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."