What Happened to Cass McBride? Read Free Page A

own house while I was asleep. This house is wired with every kind of alarm…” He looked away. “I get careless. I watch television, toss back a few drinks, don't remember to set the alarms. It's such a safe neighborhood, you know, the best people, the –”
    Ben sat in a chair and pulled it close. “We need a recent picture. Names of friends. Addresses. Tell me about her mother. Where is she? Would she take your daughter?”
    Ted took a deep breath and straightened up. “I'll get the pictures. There's a million of them. She's practically on every page of the yearbook.” He took a step, then stopped, faced Ben, and established eye contact. “And I'll tell you something about my daughter, Detective. I don't know who took her, but unless he…” Ted shielded his eyes with his hand. He cleared his throat. “Cass will find a way to come home.” Ted removed his hand and regained his composure. He straightened his back and again locked eyes with Ben. “Cass knows how to take care of herself. I taught her that.”

KYLE
    “Why did I bury her?”
    I sat back in the chair. “Because it's what the Kirbys do. We bury things. We shove them out of sight. I didn't want to look at her, but I did want to torture her. So I grabbed her, dumped dirt over her, but made sure she understood why she was there. Tortured her the same way she had tortured David.”
    “But she didn't bury David.” This was from the big cop.
    “I don't get how she tortured your brother. You want to explain that for us?”
    Big cop with the statements; little cop with the questions. My head hurt and I put my forehead down on the table. “It's complicated.”
    I was so quiet I could hear the cops breathing. Finally the baby cop cleared his throat. His signal for me to start talking again.
    I turned my face without lifting my head. “I said I wanted to tell this my way. Maybe David went off that limb alone, but it wasn't suicide. It was murder. And someone has to pay for that. And that's not going to happen unless I tell it right. And you're hammering at me with questions and yammering at me to get things in the order you want. Shit, you're just like her.”
    I rocked my face to the other side, seeking the cool surface against my skin. “Now, I want something cold to drink, and some aspirin. And get that camera out of my face. I'll talk later if you step off and leave me alone for a while.”
    I couldn't make eye contact with the big cop.
    “I can't get my mind right. You guys are screwing with my head. Can you leave me alone in here? And turn off the lights?”

CASS
    Oh god, this was real.
    “You've figured it out, huh, Cass?”
    His voice snapped me back and I could feel him pace back and forth across my…grave.
    “This not-talking shit is just pissing me off, Cass. You don't want to do that.”
    More pacing.
    I cried, but no sobs. Quiet tears.
    “Push in the button that's under your thumb and talk, Cass. I'm warning you. You won't like what happens if you don't.”
    His voice was slow and measured. Serious as—well, death. But I didn't answer. I couldn't.
    And what did he expect me to say?
    A spot of light as big as a silver dollar appeared above my face
(not blind!)
, then the light blotted out and something showered down on me. Dirt. In my nostrils and mouth. The light appeared again for an instant then disappeared.
    I turned my head, spit, and cleared my nose and mouth, fear causing me to jerk up and bang my head, knees, and shoulders into the top and side of the box. I hit the button.
    “Stop, please, don't do that again. Please.”
    “There now. Got you talking. That's what I want.”
    What did he want me to say?
    “Cass?”
    “Yes, don't throw dirt on me, please. I…don't understand what's going on.” A sob escaped. I couldn't help it. My fingers again scrabbled the rough wood above me, ripping what was left of the skin and nails. I pounded the tape-bound hand, then pulled it closer to my face and pushed in the square button.