She can feel, for the second time during this interview, that she’s boring him.
She tries again. “Mr. Sluiter, are you a religious man?”
He scoffs. “Hardly. My father was that sort, though.”
“So you’re rational,” says Judy. “So you believe in the power of deduction and evidence.”
“Depends,” says Sluiter.
“On?”
“On who’s gathering the evidence. On whether they can be trusted.”
Judy is surprised to find that some part of her understands what he’s saying. Agrees with it, even.
“What about me?” she asks him. “Would you trust someone like me?”
“I would,” he says. “Now, if that was your question—it’s my turn now.”
“It’s not your turn,” says Judy. “We’re still negotiating our terms here. On the meaning of the word dare.”
Sluiter frowns.
“Fine,” he says. “One more question. Then I’ve got a good dare for you, if you’ll take it.” He grins.
Judy pauses, giving herself time to think. One more question, before she can escape the room. She isn’t certain she has permission to mention Barbara Van Laar by name, but she senses she’s on the verge of something. She wants to prove something to the men in the other room, but mostly she wants to prove something to herself.
“We’re looking for information on a girl,” Judy begins. “A missing girl.”
“Barbara Van Laar,” says Sluiter.
A chill goes down her back.
“You know her name,” she says—careful not to phrase anything as a question.
He nods. Looks down at the table. Is it remorse she senses in his posture? She tries to slow her breathing.
“Mr. Sluiter, have you been in the vicinity of her home in recent days? Have you—did you have anything to do with her disappearance?”
He looks at her, calculating.
“That was two questions,” he says. “You have to choose one.”
“Fine,” says Judy. “The first.”
Slowly, he nods.
“I have been,” he says.
“In the vicinity of her home,” says Judy.
“Yes.”
Judy opens her mouth to speak, but Sluiter holds up a finger. “My turn to ask you a question,” he says.
She says nothing. Watches.
“Are you a virgin by choice? Or because no one wanted to fuck you?”
Before he finishes the sentence, the door behind her opens. She turns: Hayes and Goldman and Captain LaRochelle.
“Wait,” says Judy, but already they’re speaking over her.
“Thank you, Investigator Luptack,” says Captain LaRochelle.
Sluiter glares at them, his face darkening.
“We weren’t finished,” he says.
We weren’t finished. Judy wants to say it too—to yell it out—but she understands that her job, now, is to comply with the order being given silently to her by LaRochelle’s firm gaze.
Reluctantly, she stands up from her chair.
Goldman gestures to the door; he accompanies her out.
Behind her, she hears Sluiter’s voice, his tone unreadable, hovering between mocking and earnest.
“Investigator Luptack,” he says. “You did a good job.”
