The Woman with the Scar (Costa Family)

“Control how?” I asked, shaking my head.

“When that detective comes back, you need to casually let it slip that Eren always had a lot of strange men around. It’s not a lie. Mention his temper, that he was quick to fly off the handle at people. Put the focus outward.”

“I didn’t do it,” I said, frowning at Judy.

“I know that. Though, I wouldn’t blame you. And I don’t think any cop worth his salt is going to try to pin this on you, but you never know. So you need to be smart. You need to direct them away from you. Or they are going to laser focus on you and ask you all kinds of invasive questions about your marriage. Ones I don’t think you want to answer.”

“Berat…”

“Hm?” Judy asked.

“Berat. Eren’s brother. I need to tell him. He’s going to be furious with me.”

“With you? For what?”

“I tried to report Eren missing earlier. He told me I was an idiot for calling the police, for getting them involved in their business.”

“I can see that princely demeanor is a genetic trait,” Judy grumbled, then let out a sigh. “I mean, you didn’t call the police this time. That was me. He can’t blame you.”

“You underestimate their ability to blame me for everything,” I mumbled as I picked up my coffee mug.

“Are you in danger, Ezmerey?” Judy asked, making my gaze lift.

Letting out a deep sigh, I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I admitted.

To that, she nodded.

“Well, that house is going to be a crime scene. You’re going to need to stay somewhere else tonight. You can crash here.”

“No. No, I don’t want you any more involved than you already are,” I said, shaking my head.

I couldn’t stay with my mom.

Which meant the only other option was a hotel.

Inwardly, I tensed at that. Some part of me still worried about spending money because Eren had always kept a close eye on all the transactions I made.

But Eren wasn’t around anymore to care.

Eren wasn’t alive anymore.

I wasn’t sure that fact had truly penetrated as the shock had overtaken my system, holding all rational thoughts hostage.

Eren was dead.

And life was about to look very different.

It remained to be seen if that was a good thing or not.

“Mrs. Polat?” the detective asked a moment later, snapping me out of my swirling thoughts.

And then came the interview.

I took Judy’s advice, casually mentioning Eren’s lively social life, mentioning that I wasn’t often a part of that social life, so I couldn’t really say who all his friends were.

“Okay. And what number can we use to get in touch with you… what?” he asked when Judy and I shared a look.

“I, ah, I don’t have a cell phone,” I admitted, shaking my head.

“You don’t have a cell phone,” the detective repeated in the same incredulous tone as if I said I didn’t know what year we were living in.

“Ah, yeah, Eren had the cell phone, you see,” I said, trying to downplay the strangeness. “I was home almost all the time,” I added.

To that, the detective let out a deep breath, something about the ticking in his jaw suggesting to me that he was starting to put some pieces together.

“Okay. Do you know where you will be staying tonight?”

“I, ah, I am going to get a room at The Blue Star,” I said, naming the closest hotel, one I passed many times on my way to the market.

“Okay. So we can get in touch with you there should we need to.”

“Yes,” I agreed, nodding.

“Alright. We will be in touch, Mrs. Polat. I am sorry for your loss,” he said in a way that implied it was no loss at all to me.

With that, Judy and I were alone once again.

“You need to ask them if you can get your purse,” Judy told me, tone calm. “And pack a small overnight bag,” she added. “Now is not the time to start making a lot of purchases. It won’t look good.”

“Right,” I agreed, taking a long, steadying sip of my coffee, then moving to stand. “Judy, I can’t thank—“

“Nope. No thanks needed. And if you need anything, you know where to find me. Do you still have my number?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Use it if you need me. Or need some advice. Anything.”

“I will. Thank you,” I said, making my way into the hall, and asking the detective I’d just spoken to about my purse and a bag.

“Ah, yeah. Yeah, we can do that,” he agreed. “Is the scene… clear?” he asked, looking at one of the uniformed officers.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Come on, Mrs. Polat. Try not to touch anything but what you need to touch,” he added, and then proceeded to follow me as I grabbed my weekender bag, and pushed random items into it, a little too aware of his gaze on me as I went about it, and feeling like I needed to put a stick in it.