When I did go outside, it was to the Academy, and I stayed close to Mark and even to Csilla, who had iced her attitude towards me so that we spoke in mathematics to each other and little else. She seemed to delight in proving me wrong, and although at first it was frustrating, I began to realize that the faster she proved my incorrect avenues of inquiry wrong, the faster I could move on to the next one. She grew ever more visibly frustrated when I accepted her criticisms enthusiastically, but she pushed me to burn through the proof mechanisms at a faster pace. .
The police station was swarming with people when I arrived. Before, Csilla's mom had led me through the station quietly. Now, though, dozens of policemen talked loudly, the Hungarian words swarming in the air around my ears. I pulled my red hoodie over my head and tried to muffle the sound of the crowd, all foreign and aimed at me, or so the paranoid side of my brain would have me believe. But I swore I heard the name Herceg more than once, and American - that was a word I knew all too well.
It was only when she called me for the third time that I realized Mrs. Deveny was standing in the doorway of an office, calling my name.
"Brynn!"
"Yes?" I walked forward amid the strange gazes of strangers who had seen my picture somewhere and recognized me. Did they know me as the girl whose mother had been killed thirteen years ago? Did they know me as the girl hanging around with the notorious Dr. Eliot Herceg? Or worse, did they know me as the person who was there to be questioned, the only person with any ties to this recent murder?
"Come in," Mrs. Deveny said. The coolness in her voice reminded me of the first time I had met her, in her apartment. The glaze in her eyes confirmed my suspicions—she had been drinking, and recently. She turned away from my eyes as though she knew what I was seeing.
"These men want to ask you some questions," she said. "Can I have your phone and any other electronics you might have?"
"Um, sure," I said.
"You don't have any recording equipment?" she asked.
"No," I said, growing more confused as I handed her my phone.
"There you go," she said. "They're ready for you."
There were two officers standing inside next to a table. One of them was tall, middle-aged, with a pinched face and angry eyes. The other one was fat and kept rubbing his cheek with one hand like he had a toothache. The tall man said something in Hungarian that I couldn't understand, and Csilla's mom replied quickly. She left and closed the door behind her.
The door shut with a hard clang, and the loud chatter of the office outside was muted in an instant. I was all alone with the two officers. The tall man said something else, this time to me, still frowning.
"Sit down," the fat officer said in a heavy accent. I took a step forward and pulled out the chair. The metal legs scraped over the tile floor, and when I sat down the chair was chilly against my back. The fluorescent light overhead was so bright that it made me squint. I realized that I was going to be interrogated. The tall man said something else.
“Sajnálom, én nem beszélek jól magyarul,” I said slowly, careful to pronounce the words correctly. I'm sorry, I don't speak Hungarian very well.
The tall officer looked up in surprise and then spoke quickly to the fat man.
"It's alright," the fat one said, rubbing at his cheek again. "I will translate."
"So," the tall officer said, leaning over the desk. "What is your name?"
"Brynn Tomlin."
"And when did you arrive in this country?"
They asked me question after question about my mother, her death, and why I was in Hungary. I showed them my student visa and explained as best as I could. The translating officer stumbled over some of the mathematical explanations I gave about the work I was doing in Budapest.
"And your relationship with Eliot Herceg?"
I looked up. The tall man looked at me knowingly, and a chill ran over my knees. I clasped my hands in my lap.
"Yes? What about it?" I asked, trying to keep my cool. There was no reason to be argumentative.
"Is the nature of your relationship sexual?"
I flushed hard.
"That doesn't seem to be any of your business," I said, as politely as I could.
"Has he given you anything?"
"Given me anything?"
"Yes, after your relationship began. Has he given you money? Presents?"
"I don't see what that has to do with anything."
"We have records which show a bank transfer to an American account from Dr. Herceg."
"And?" My heart was pounding. I didn't want Eliot to get mixed up in any of this.
"So he has given you money. You and your family."
"Yes!" The word came out strained. "Yes, he has been very kind."
"Did you tell him about the evidence you examined the other day?" The tall man began the question before I had finished answering the other one. It seemed that he understood some of my English, after all.
"No," I said.
"Not at all?"
“Nem!" I said. No.
"Why not?"
"I...I don't know," I said. I sucked in my cheeks. "I didn't want to talk about it."
The tall man walked around the table and stood above me. I crossed my legs and stared up at him defiantly. He wouldn't intimidate me with his size. He spoke slowly, his eyes locked on mine, while the other man translated.
"You are sleeping with a man. Living with a man. He has given you tens of thousands of dollars in money and presents. And you don't talk to him about the evidence you spent eight hours examining that day?"
