Wishing Well(80)
While being handcuffed, I watched Maurice’s body crash to the ground, watched John explain something to the officers that kept them from hurting my brother.
Figuring it all could be explained once I knew Maurice was safe, once I had a moment to calm down and come to my senses in the police station, once I had time to speak with my attorney, I let the officers lead me away and place me in their waiting car.
And while waiting for the officer to round the car, climb in and drive away, I heard the slap of the employee gate closing, and turned to see a dark haired woman running away.
. . .
“What do you mean one of us is taking the fall for this? It was Barron who killed Penelope. I only attacked him because he went after my brother next.”
“That’s not what seven guests had to say. I’m not privy to their exact statements, but from what I’m gathering on what little the police have told me, the guests are pinning the deaths of both the man and the woman on you or your brother.” Stephen Chase, the man who had been my attorney for longer than I could remember relaxed back in his seat, obviously uncomfortable with the plastic chairs in the holding room of the local police station.
According to him, I would be staying overnight to attend my arraignment in the morning.
“What are my chances of getting out on bail tomorrow?” I asked, hating the jumpsuit they’d given me to wear after taking my clothes as evidence.
“Slim, considering the brutality of the crime. That man was ripped apart, Vincent. The woman’s body crushed in parts. What the hell happened?”
“I already told you-“
“You told me you killed a man for attacking a woman in your garden, but for fuck’s sake! The scene was a blood bath!” His palm slapped the table in frustration before he reached up to run it through his hair. After releasing a heavy breath, he leveled his stare on me and lowered his voice. “I know you couldn’t have done that. You’re not a fucking maniac. Your brother, however-“
“Had nothing to do with it,” I insisted. There was no way I would let them drag Maurice into this. If my brother were found to have committed murder, he would end up in a state psychiatric facility. I refused to let that happen to him. “Speaking of which, did you get in touch with John? How is my brother doing?”
“You’re worried about your brother? Are you kidding me right now?”
I simply stared at him.
“Your manager said they got him to the basement. Whatever the hell that means”
When relief withered my shoulders, he ground his teeth. “You kill me, you know that? This is serious, Vincent. They have cadaver dogs out there looking for the pieces of that man who was killed.”
That information did not bode well. Scrubbing my palm down my face, I asked, “Just out of curiosity, how deep down can those dogs smell?”
His eyes rounded. “I’m not sure. Why?”
Shaking my head, I answered, “No reason.” Except for maybe the two other bodies I’d disposed of when accidents happened.
Fucking Hell, this was bad. “So, what now? We go through the arraignment? The judge sets my bail? What happens then?”
Cursing under his breath, Stephen clicked his pen, the noise an outward symptom of his disbelief and anger. “Then we allow the police to conclude their investigation and decide on charges. As your attorney, I’m highly recommending you come clean about who actually ripped apart that man and killed the woman.”
“Penelope, I said, genuine sorrow coating my voice. “Her name was Penelope Graham.”
“I don’t give a fuck what her name was. All I know is that if you don’t come clean, she’ll be the woman you get the death penalty for.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Faiville Prison; 12:01 pm
Meadow was in tears as the guard led her from the interview room for shift change, her jaw practically dragging the table after listening to Vincent’s reiteration of events. She didn’t have a single second to ask him more about it before the door popped open and she was informed she’d need to leave for a half hour.
In truth, and for the first time since she’d started that interview with Vincent, she appreciated the interruption. Meadow felt broken, crushed, suffering the same injuries her sister had suffered as a fight broke out around her.
After being led to the waiting area where she took a seat on the benches that were as uncomfortable - as inhospitable - as all the feelings inside her, she wished she’d brought the police reports and autopsy reports with her, if only to confirm what she thought she knew.
Barron had suffered such brutal injuries that the medical examiner could only guess which one had been the trauma that killed him. As if a pack of animals had taken hold, his body was torn apart, was shredded by the rage of a man who, until now, Meadow believed had been jealous. She’d guessed, she’d KNOWN, Vincent couldn’t have been the one to do it, leaving only Maurice to have lost control.
But in all the days she’d spent studying those reports, in all the years she’d thought back to what she’d read, she’d never considered the possibility that the rage of the man who killed Barron had been in protection of her sister from the man who’d intended her harm.
How stupid had she been?
As for her sister’s body, the injuries were also inconclusive. Bones broken, skull crushed in, skin ripped and torn. There were several guesses as to what had been the fatal blow. Meadow assumed the injuries had been intentional, not that they’d occurred as one man attempted to protect her body from another man who could have cared less.