Читать книгу The Night Olivia Fell - Christina McDonald - Страница 15

8

ABI

october

The sound of Tyler’s feet thumping down the front steps jolted me out of my stunned trance.

‘Wait!’ I flung myself out the open front door and into the rain, crashing into the driver’s door of his Jeep as the engine vroomed to life.

A flash went off from my front yard, but I ignored it.

‘Wait!’ I smacked my open palm against Tyler’s door.

Tyler rolled the window down, his eyebrows drawn together. His eyes flicked up to the reporters watching our exchange.

‘What do you mean?’ I hissed so only he could hear. ‘Saved her from everything?’

He glared at me, but kept his voice down also. ‘You had all these rules. You controlled her. She said you were writing the script for her life and she was sick of it. If you weren’t trying to run her life, maybe she wouldn’t have done stupid things.’

My fingers slipped off the edge of the window, and I stumbled backward, propelled by the vitriol of his words. Tyler reversed out of the driveway quickly, his wheels skidding in the gravel.

Another flash went off near me. I turned my face to my shoulder and raised my hand as if I could ward it off.

God only knew what the reporters would write about this. I looked like a lunatic, my blonde hair a nest of damp tangles sticking up in every direction, the scent of alcohol on my breath.

I looked up as I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel. Two police detectives, badges clipped to their belts, got out of the car.

‘All right, guys, get out of here. You know the rules. Get off her property now,’ the male detective said.

He was squarely built with short legs and a squat body. Dark circles were etched beneath watery blue eyes that appraised me from under thick eyebrows. His wrinkled black suit covered an equally wrinkled blue shirt and tie. His thinning hair was a mess, as if he’d only just woken.

Just behind him, the female detective waved a reporter edging closer to my house back to the road. She was a complete contrast to him: crisp black business suit, starched white collar. She was tall as an Amazon with cropped, pale blonde hair, a chiseled jaw, and ice-blue eyes. Her face was completely blank: the picture of professional detachment.

Once the reporters were a safe distance away, they crossed the grass to me.

‘Abigail Knight?’ the man said, extending his hand to shake mine.

‘Yes?’

‘I’m Detective Phillip McNally, and this is Detective Jane Samson.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Samson gave me a brief, firm handshake. Her hands were warm and large, making mine feel small and childish in comparison.

‘We’d like to speak with you about your daughter’s accident. Can we come inside?’ McNally asked.

I stared at them, blinking. Accident? Why did they think they were here if it was an accident?

‘Yes . . . come in.’

I led them inside and shut the door, then stood awkwardly in the living room for a minute. I couldn’t immediately recall what I was supposed to do.

‘Would you like a drink?’ I finally asked.

‘No, we’re good,’ Detective McNally said. ‘Can we sit?’

‘Of course.’ I showed them to the couch and sank onto the recliner.

‘We’re very sorry for what’s happened to your daughter,’ Detective McNally said. He blinked slowly, as if trying to wake himself up. ‘Also for the delay. We’ve only just been alerted to what happened by a’ – he glanced down at his notepad – ‘Dr Griffith. I know this must be a difficult time for you, but we’d like to take an official statement. Is now okay?’

‘Yes. Of course.’

He pulled a pen from a pocket on the inside of his coat.

‘Let’s start with that last night you saw Olivia. Can you tell me what happened?’

My eyes flicked to Detective Samson’s face, but she didn’t say a word.

My hands shook, and I pressed them under my thighs. I wanted my daughter. I missed her so much it was physical, like scraping cotton wool over an acid burn.

I started at the beginning, telling them about our Saturday: work, homework, the barbecue.

‘Did everything seem normal?’ Detective McNally asked.

‘Yes. I mean, except – well, she got a haircut.’

‘A haircut?’ McNally echoed. I could see he thought grief had driven me a little bit crazy.

‘Yes. It was unusual.’

‘Unusual how?’

‘Olivia’s sensible. She doesn’t drink, she’s on the swim team, and she gets straight As. She never does stupid teenager stuff like walk home alone in the dark or sneak out at night to go drinking. It was just weird that she suddenly cut all her hair off. But teenagers do these things, right?’

‘Sometimes.’ He didn’t look at me, just kept staring at his notepad. ‘Is there anybody who didn’t like her or had a grudge against her?’

‘No,’ I said, shocked. ‘Everybody likes Olivia. I’m not just saying that. Last year at school, she was voted ‘most likable.’ She was homecoming queen. She’s happy and popular and, and –’ My voice broke, and for a second I couldn’t continue.

Both detectives nodded, their heads moving up and down like bobble-head dolls.

‘Do you think –?’

‘We don’t think anything yet,’ Detective Samson cut me off. It was the first time she’d spoken, and it startled me. ‘We’re just building a picture, gathering evidence.’

‘Something happened! She has bruises!’

‘Do you have any reason to think anybody would hurt Olivia?’ McNally asked, his eyebrows raised.

I stared at him, dismayed. They’d been here ten minutes, and already they didn’t believe me.

McNally continued asking me questions: Who were her friends? Her boyfriend? Had they had any problems? Had she ever tried to harm herself? Had anybody ever tried to hurt her? Had she been having problems at home? At school?

Occasionally he’d jot something down. The longer we sat there, the more unsettled I felt. Samson barely said a word, and McNally was the picture of a frazzled, overworked cop. How would these two find out what had happened to my daughter?

I showed them upstairs, and the detectives searched Olivia’s room, put random items into little plastic bags. They took her laptop and some of her school notebooks, asked me more questions.

By the end, my neck ached from carrying the weight of my pounding head. I wanted everything to go back to the way it was. I wanted my daughter back.

‘Did you find her bracelet?’ I asked Detective Samson.

