Chapter 51
My heart is racing. “Who did he see?”
Mikey doesn’t reply after Dolores translates. The three of us sit in silence for a minute. Mikey is staring at me. Then he leans forward and signs frantically to his mother.
I drop my face in my hands. I already know what he’s saying, that he saw Marie come in before Deb died. He’ll tell the police when they come to speak to him, and that will be that.
Roy will not be found guilty of killing Deborah.
And if Roy is found guilty of killing Marie, and Marie turns out to have killed Deborah because she was a deluded, jealous, crazy person, will that change Roy’s guilt?
Of course it will. People will believe he was only taking revenge on his wife’s killer in a moment of madness.
Or worse, the police will look at me differently.
They’ll probably start reconsidering what Roy said after Marie died: That it was me who killed her.
That will make complete sense. Bates won’t be so nice to me, considering my entire statement to the police is based on what Marie supposedly told me.
I mean, the whole case against Roy is based on what Marie supposedly told me. Other than the video.
I did five years in jail for killing someone. It’s not going to be a big leap to wonder if maybe Roy is telling the truth and I’m the one who killed Marie.
I scrunch up my eyes. I desperately wanted Roy to be convicted of her murder because he deserves to be. Marie’s dead so…
Dolores puts a hand on my arm. “Jodie?”
I look up.
“Mikey wants to speak to you alone.”
I straighten. “Okay, do you mind?”
She looks like she does mind. Quite a lot, in fact.
“I won’t tell anyone what he tells me. I promise you. I just really want to know.”
“I don’t know why he doesn’t want me here.”
“I don’t know either.”
She sighs, looks at her son. He puts his hands together in a gesture of entreaty.
“But I trust my son,” she says.
Before she walks out, she puts a hand on my shoulder. “I trust you, too, Jodie. But don’t do anything to hurt my son. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
She stands, then pushes her chair in. She signs something to Mikey, taps her watch. He nods.
Then she leaves.
Mikey unhooks his tablet from around his neck and starts writing.
I walked in through the back door just as your housemaid walked in.
What was she doing? I write.
He shrugs. She went into another room.
I hold my breath. The office, then. That’s where Deb was when Marie came in.
You’re sure it was the day Deborah died?
Yes.
What time was it?
I went to soccer after, so a bit before one thirty.
I stare at him, my heart pounding. That must have been minutes before Deb died.
If the police ask you, you will tell them what you saw?
Of course.
You don’t have to.
I’m not a liar.
Nobody is asking you to lie, you could just say you weren’t in the house that day.
He studies me, eyebrows knotted together. Why?
I grab the tablet again.
Roy kept her locked up for a week upstairs, injecting her with products to make her ugly.
He nods. His eyes water. He rubs one with the back of his hand. He knows.
He was acting crazy because he was scared she was going to leave him.
He nods. A tear runs down his cheek and he wipes it with his fingers.
That’s why the police think he killed her.
He nods.
I keep going. I write everything he did to her on that video, I make sure he reads it all before wiping the screen and writing some more. I make up some of it. I say he was going to keep her locked up for years, like Rapunzel, until she died. Then I write, I’m afraid he’s going to get away with it.
And that’s the truth. I mean, sure, if the police discover it was Marie who killed Deborah, and then decide the story I told doesn’t add up after all, it won’t be a stretch for them to decide that they believe Roy when he says he never went to visit Veronica.
They can take another look at that CCTV photos and realize that actually, the hands are kind of small.
In fact, all of Roy is a bit small in that car.
I would have left some DNA on those gloves, and on Roy’s cap. Certainly in Veronica’s house, too.
So sure, once they dig a little more, I’ll be the one going to jail forever. Not Roy.
But I don’t care about that. I’ve been there. I don’t care if they send me back because my sister is gone and she was the only person in the world I wanted to spend time with.
This isn’t about me.
I want Roy to pay.
I’m not asking you to lie. Only to say you weren’t there that day. If they ask.
But that would be a lie, he writes.
Then say you don’t remember.
That’s also a lie.
Mikey doesn’t write anything else, but the expression on his face is clear. He’s not going to lie about not being there that day, or about what he saw. He’s not a liar.
I nod at him. “Okay,” I mouth, putting my hand on his. I scribble on the tablet. It’s fine. Please don’t worry.