Her gaze was sharp. "Savannah Pruitt, twenty-four years old, freelancer. Usually well-behaved and sensible—you don't even have a record of running a red light."
"But today at the gate you were like a different person? Explain."
I shrugged, neither confirming nor denying.
"My persona collapsed, that's all. Doesn't everyone love that kind of contrast?"
Detective Harper was so mad she laughed, pulling a written statement from the folder.
"According to witnesses at the gate, you were shouting the whole time—anyone who boarded over you had to die."
"How did you know the plane would have an accident?"
"I guessed. Just happened to guess right."
The atmosphere in the interrogation room dropped several degrees.
Joel Lambert was livid:
"Savannah Pruitt! Don't think you can muddle through by playing dumb and acting crazy!"
Just then, the interrogation room door was shoved open.
A young officer ran in holding an evidence bag.
"Captain! Part of the black box data has been restored!"
Lambert snatched the bag, opened it, took one look—and his face turned deathly pale.
"This… this is impossible…"
I impatiently urged them, "Can you hurry up? If you don't have evidence, let me go."
Lambert took a deep breath. "The recording shows… five minutes before takeoff, the captain had already received a warning!"
"Someone anonymously reported that the plane's landing gear had been tampered with, and the oxygen system had been cut off!"
"Because the caller's voice was mocking, the captain thought it was a prank, so he didn't report it to the control tower."
"And that tipster was you."
I wasn't surprised they'd figured it out.
"So what?"
"I called the cops and saved a bunch of people—and in the end, those idiots wouldn't listen. Insisted on boarding anyway and flying to their deaths."
"How is that my fault?"
Joel Lambert's jaw tightened. "Then why didn't you explain? Why didn't you tell us the truth?"
"Whether you believe me is your problem."
"All I know is that everyone who walked past me onto that plane is dead."
Early the next morning, Detective Harper brought me a boxed meal.
"Your family's here."
"Who?" I asked between bites.
"Your parents. And your fiancé."
She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, studying me.
"Savannah Pruitt, I really can't figure out what kind of person you are."
"Your fiancé's name is Sebastian Finch, right? Good-looking guy. Senior engineer at the airline."