First Born(12)

‘You should look up from your phone once in a while and see the park, it’s picturesque this time of year,’ says Dad. ‘Look at those leaves.’

Mum taps my knee in a way that says, Forgive your father, he isn’t thinking.

The buildings become more stunted and normal-looking. Fewer skyscrapers. No giant neon signs or heaving tribes of tourists.

‘Whatever the police ask you, just answer clearly and honestly to the best of your recollection,’ says Dad.

‘What else would I do?’ I say.

‘He didn’t mean it like that,’ says Mum. ‘The police here talk differently from the ones back home. They’re more direct. Just take your time with them, that’s all. Think about your answers.’

‘NYPD,’ says Dad. ‘They’ll find out who hurt our Katie. Detective Martinez has been very helpful so far, and very kind to your mother. I have full confidence in the NYPD.’

I scan the faces on the street. ‘Whoever did this could be walking past us right now.’

‘Or he could be in Mexico already,’ says Dad. ‘But I hope to God he’s still here. He needs to be brought to justice. He needs a—’

‘This is close to where your sister lived, Molly,’ says Mum, cutting him off. ‘A few blocks from here.’

I look at the buildings and the windows. I can see her thriving in this neighbourhood. Jogging to the park or meeting friends for Japanese food. A shiver runs down from my neck to the base of my spine. This was her area. She walked these pavements. She lived right here.

‘Can I see her place?’ I ask.

‘We’ll check with the police,’ says Mum.

She doesn’t start to cry but I can tell she’s doing her best to hold it together.

The cab pulls over. A two-storey police building with marked police cars parked outside on the diagonal. I pay the fare. There’s a lone policeman outside the front entrance standing in front of a giant shield.

‘Here we are, 26th Precinct,’ says Dad. ‘You ready?’

We both nod, but he’s the one who doesn’t look ready. His face is ashen.

As we approach, the policeman on guard stares right at me, as if he’s seen a ghost. And in a way he has. No doubt he’s watched KT on the TV news, or else maybe there’s a photograph of her pinned up on a noticeboard. And now he sees me. A replica. He watches me walk inside the building.

Bolted-down chairs and an out-of-order vending machine. Posters and leaflets and a large water dispenser. Two people in here waiting their turn. We approach the desk and a plain-clothes cop comes over to greet us. He looks at my parents and says, ‘Elizabeth, Paul.’ And then he looks at me and says, ‘Hi, Molly. I’m Detective Martinez, please follow me.’

He lets us through a few locked doors and into a large room full of cubicles and no natural light.

‘I want to reiterate how sorry I am for your loss. We’re going to do everything we can to find out who did this and bring them to justice.’

Dad says, ‘Thank you, detective.’

Mum takes a tissue from her pocket.

‘I’d like to ask you some questions one by one, if that’s OK. Standard procedure. My colleague, Detective Ramirez, will talk to you, Elizabeth, in Room B, while I talk to you, Molly. Paul, if you could just wait right here, we’ll come to you as soon as we’re done.’

Dad swallows and blinks twice.

‘Is that OK, Paul?’

Dad nods.

‘Can he come in with me while I talk to your colleague?’ asks Mum.

‘Afraid not, ma’am. We always do it this way. Paul . . .’ He looks at Dad but Dad doesn’t look back, he just shifts in his chair. ‘Mr Raven, sir. Can we get you a coffee or water while you wait?’

‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’

Detective Martinez nods and leads me into Room A.

Two green chairs on one side of a desk. Two green chairs on the other side. A pad of paper. Three empty paper cups. A mirror on the wall.

‘Coffee, tea, water?’ he asks.

I’m thirsty, but I have no idea about the state of the kitchen here. ‘No, thanks.’

‘Take a seat, Molly.’

He has a thick file under his arm and he opens it on the desk.

‘I need to ask you questions about your twin sister and her life here in New York. We want to piece together all the fragments so we can investigate deeper into what happened and charge whoever did this, OK?’

I nod.

‘Some of my questions might be uncomfortable, or you might think them irrelevant, but I need to ask them, all right? I’ll be as quick as I can. I don’t want to keep you here from your parents for a minute longer than necessary.’

‘What happened to her? Who could have—?’

‘I need to ask some questions first, Molly,’ he says, interrupting me. ‘That OK?’

I nod.

‘You live in London, England. Is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘When was the last time you talked to Katie?’

‘It was about five days ago. FaceTime.’

‘What was it you talked about, Molly?’

My throat closes at the memory. Us chatting less than a week ago. Not as easily as we used to, but still. Chatting as though we’d have the chance to chat a thousand more times in the years ahead. Saying nothing profound to each other whatsoever. No chance to say goodbye or express love or anything of the sort.