Chapter Thirteen Holly
Chapter Thirteen
HOLLY
New York’s tall buildings have retained the slow heat of yesterday. It’s only as Mark and I get deeper into the green heart of Central Park that the peanut and traffic-scented air breaks into something a little fresher.
I settle myself on a bench while Mark gets coffees, and open up my cell, scrolling to the last picture I have of Simone. We have our arms around each other, smiling at the camera, celebrating our latest courtroom success in our favorite donut shop.
I flip to another photo. Simone and I in Adrianna’s latest New York restaurant. She’d been showing me dining etiquette with limited success.
‘I don’t get why you’re trying to make me act like someone I’m not,’ I told her. ‘It’s fake.’
‘It’s no different to what we do in court, right?’ she’d replied. ‘Show forensics in a way people want to pay attention to.’
‘That’s different,’ I’d grumbled. ‘We’re telling the truth.’
‘Truth is perspective, Holly, we’re just helping people see the right one.’
That was Simone. Presenting forensic material in an engaging way was exactly why she garnered so many court wins – and TV ratings.
I glance up, to see Mark’s long body returning with coffees. My eyes drop back to my cell. My thumb scrolls over unread texts from Simone:
Holly. Call Me.
Holly. We need to talk.
The last is a voice message, and I click it.
Simone’s familiar voice returns from the grave. Her tone is urgent, and hushed.
‘Holly, something has happened,’ says Simone’s voice. ‘You were right. I was keeping things from you. About the Kensingtons.’
A river of ice flows down my spine. Eyes wide, I fumble to press the phone against my ear, scanning for anyone who might be able to overhear. Mark is getting nearer, carrying coffee.
‘I thought it was for your own protection,’ continues Simone’s disembodied voice, ‘but I’ve left you exposed. I need to tell you the truth. About who kidnapped Adrianna Kensington. It has to be in person, so call me.’
I force myself to breathe out, trying to process the content of the message.
Mark is looking in my direction now, and I lower the phone, forcing my expression to neutral, as he closes in.
‘Everything OK?’ he asks, frowning.
‘Absolutely,’ I say. ‘Just … letting a few clients know I’ll be in late.’
He sits beside me. A few passers-by double-take at the strange combination. The expensively suited businessman with model cheekbones and the girl in the skull-dress and goth make-up.
His tablet beeps. ‘The report has downloaded,’ he says, twisting it so I can see.
I lift the tablet from his hands, pushing the mysterious voice message from Simone to the back of my mind. As I start reading, I realize I was right. Part of the murder scene doesn’t fit at all.