First Born(14)

My palms fly up to my own face instinctively. ‘Bruising?’

‘We’ll be able to tell you much more soon. I’m sorry, it’s early in the investigation.’ He glances at the mirror on the wall, takes a deep breath, then looks back at me. ‘Did you know your sister took out a life insurance policy recently?’

‘She did?’

‘Do you know what prompted that decision?’

‘No, I had no idea. Life insurance? That makes no sense. What was she afraid of? You have to find out who did this to her.’

Martinez says, ‘We will, Molly. Listen, I really appreciate you talking to me.’ He hands over his card. ‘If you think of anything else, you call me or text me on that number. Do not hesitate.’

‘OK.’

‘Now I’m going to talk to your father.’





Chapter 8


When all the interviews are over, we step outside the precinct building. Mum’s been crying. Her eyes are puffy. Dad looks restless.

‘So, what are we supposed to do now?’ I say.

Dad looks down the street then back the other way. ‘I think we need to talk,’ he says.

We walk in silence past the St John the Divine Cathedral and into the northernmost end of Central Park. There are joggers with headphones and old people with small dogs. Children play in the West 110th Street playground. The air is crisp.

‘It’s the company,’ says Dad. ‘I did everything I could but it wasn’t enough. We’ve lost the business.’

‘I’m sorry.’ This is not a complete shock to me. I’ll do what little I can to help Mum. To help both of them.

Dad scratches his nose. ‘Twenty years down the drain. Creditors could have given me more time. Wouldn’t have killed them to be flexible. Anyway, it seems trivial now, but we wanted you to know. The important thing right now is to find out what happened to Katie.’

It feels like we’re talking properly. Out here in the fresh air. Everything out in the open.

‘I want to know how she died,’ I say. ‘Martinez said that there was no sign of a fight. Could she have done this to herself? Could she have fallen and then poisoned herself with painkillers? Had a heart attack or something?’

‘Police say it’s suspected homicide,’ says Dad. ‘That’s what they’re treating this as. No suspicious toxins or narcotics found at the scene. And our Katie would never have killed herself. There’s no way she would have even thought about it.’

I’ve thought about it.

More than once.

‘I think she was poisoned,’ says Mum. ‘She definitely wasn’t shot or stabbed, and I didn’t see any marks on her neck so she wasn’t strangled either. I think someone drugged her and hit her.’

‘Oh, God,’ I say.

‘I know,’ says Mum.

Dad says, ‘Hang on, Liz. We don’t know anything yet. Martinez told me he couldn’t go into details as the medical examiner or the coroner was still working on her conclusions, but he understood we needed to know more and he said he’d call me as soon as possible.’

He places both hands over his mouth and sighs, and then the three of us stare ahead blankly for a full minute.

Sirens in the distance.

‘Martinez told me we can go to the apartment today after twelve-thirty,’ says Dad. ‘He said the landlady would let us inside. Apparently all the crime scene work has been done already. We’re not to take any items away just yet, but we can visit if we want to.’

‘I want to,’ I say. ‘I need to see where she lived.’

Dad checks his watch.

Mum says, ‘I’m not sure I can go inside there again. I’m not sure I can handle it, sweetie.’

‘Dad?’ I say.

‘Wait,’ says Mum, squeezing her eyes tight, taking a breath. ‘Maybe I’ll come and wait outside. Or a little way down the street. Of course you need to see her place, Molly. To say goodbye.’

‘I can’t say goodbye until I’ve seen her,’ I say.

A sycamore leaf floats down from above and lands by my foot.

‘I asked about that as well,’ says Dad. ‘First priority is to catch the scum that did this, but then I want to know exactly when they’ll release her to us so we can go back to England and give her a proper church funeral. I told him how Grandad was a lay preacher and how I wanted her buried close to us. How our family home isn’t too far from the parish church.’

‘What was his answer?’ I say.

‘That he’ll let me know the details. Not his area. That they don’t want to delay things for us a minute more than necessary.’

We walk from the park to the apartment along the streets she would have jogged on, and pass the people she would have smiled to. I don’t smile. I grit my teeth.

‘That’s her dry-cleaners,’ says Mum. ‘And over there is the corner shop where Katie bought coffee and bread and milk.’

‘The bodega,’ says Dad.

‘That’s what they call a corner shop here,’ says Mum.

We trudge on.

A middle-aged woman in an ankle-length coat looks at me with a horrified expression. We pass each other and I look back at her and she’s still staring at me, her head turned, her eyes wide.