Nicole
Nicole
Nicole stares at the dashcam footage that the detective has played twice now, panic clouding her thoughts.
The evidence is irrefutable. The identity of the driver who almost crashes into the cab is unmistakable in the frozen image.
Her little boy, behind the wheel of her car, the date and time stamped in the top left-hand corner of the clip telling a story she has tried so hard to conceal.
Something inside her seems to splinter, as though pieces of her are fragmenting, never to be restored in any semblance of order. As though she will never – can never – be the same again.
She thinks about Jack, at home, just a few hours ago; how she had been able to feel his panic, his despair when the officers were arresting Nathaniel. How she had known he was only moments away from a confession. How determined she had been to prevent him from speaking, to do everything in her power to shield him from a fate she has been dreading for the past five weeks.
Nicole looks up at the detective, feels the walls of her throat narrowing.
So many times she has imagined this scene, but now it is here she cannot believe it is actually happening. Cannot believe it has come to this. Cannot comprehend that, in the end, she was not able to protect him. Her one job – her main priority as a parent – and she has failed.
‘Mrs Forrester. This footage clearly places your son – Jack – behind the wheel of your car very close to the location of the incident, just moments after it took place. So, I’m going to ask you again. What do you know about the death of Isla Richardson?’