There was an unmarked car with a police radio parked outside Molly’s house when she jogged up.
Ruben opened the front door as she reached it. He chuckled. “Just in time to go to prison.”
Molly pushed past him. “Where are they Ruben?”
“In the lounge, talking to mother,” he said. “They’re waiting for you.”
She crossed the hall and made her way through. Her heart was whacking against her ribcage, her face flushed. She clenched and unclenched her fists. When she reached the lounge door she smashed it open, cracking it against the wall.
Her mother and the two visitors jerked, startled. Jennifer was sitting to the right on an armchair, still in her dressing gown, a cigarette in her fingers down between her knees. A man and woman dressed in navy blue suits sat opposite on the sofa. The man was relaxed, leaning back into the leather cushions. The woman sat more curtly, knees together, hands resting on her lap.
“Here she is,” said Jennifer.
Molly left the door open behind her. She shrugged. “What can I do for you?”
The woman spoke. Her voice was brittle and cracked even though she was still young. “We’re here to ask you some questions if that is all right Ms Butler.” Molly shrugged again. “I have to tell you that it is within your rights to have a lawyer present during questioning. Would you like to exercise that right?”
Molly shook her head. “No.”
“Are you sure Molly?” said Jennifer.
Molly stared at her. “You think I’m capable of doing it, don’t you?” she said.
Jennifer lowered her head. “Of course I don’t. I just think it would be wise.”
“I’ll tell you what would be wise mom! If you left the room and minded your own business. Okay?” Jennifer gaped at her. “I don’t want you here.”
The light dimmed in her mother’s eyes. “All right. If that’s what you’d prefer. I understand.” Jennifer stood up and walked past Molly to the door. As she came level, Molly reached out and grabbed her wrist. Jennifer looked at her but Molly didn’t make eye contact. Then she said, “I’m sorry mom. You can stay if you want to.”
“No thanks,” replied Jennifer. There were tears in her eyes. She tried to pull away. Molly tightened her grip but Jennifer pulled harder, breaking free.
“Mom…”
Jennifer closed the door behind her. Molly made to go after her but she couldn’t with the cops there. She stared at the back of the door for a few moments and sighed. Why did she keep pushing people away?
“Ms Butler?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” She sat in her mother’s chair, ears burning. She knew she was acting the spoiled daughter, reinforcing any stereotypes these people brought with them.
“We’ve examined your father’s car,” said the man, “and your car too.”
Here it came.
“The evidence points to the fact that your father’s car was run off the road. His death wasn’t an accident.”
Molly pinched the skin at the bridge of her nose.
“We’ve established that it was your car that sideswiped his.”
“Look—” said Molly, raising her hand, “I didn’t kill him, alright? I don’t care what you say. The damage to my car didn’t – I wasn’t even driving it at the time. It happened when I was parked.”
The policeman looked at his partner. The woman said, “We know you didn’t kill your father Ms Butler. We’ve already confirmed your alibi for the night in question.”
Molly gaped. “Then why are you here?”
“We know you didn’t run your father off the road but we also know that it was your car that did it,” said the man. “We need to know who else could have had access to the vehicle on the night he died.”
“What? Are you serious?” Her mind was racing.
There was only one person it could have been. Ruben and her mother had been with her. She whispered his name. “Gaston.”
He had borrowed her car that night. She remembered now.
It made sense in some horrific way: the story he told her in the park before he left about the father whose daughter had hated him and been killed for it. Gaston had been talking about her! Surely he wouldn’t have murdered her father because he thought she wanted him to! It couldn’t be possible.
But she knew that it was.
And it wasn’t as simple as that. There had to be a lot more. The Gaston she knew was no killer. He was a writer. He researched murders, he didn’t perpetrate them.
But if he did, then how many others had he committed? What was he capable of now?
Worst of all; he was with Jack. And Jack had no idea how much danger he was in!
Ruben opened the front door as she reached it. He chuckled. “Just in time to go to prison.”
Molly pushed past him. “Where are they Ruben?”
“In the lounge, talking to mother,” he said. “They’re waiting for you.”
She crossed the hall and made her way through. Her heart was whacking against her ribcage, her face flushed. She clenched and unclenched her fists. When she reached the lounge door she smashed it open, cracking it against the wall.
Her mother and the two visitors jerked, startled. Jennifer was sitting to the right on an armchair, still in her dressing gown, a cigarette in her fingers down between her knees. A man and woman dressed in navy blue suits sat opposite on the sofa. The man was relaxed, leaning back into the leather cushions. The woman sat more curtly, knees together, hands resting on her lap.
“Here she is,” said Jennifer.
Molly left the door open behind her. She shrugged. “What can I do for you?”
The woman spoke. Her voice was brittle and cracked even though she was still young. “We’re here to ask you some questions if that is all right Ms Butler.” Molly shrugged again. “I have to tell you that it is within your rights to have a lawyer present during questioning. Would you like to exercise that right?”
Molly shook her head. “No.”
“Are you sure Molly?” said Jennifer.
Molly stared at her. “You think I’m capable of doing it, don’t you?” she said.
Jennifer lowered her head. “Of course I don’t. I just think it would be wise.”
“I’ll tell you what would be wise mom! If you left the room and minded your own business. Okay?” Jennifer gaped at her. “I don’t want you here.”
The light dimmed in her mother’s eyes. “All right. If that’s what you’d prefer. I understand.” Jennifer stood up and walked past Molly to the door. As she came level, Molly reached out and grabbed her wrist. Jennifer looked at her but Molly didn’t make eye contact. Then she said, “I’m sorry mom. You can stay if you want to.”
“No thanks,” replied Jennifer. There were tears in her eyes. She tried to pull away. Molly tightened her grip but Jennifer pulled harder, breaking free.
“Mom…”
Jennifer closed the door behind her. Molly made to go after her but she couldn’t with the cops there. She stared at the back of the door for a few moments and sighed. Why did she keep pushing people away?
“Ms Butler?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” She sat in her mother’s chair, ears burning. She knew she was acting the spoiled daughter, reinforcing any stereotypes these people brought with them.
“We’ve examined your father’s car,” said the man, “and your car too.”
Here it came.
“The evidence points to the fact that your father’s car was run off the road. His death wasn’t an accident.”
Molly pinched the skin at the bridge of her nose.
“We’ve established that it was your car that sideswiped his.”
“Look—” said Molly, raising her hand, “I didn’t kill him, alright? I don’t care what you say. The damage to my car didn’t – I wasn’t even driving it at the time. It happened when I was parked.”
The policeman looked at his partner. The woman said, “We know you didn’t kill your father Ms Butler. We’ve already confirmed your alibi for the night in question.”
Molly gaped. “Then why are you here?”
“We know you didn’t run your father off the road but we also know that it was your car that did it,” said the man. “We need to know who else could have had access to the vehicle on the night he died.”
“What? Are you serious?” Her mind was racing.
There was only one person it could have been. Ruben and her mother had been with her. She whispered his name. “Gaston.”
He had borrowed her car that night. She remembered now.
It made sense in some horrific way: the story he told her in the park before he left about the father whose daughter had hated him and been killed for it. Gaston had been talking about her! Surely he wouldn’t have murdered her father because he thought she wanted him to! It couldn’t be possible.
But she knew that it was.
And it wasn’t as simple as that. There had to be a lot more. The Gaston she knew was no killer. He was a writer. He researched murders, he didn’t perpetrate them.
But if he did, then how many others had he committed? What was he capable of now?
Worst of all; he was with Jack. And Jack had no idea how much danger he was in!
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