Her brow creased.

‘A silver charm bracelet. Olivia always wore it. Always. But it wasn’t on her wrist.’ I brushed a hand over my eyes.

‘No, we didn’t find it, but I’ll check again.’

‘Was Olivia with anyone that night? Drinking with friends?’ Detective McNally asked. Neither of them had bothered to sit down after searching Olivia’s room. They towered over me in the living room, and my toes curled at the invasion of my personal space.

‘What? No!’ I replied, startled. Olivia wasn’t a drinker. ‘All her friends were at the barbecue. And she doesn’t –’ Then I remembered the scarf, her haircut, her pregnancy.

Bile, thick and acidic, rose in my throat.

I jumped up and raced to the bathroom, slamming open the toilet lid just in time to heave up every last drop of vodka, retching again and again into the white porcelain bowl.

Afterward, I shut the toilet seat and rested my head on the lid. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. The insides of my eyelids were red. I was sweating, hot moisture covering my entire body. I shoved Olivia’s phone into the back pocket of my jeans and stripped off my hoodie, tossing it on the floor.

When I opened my eyes, I saw a slip of white plastic sticking up from the mess of tissues in the trash can. I sat up slowly, reaching for it. It was a pregnancy test. A pink plus sign practically glowed on the end.

Olivia knew she was pregnant. And she hadn’t told me.

The knowledge was raw inside me, jagged as a broken windowpane. As scared as I was when I found out I was pregnant, at least I’d had Sarah.

Memories of the day I’d told Sarah I was pregnant bubbled in my mind, like a pot of water boiling over.

‘Do you know who the father is?’ Sarah had asked.

The old mattress sagged under her weight as she sat next to me on the edge of my bed.

‘Yes,’ I snapped. Okay, maybe I used to sleep around a bit. I used sex as a way to get guys to like me. I drank and dabbled in drugs and stayed out late smoking and partying. But it wasn’t going to be like that anymore.

‘Have you told him?’

‘Of course!’

‘And?’

I looked away, and Sarah sighed heavily.

‘He doesn’t want to be in the picture,’ she stated.

I didn’t answer. The worst part was that he’d cemented everything I felt all over again – that everybody eventually left me.

Sarah slapped her hands on her legs and stood. ‘I’ll come with you to sort it out.’

I stared at her, horrified. ‘Are you telling me to get an abortion?’

Sarah looked confused. ‘Of course not. I just –’

‘This is my baby. I won’t abandon it. I’m nothing like . . .’

I didn’t have to finish the sentence. We both knew the ending. Mom had abandoned me, and I had been powerless to stop her.

Sarah’s face softened, and she sat back down. ‘Abs, of course you’re nothing like her. But a baby? You can’t . . .’ Her voice trailed away and she searched my face.

That was exactly what he had said, right before he threatened to hurt my baby and me if anybody found out it was his. So I’d gone to the abortion clinic and was going to do it. But I couldn’t go through with it. Being abandoned was my life’s greatest fear. I couldn’t do it to my own baby.

I looked around at the tiny storeroom I’d used as a bedroom in Sarah’s apartment since I was ten. A baby wouldn’t fit here. But I had a way to get out now. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken it, but I wanted my baby to have everything I never did, a stable home, a solid middle-class upbringing, good opportunities.

‘I’ve registered at Valley,’ I said, referring to the local community college. ‘I’ll get a certificate in journalism. I like writing and I’m good at it. I can get a job at a newspaper.’

Sarah looked surprised. I was usually more of a joiner than a planner. She struggled with words for a minute, but I knew she’d give in. She was the only parent figure I’d had for most of my life, and she was nothing if not supportive.

Finally she said, ‘You know I’m here for you whatever you decide.’

‘Thanks, Sar.’ I leaned into my big sister, and she put her arms around me.

She brushed my hair off my forehead, and I pulled away, getting up and crossing to look out the window at the Christmas lights stringing the neighborhood. I hated it when she did things my mom used to do.

I’d looked down at my stomach, the first hint of a bump pushing out from my sweater, and imagined my baby curled under my heart. I would have someone to be with me no matter what. I’d love her more than I’d ever been loved. . .

In the bathroom, I stood shakily and splashed cold water on my face to help the memories fade. I grabbed Olivia’s pregnancy test and took it to Detective Samson in the living room. For a second, her professional mask slipped, and I thought I saw compassion flare in her eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. She pulled a plastic bag from her pocket, then zipped the proof of my grandchild away inside.

‘I don’t know if Olivia was with anyone that last night,’ I said, sinking back into the recliner. ‘I didn’t know she was pregnant. She didn’t tell me.’ The admission scraped like razor blades across my raw, aching throat.

Neither detective spoke for a minute, but when I looked up I saw them exchange a look.

‘Well.’ McNally stood and moved toward the door. ‘That’s all we need for now. We’ll be in touch if we have any other questions.’

‘Wait.’ I sprang to my feet and put a hand out. ‘The bruises, her bracelet – are you going to investigate?’

McNally sighed, and I wanted to scream. ‘We’re still in the early stages,’ he said, but he wasn’t looking at me anymore. ‘We’ll speak to witnesses, process the scene, analyze the bruises. . .’

Both detectives moved toward the door, but at the last second Samson turned and spoke. ‘We’re very sorry for your loss. We’ll be in touch, keep you up-to-date if we find anything new.’ She slid a business card into my palm. ‘Call me anytime. And, Miss Knight, just ignore the reporters. They’ll go away in a few days.’

I stood frozen in place, the front door flapping in the increasing wind, and watched as they got in their unmarked police car and drove slowly away. I hunched my shoulders against the cold and shoved my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. My fingers knocked against something hard.

They hadn’t asked for Olivia’s phone.