“Don’t worry. We’re not arresting you. I just want to see the back of your head,” the detective said.

Tinsley rolled her eyes and leaned forward on the desk. “Fine. Be my guest.” The detectives stood behind her as she slowly parted her hair down the middle.

One of the detectives winced, the other made a hissing noise through his teeth.

“You’d better come look at this,” he said to Detective Smalls.

Around the desk and behind her suspect, Detective Smalls moved to inspect Tinsley’s wound.

A deep gash, crusted over with blood and debris and nearly two inches long, lays hidden beneath her hair.

“My god, Tinsley. That thing needs stitching up.”

“I’m fine,” Tinsley huffed.

As the detective took her seat, one of the technicians snapped photos of the wound. Tinsley glared angrily at the detective, quickly shifting her hair back into place when they were done with their pictures

“Make sure you tag me in that on Facebook, yeah?” she said, smirking at the young technician.

The detective didn’t react to Tinsley’s joke. Despite her attempt at humor, the injury looked incredibly painful.

“Are you a big reader, Tinsley?”

This time, Tinsley opened her mouth and laughed. “Is reading a crime now, too?”

The detective shook her head. “It’s only a matter of time before we find out that it’s your blood on the book, and on the pillowcase that you tried to hastily hide away in the bush out back by the pool.”

“The book fell on my head, okay? It was on the top shelf and those books are heavy as fuck. I was embarrassed. And I’m tougher than I look, so I’ll be okay.”

The detective shook her head from side to side. “Nope. Try again. Unless that book lifted itself off the floor, swung back, and bashed you a second time, then there’s no way it happened the way you just said it did.”

Tinsley spread her hands out on the desk, flexing her fingers. Open and closed. Open and closed.

“Who hit you over the head with that book, Tinsley? And why are you covering for them?”

“I’m not covering for anybody,” she snapped, curling her fingers into tiny fists.

“Was it Mara? Is that why you pushed her off the balcony?”

Tinsley’s eyes grew wide, shoulders stiffening.

“I’ll unravel it all on my own eventually, so why don’t you just save me the trouble and the time? I can help you, Tinsley. But only if you talk to me.”

Tinsley leaned back in her chair, slouching down. Gingerly, she reached back and touched the wound on her head and winced.

“It must have hurt like hell.”

“She wasn’t a good person, okay?”

“Who wasn’t?” the detective prodded, moving to the edge of her seat.