Hanging Time

72

Milicia was drenched in sweat. She could feel it all over her skin under her clothes. Her rage was so intense, she had to concentrate hard on keeping her body absolutely still, rigid, to stay in control of herself. She knew she must stay in control to survive. The smell of her sweat disgusted her.

Her mind jumped. She thought of Camille and the filthy lies that came out of her mouth, covering everything with bottom mud like a river that overflowed its banks in every storm. Camille lied to anyone who would listen. Bouck was in the hospital. He had to be crazy, crazier than Camille.

And the cops didn’t have a clue what was going on. Milicia’s foot tapped the floor. She could feel her hands clenching, too. Like claws. She told herself to be Buddhist about this. Let the universe flow over you until you’re above it. It was just like long ago in the other police station. They’d keep her there because they didn’t know what else to do.

They would keep asking her questions about the dogs, about Bouck, changing direction every few minutes to see if they could trip her up. But she knew better than to talk.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” she told them, keeping her green eyes wide with perplexity and pain. “I don’t know what you want. I don’t know what you mean.” Sometimes she asked to see her sister. Sometimes she insisted on seeing her lawyer. Then they’d go away for a while.

Charles and Brenda told her to cooperate and tell the truth, but they didn’t know about Camille. They didn’t know how slippery Camille was, how her madness went in and out of the clouds whenever it suited her.

Milicia burned in her stomach and shivered on her skin. It was clear the police were deliberately keeping her and Camille apart. But she knew it could be dangerous to speculate why. It might not be for the reason she thought. With Camille, you couldn’t ever be sure of anything. It could be this was all too much for her. Maybe she had retreated into one of her states when you could stick pins into her or light her on fire, and she wouldn’t react at all. Maybe the police were just trying to figure out what to do with her. Milicia got the feeling they suspected Bouck of the murders. But why did they think he did it? How could he have done it?

She had been in this place for hours, first in the Sergeant’s office, then on the bench. People were coming in and out all the time, standing around in clumps talking, before going out again. They didn’t want her knowing what was going on, so they moved her to an empty room with a mirror in it. She knew they were spying on her. She didn’t allow herself any movement except the tapping of her feet and the raising of her arm to check her watch every two minutes.

The Chinese woman came in around one-thirty. “You can go now,” she said.

Milicia stood, trying to control her face. “If you keep your face serene in all circumstances, you won’t get wrinkles” was what her mother used to say. Milicia could hear Mother’s voice telling her that now. Okay, she knew how to keep her face serene. “I can go?” she said, her voice calm and low.

“Yes. Just write your name and address on this card and sign it for me, and we’re all done for the moment.” The Chinese woman held out a form.

Milicia was suspicious. “After you’ve kept me here all these hours?”

“Yes.” She handed Milicia the form.

Milicia took it, wondering if it would be better to make a scene or go along with it and just get out of there. She examined the form, waffling over her options. Maybe it would be better to be indignant at the way she’d been treated. She glanced at the card. It seemed innocent enough. Name, address, phone, work and home, social security number. Signature line. She panicked when she saw the blank places for a picture and fingerprints.

“I thought you said I could go.”

“Yes, you’re free to go.”

“What’s this for?”

“Don’t worry about that part,” the woman said, and handed her a pen.

Milicia took a deep breath, trying to calm down. It seemed okay, but she had a feeling none of this was okay at all. This was going to hell. She wanted to change her clothes. She could smell her own fear.

“What about my sister?”

“She’ll be able to leave soon, too.” The Chinese woman now opened the door all the way, showing Milicia that she was free to exit.

“Really, she can go, too?” Milicia hesitated over the card. Maybe it was a trap.

“Yes, we’ll be taking her home soon.”

“I want my sister. Why can’t I take her with me now?”

“I really don’t have the information on that. I’m just reporting on what I know.”

“I’m not a suspect?”

“Not at this time.”

“Then why do I have to fill this in? You already have this information.”

“It’s just routine. There’s a lot of paperwork. We keep information in lots of different places. Just complicates things, that’s all. You want to go, you sign the piece of paper. That’s the way it is.” She shrugged.

Milicia was still suspicious. “What about my sister? Is she a suspect?”

“Not as far as I know.”

Milicia snuffled through her nose. That was as far as she would go to express her disgust and disapproval at the whole stupid system. They didn’t know what they were doing. She filled in the form quickly, signed it, and pushed past the Chinese woman on her way out. Half of her day was gone, and she wasn’t sure what she should do next.

It was nearly two when she stepped out of the police station into the sun. It beat down hard, baking the city rot into the streets. Under her gray suit jacket, Milicia’s sweat-soaked silk blouse felt cold and reeked of emotion. Milicia knew the odor, strong as horse sweat, would never come out no matter how many times the blouse was cleaned. She headed home to throw it out.