"Hands in the air!" they shouted, advancing toward her with guns drawn.
"Don't shoot!" Nat shouted back, raising her arms. "I was calling you-"
"Against the car!" a trooper bellowed, and two others grabbed her by her forearms and threw her facedown against the Volvo, wrenching her wrists behind her back.
"No, wait!" Nat yelped in pain. Steel handcuffs were clapped onto her wrists. Hands ran up her legs to her crotch, then down her hips and waist. She tried not to panic. "This is crazy! I was just calling you! This man came out of nowhere-"
"What's this, a knife?" The trooper bumped her against her car and shoved a hand in her coat pocket.
"Scissors. What are-"
"We're taking you in for questioning in connection with the murder of Trooper Shorney."
"The trooper?" Nat felt her heart beginning to pound. "No, wait, I saw the guy who shot him. I can tell you-"
"And for the attempted murder of Barbara Saunders."
"What?" Nat felt stricken. Rain thundered down. She couldn't believe she'd heard him right. "Did you say, Barb? What happened to Barb?"
"Do we have your permission to search your car?"
"Go ahead, just tell me what happened to Barb."
"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of-"
"Wait, why are you Mirandizing me? I didn't do anything!" Nat shouted. "I saw the man who killed the trooper! I would never-"
"-law. You have the right to a lawyer and to have a lawyer present during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you."
"I didn't do it! I didn't do anything!" Nat shouted louder, as the other troopers searched the front and backseats of her car.
"Let's go!" Two troopers flanked her and hustled her to the patrol car. Two others were searching her backseat, shining their flashlights inside.
"You're making a mistake! I'm a law professor!" Nat howled against the rain, and she didn't stop until they shoved her into the backseat of a cruiser.
And sped off into the dark, drenched night.
Chapter 25
An hour later, Nat found herself at the Avondale barracks of the Pennsylvania State Police, chained to a wall. It was unreal. She was in a small, windowless room that looked like a normal office-except that one entire wall was covered with stainless steel from floor to ceiling. She sat on a stainless steel bench built into the steel wall, with her wrists handcuffed to a steel rail at arm height, and her legs, in boots, manacled to each other and looped through another steel rail, at ankle height. She was filthy, wet, and exhausted, and could barely process that the trooper had been killed before her eyes, and that Barb had been shot.
Be good for your aunt. One candy apiece, and that's it.
Nat couldn't get her thoughts together. She felt tears come to her eyes and didn't try to wipe them away, even if she could. Barbara was a mother of three. Her boys could be orphaned. Who would have done that? Why? Was it connected to the burglary? To the prison riot? It had to be, but Nat was too stunned to piece it together. Water soaked her coat, mud covered her boots. Her hair dripped filthy water, and the warmth that she'd felt spatter her face was the trooper's blood.
Please, step outside the car, Ms. Greco.
Nat tried to think. This would turn out all right. The troopers would come in and unlock her cuffs and leg irons, understanding that she'd had nothing to do with either of these crimes. They couldn't seriously suspect her of murdering a cop. They would realize their mistake in bringing her in. She would go home to Hank. She closed her eyes but his wasn't the first face that came to mind.
Natalie, listen.
Suddenly the main door opened, and a heavy-set man in a brown suit jacket, brown print tie, and khakis came in, smiling at her in a professional way and pulling over a metal chair. "Hello, Ms. Greco," he said warmly. "I'm Trooper David Brian Mundy." He sat down and gestured to the manacles. "Sorry the patrol officers had to lock you up like this. I know it's uncomfortable."
Nat felt her temper flare. "Trooper, new shoes are uncomfortable. Handcuffs and leg irons are another thing entirely."
"Fair enough." Mundy nodded. "Sorry about that, but it's procedure. Security." His voice was unusually soft for such a large man, and he had shoulders as wide as a defensive lineman's. His face was open and honest, with the heavy cheekbones of a Native American, and his eyes were brown, his nose short and wide, and his complexion uneven. He asked, "Would you like some coffee?"
"No, thanks." Nat had no idea how she'd hold it anyway.
"You're not missing anything. It tastes like motor oil." Mundy chuckled and eased back into the chair, his heavy thighs spreading in his slacks. He was about forty-five, judging from the lines around his eyes. He took a minute to appraise Nat, with evident empathy. "You re quite a sight. My wife would say it's a bad hair day."
"Can I just ask, how is Barb Saunders?"
"The last I heard, she was still unconscious and in intensive care. She took two bullets to the chest."
No. Nat regretted not asking for coffee. She needed something. $he felt like crying but knew she had to watch her step. She didn't know this was an interview or a custodial interrogation, but the leg manacles were a tip-off. If it went south, shed invoke her right to counsel.
"Would you like some water, or anything from the vending machines? Bag of chips?"
"No, thanks," Nat answered, as another man entered the room. He was as tall as Mundy but leaner, in a dark gray suit and striped tie. A strip of graying blond hair ringed his bald head, and he had narrow blue eyes and thin lips. He didn't smile, but nodded in Nat’s direction.
"I'm Trooper Edward Duffy. We're both detectives here."
"Nat Greco," she said, as Duffy sat down in a far chair and put a steno pad and pen in his lap. He didn't even look up. You didn't have to be a professor to know who was the good cop and who the bad.
"So how do you know Barbara Saunders, Ms. Greco?" Mundy asked.
"She's the widow of a prison guard, a CO." Nat straightened up on the slippery bench. "Why don't you tell me why I'm locked up?"
Mundy nodded again. "Okay, well, it wasn't long after Barbara Saunders was shot that Trooper Matt Shorney was shot dead, not far from her house. We have reason to believe you may know something about his death. He stopped you and called in your plate, so we can place that time, exactly." Trooper Mundy paused. "Look, we saw the ID in your wallet, so you're obviously an educated person. You have no criminal record. You teach at a law school. Penn, right?"
"Yes. I teach law. I study law. Do you really think I would kill a state trooper?" It was so absurd that Nat could barely control her tone.
"Nobody's saying that yet."
"Then why am I chained to a wall?"
"Like I said, it's standard procedure." Mundy glanced in Duffy's direction, but the other trooper was taking notes. "I gotta tell you, I can't figure you out. You don't fit the profile. Not in the least."
"Of course I don't. It's unthinkable."
"But if you have information for me, you can help us both by talking to me. Come on, meet me halfway." Mundy's eyes softened. "Tell me what you know about Trooper Shorney's death. I'm here to listen. You said something to the troopers about a man you saw shoot him."
Nat wanted to trust him, but couldn't. Red flags were waving from all quarters. "So I'm not a suspect?"
"Professor, let's not play games. You're smart enough to know that you'd be making it easier on yourself if you talked to me. If your story about the man is true, you're a material witness. Tell me what happened."
"So I'm not a suspect," Nat said, and Duffy, on the other chair, sat staring, stone-faced.
"You're a person of interest," he interjected, his tone cold.
Wrong answer. "Then I want to make my phone call," Nat said evenly.
They unshackled Nat, led her down to the basement of the barracks, and deposited her in a small white interview room with a few black chairs on either side of a fake-wood table, a stained gray rug, and a Panasonic videocamera in the corner, which was turned off. A phone sat on the table. She punched in Hank's cell number again. She didn’t know any criminal lawyers, but they could find one together, and she wanted him to know what was going on. If the trooper's murder had made the TV news already, he could have recognized the red Volvo, with its Penn Law parking sticker. She waited four rings, then he picked up.