Firefighter's Virgin

“Did you ever see anything on his phone that you thought was suspicious?”

“Never,” I said. “He doesn’t even have a password.”

“You are his girlfriend?” the officer asked.

“I don’t know if I’m his girlfriend anymore,” I admitted. “But I was, yes.”

“Up until…”

“I found out about his arrest,” I said.

“I see.” The officer nodded. “And how did you meet him?”

“At a party my brother threw,” I replied. “Phil and Brent were friends.”

“He was your brother’s friend?”

“Yes.”

“This is the brother that you currently live with?”

“Yes.”

“Very good, ma’am.” The officer nodded. “If you could give me your contact details, I would appreciate that. If I have any more questions, I will need to speak to you.”

“Okay.” I nodded, writing down my cell phone number with a shaky hand.

“One more thing before I leave, ma’am,” the office said. “You were with Phil for several months, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe he was capable of dealing drugs?”

It was an odd question for a cop to ask. They didn’t usually deal with personal opinions in regards to criminals. What did it matter if an aunt or a friend thought the perpetrator was a good guy?

“No,” I said instantly. “Phil…he’s not that kind of guy. At least, that’s what I thought.”

“So why do you believe he was dealing?”

I hesitated, wondering about that myself suddenly. “I… My brother believes it’s true,” I said, with a shaky voice. “And, he knew Phil far longer than I did.”

“I see, thank you, ma’am.” The officer nodded, before walking away.

I sat there, feeling horrible and guilty. Brent believed that Phil was guilty…was that why I believed he was too? This whole time I thought I had been disappointed in Phil, but maybe the one I was really disappointed in was myself.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Phil

“You spoke to him?” Sarge asked.

“I did,” I replied. “At length.”

“And?”

“He seems like a decent man and seems to believe me,” I said.

I had met the public defender that Sargent Green had retained for me. He was an older gentleman, possibly late fifties or early sixties. He was balding at the top of his head, and the hair he had on the sides was salt and pepper silver. He really did seem like a decent man, and I was hoping that he was an effective lawyer. He had listened to my story, he had taken down a few notes, and then he had scheduled our next meeting.