"I didn't want to talk about it," I repeated.
"You told nobody about the evidence."
"Nobody!" How many times did they want me to repeat it?
The policeman threw a photo down on the table in front of me. My eyes widened as the image came into focus. It was another woman. Cut up, just as my mother had been cut up.
"Do you know this woman?" the officer asked. I shook my head no. I couldn't take my eyes off of the photo. Her face was calm, the eyes closed. Almost peaceful.
"Do you know who killed this woman?"
"No," I said.
"Do you know who killed your mother?"
I turned my gaze up to the officer and spoke evenly.
"If I knew who killed my mother, he would already be dead."
A knock on the door broke the officer's gaze. The buzz of office noise flooded the interrogation room as the door slammed open and Eliot appeared in the doorway.
"Brynn!" he said. He looked at the two officers. "What is all this?" He spoke quickly to the tall officer. They exchanged harsh words, and finally the officer left the room with a brisk stride.
"They have no right to keep you here," Eliot said to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Let me get a lawyer for you. Surely she's not being held?"
"No," the officer said to Eliot.
"Not being detained in any way?"
The officer swallowed.
"No."
"How did you know I was here?" I asked.
"Mark told me," Eliot said. "I was looking for you. The dean from your university is trying to call you."
"Sorry," I said. "They took my phone from me when I came into the station."
"It's about your grandmother," Eliot said, his voice low.
"My—what about her?"
"I don't know," Eliot said.
"Is she okay?" My voice was rising, and I didn't know how to stop it. All of the worry that I had been keeping cooped up was spilling out of me, and panic gripped my throat.
"I don't know," Eliot said. "They wouldn't tell me anything. Brynn, I have to go."
"Go?" My world was crumbling around me. My mother's killer was out there, stalking around Budapest unknown. Something had happened with my grandmother. And now Eliot was abandoning me.
"I have the presentation," he said. "In ten minutes. I have to get back to the Academy."
"Okay," I said. I couldn't blink, couldn't form a complete sentence.
"Call the dean," he said. "Let me know if you need anything."
"Okay," I whispered. "Go."
"I'll see you afterward."
Eliot squeezed my hand once. He didn't kiss me, only touched his fingers to mine in that brief moment. When he looked back from the doorway, there was worry in his eyes. Then he was gone.
The tall officer passed him and came back into the doorway, Csilla's mom accompanying him. He did not meet my eyes.
"There's nothing else we need from you," she said. "You're free to go."
She handed me my phone and I murmured a thank you that was inaudible under the chatter of the policemen around the office. Eyes followed me out of the police station as I pushed my way past the desks and through the crowded hallway, and I was thankful to be outside with space around me to breathe. There were three messages on my phone, but I didn't have the patience to listen to them. I dialed the dean's number that Eliot had given me and breathed deeply as the phone rang once, then twice, then three times. The phone picked up with a sharp crack of the connection. Stupid old phone. I had been too stubborn to let Eliot replace it for me.
"Brynn?"
She had been waiting for me to call.
"Yes?" I asked, not wanting to hear the answer.
"Brynn, I have some bad news about your grandmother."
"What is it?" In my head a pounding: tell me, just tell me; tell me; just tell me.
"She's had a stroke last night."
"What? She had her medicine! Is she—is she okay?" A thud beat loud and hard in my ears. She had to be okay. My Nagyi was the strongest woman I knew. She had to be okay, she had to.
"She's in the hospital. I spoke with the attending nurse on the phone. They say that she's very sick. Are you able to come to the hospital?"
"I...no, I'm in Budapest. Can I call her at the hospital?"
There was a pause on the phone, and the dean cleared her throat.
"Brynn, I want to be clear with you about this. The doctors said that she won't make it through the week. Likely as not, she only has another day or two. Her heart is very weak. She's not in stable condition yet, and they are keeping her sedated until she's able to recover."
Time stopped moving. The static of the phone reception in my ear filled the world with its noise. I leaned back against the wall of the police station and closed my eyes, trying to sort out the meaning of the dean's words. There was no way Nagyi was that sick. She had her medicine! I had sent her the money for it! How could she possibly have had a stroke?
"Brynn?"
"I'm here." I spoke hollowly. The words didn't mean anything. Nothing mattered.
"I know that you still have a few weeks left in the program—"
"I'll come home." As soon as I said it, I knew that the decision was the right one. Mark would have to finish the paper up with Csilla. My Nagyi was more important than any math publication.
"We'll do whatever we can to make sure you graduate on time," the dean said. "There are options."