guys’ front door had been shattered and lay everywhere. I gasped, thinking someone had since broken in there, too. The police said, “No, no, no. We kicked it in ourselves.” They handed me protective booties and gloves. After I slipped them on, I sang out, “Ta-dah,” and thrust out my arms like the lead in a musical.
It was an odd setting for anything lighthearted, but having just been reprimanded for complaining, I wanted to be friendly and show that I was cooperating. I hoped to ease the tension for myself, because this was so surreal and terrifying. Instead of smiling, they looked at me with scorn. I kept trying to recalibrate my actions, my attitude, my answers, to get along, but I couldn’t seem to make things better no matter what I did. I wasn’t sure why.
I followed behind them in silence. We stopped first at Stefano’s room. The comforter on his bed was crumpled up and stained with blood. I took another sharp breath. They said, “Do you see anything not normal?”
It seemed a bizarre thing to ask. I said, “Yes, there are bloodstains.” The sight of it made my heart and mind race. I was trying to piece together what I’d seen. The agonizing thought that maybe Meredith had been attacked downstairs and chased back into our apartment before she was killed struck me like a physical blow. I kept thinking about how utterly terrified she must have been. I wanted to know what she had been through in her final moments, but at the same time I couldn’t bear to go there.
I didn’t think I could take any more surprises, but they kept coming. Next, the police opened up a closet to reveal five thriving marijuana plants. “Does this look familiar?” they asked.
“No,” I said. Despite my earlier lie about not smoking in our house, I was now telling the truth. I was stunned that the guys were growing a mini-plantation of pot. I couldn’t believe I had talked to them every day since I’d moved in six weeks earlier and they’d never mentioned it. I said, “I don’t really hang out down here a lot.”
Next we went to the room that Marco and Giacomo shared. There was no blood—or contraband plants. While we stood there, the detectives started asking me pointed questions about Giacomo and Meredith. How long had they been together? Did she like anal sex? Did she use Vaseline?
“For her lips,” I said. When I’d first gotten to town, Meredith and I had hunted around at different grocery stores until we found a tiny tub of Vaseline.
Giacomo and Meredith had definitely had sex, but I certainly didn’t know which positions they’d tried. Meredith didn’t talk about her sex life in detail. The most she’d done was ask me once if she could have a couple of the condoms I kept stashed with Brett’s still-unused gift, the bunny vibrator, in my see-through beauty case in the bathroom Meredith and I shared.
I couldn’t understand why the police were asking me about anal sex. It disturbed me. Were they hinting that Meredith had been raped? What other unthinkably hideous things had happened to her?
After that, I was taken back to the car and left alone. I felt as though I’d been emotionally thrashed, and I lay in the backseat staring blankly at the floor. The interpreter came up to the window and asked if I was all right.
“No,” I said. “I’m confused and tired, and I can’t help imagining all the horrible things Meredith must have gone through.”
Back at the questura , I had to repeat for the record everything I’d been asked about at the villa. It was a tedious process at the end of a difficult day.
Finally, at around 7 P.M. , I was allowed to call Raffaele to pick me up. While I was waiting for him, Aunt Dolly phoned. “Did you ask the police if you can leave Perugia? If you can come to Germany?” she asked.
“Yeah, and they said no, that I’d have to wait until they heard from the magistrate in three days. Whatever that means.”
“If they really want to question you, they can do it
It was an odd setting for anything lighthearted, but having just been reprimanded for complaining, I wanted to be friendly and show that I was cooperating. I hoped to ease the tension for myself, because this was so surreal and terrifying. Instead of smiling, they looked at me with scorn. I kept trying to recalibrate my actions, my attitude, my answers, to get along, but I couldn’t seem to make things better no matter what I did. I wasn’t sure why.
I followed behind them in silence. We stopped first at Stefano’s room. The comforter on his bed was crumpled up and stained with blood. I took another sharp breath. They said, “Do you see anything not normal?”
It seemed a bizarre thing to ask. I said, “Yes, there are bloodstains.” The sight of it made my heart and mind race. I was trying to piece together what I’d seen. The agonizing thought that maybe Meredith had been attacked downstairs and chased back into our apartment before she was killed struck me like a physical blow. I kept thinking about how utterly terrified she must have been. I wanted to know what she had been through in her final moments, but at the same time I couldn’t bear to go there.
I didn’t think I could take any more surprises, but they kept coming. Next, the police opened up a closet to reveal five thriving marijuana plants. “Does this look familiar?” they asked.
“No,” I said. Despite my earlier lie about not smoking in our house, I was now telling the truth. I was stunned that the guys were growing a mini-plantation of pot. I couldn’t believe I had talked to them every day since I’d moved in six weeks earlier and they’d never mentioned it. I said, “I don’t really hang out down here a lot.”
Next we went to the room that Marco and Giacomo shared. There was no blood—or contraband plants. While we stood there, the detectives started asking me pointed questions about Giacomo and Meredith. How long had they been together? Did she like anal sex? Did she use Vaseline?
“For her lips,” I said. When I’d first gotten to town, Meredith and I had hunted around at different grocery stores until we found a tiny tub of Vaseline.
Giacomo and Meredith had definitely had sex, but I certainly didn’t know which positions they’d tried. Meredith didn’t talk about her sex life in detail. The most she’d done was ask me once if she could have a couple of the condoms I kept stashed with Brett’s still-unused gift, the bunny vibrator, in my see-through beauty case in the bathroom Meredith and I shared.
I couldn’t understand why the police were asking me about anal sex. It disturbed me. Were they hinting that Meredith had been raped? What other unthinkably hideous things had happened to her?
After that, I was taken back to the car and left alone. I felt as though I’d been emotionally thrashed, and I lay in the backseat staring blankly at the floor. The interpreter came up to the window and asked if I was all right.
“No,” I said. “I’m confused and tired, and I can’t help imagining all the horrible things Meredith must have gone through.”
Back at the questura , I had to repeat for the record everything I’d been asked about at the villa. It was a tedious process at the end of a difficult day.
Finally, at around 7 P.M. , I was allowed to call Raffaele to pick me up. While I was waiting for him, Aunt Dolly phoned. “Did you ask the police if you can leave Perugia? If you can come to Germany?” she asked.
“Yeah, and they said no, that I’d have to wait until they heard from the magistrate in three days. Whatever that means.”
“If they really want to question you, they can do it
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