling the room. “I just did.”

“I'd like to hear the details.”

“I'm not sure it's any of your business.”

“Probably not,” I told her. “And I can't make you tell me anything. But, again, the police are going to have the same questions for you.”

She folded her arms across her chest and sighed again. “Fine. I was looking on his phone for something. This kid in our English class. I needed a homework assignment and I knew Des had texted him in the past. I didn't find it.” She paused. “But I found his texts with her instead.”

“So you read through them?”

She chewed on her bottom lip for a second. “It was a long string and I read all the way through it.”

“Okay.”

“And, so, I...just asked him about them,” she said.

“You just asked him? Like a normal conversation?”

She shook her head, irritated. “I don't remember, alright? No, probably not just normal. I was like what the hell are these? He got all red-faced and didn't have an answer.” She paused. “And then I guess I got pretty mad.”

I nodded.

“I started reading the texts out loud to him,” she said. “It was clear to me what had happened. Like, super clear. And I threw his phone at him. I told him to explain it.”

“And so then he did?”

She shook her head. “No. He was still, like, stuttering