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Chapter 21 (part 3)

As soon as they reached the crime scene they took in a gasp. The 2 men took in the room; a broken wine glass was on the floor by the body of my dad - as if he tried to reach the shards to fight back. The other wine glass and the empty bottle were still on the counter, untouched. My dad lay closer to the island's counter and a bloody handprint was plain to see on the surface. I don't know how I missed it when I came into the kitchen the first time. My dad's body was lay out reaching in the direction of the glass shards and door. He had a stab wound on his back with the blood soaking into his previously pristine white shirt - designer, he would have said if he was alive - from a stab wound on his back. My mum's body lay on her side with the ending strike on her back as well. They were most likely stabbed from behind. There were footprints leading from my mum's body to the phone on the wall - which most likely is my fault. While the 2 officers took I the room I silently retreated back to my parents corpses' and knelt with them. It was my silent vigil for them while the quiet lasted, before the storm of police questioning and investigation as well as the nosy reporters stalking me wherever I would go. I knew how an investigation worked and as soon as the site was secured they would proceed to questioning all likely involved or related parties. I was interrupted from my retreat into my mind by the footsteps of one of the police men as they approached me. He cleared his throat awkwardly before he spoke.

 "Ma'am we are sorry for your loss. But as custom we have to ask where were you last night?" It was stiff and harsh, the way he spoke.

As he spoke I lowered my head; I couldn't bear to look him in the eye. I knew he didn't mean anything ill by it but it still hurt. Being accused of your own parents murder. It made me feel sick in my stomach at the thought of it. What was I supposed to say to that though? I wondered if my silence was suspicious to him so I raised my head to look at him, his face was impassive but it was patient - like that uncle you don't talk too much at family gatherings because he looks cold but is actually really gentle if you talk to him, you know?

"Ma'am I know it's hard, but you have to follow along with us" His voice was gentle and slow, like he thought he was speaking to a child which I didn't necessarily appreciate. First of all rude, second of all...I needed it - it snapped me out of my haze.

"NO!... no. I- I was out." I cried, it hurt that I wasn't with them on MY birthday "I was out with friends. it was my 21st birthday yesterday. I- I- I, oh I can't do this!"

I burst into tears - like a baby - I hate it. I hate showing my weaknesses to others. Especially strangers. I don't know why though. I was upset enough already at this it only made me feel guiltier. I didn't even know why. I hate not knowing things. His face was hesitant, mouth opening and closing as he didn't know exactly how to comfort me while continuing the questioning. But he persevered, I admired that for a minute until his question hit me like a brick wall. I realised they WERE suspicious of me.

''Do you have proof" to back up your claim; I knew that was what he wanted to say. It made my blood boil knowing I was found suspicious of my own parents murder.

"Yes. I do. My friends and me were at a local club - I'm of legal age to drink, so that's what we did." I fired back. My sorrow was transforming into anger faster than I could think. "My friends are named Elizabeth Johnson, Bianca Rossi and Leo Haver because I know you will ask for their names. You can look up my transaction history if you must. Or even look at security cameras on the street around and in the club and my road." I could almost feel my anger materialising like roaring flames echoing in my ear as I spat out the flow of words.

He seemed suitably guilty after my outburst of anger and a small part of me revelled in that fact. I watched his face transform from this look back into that impassive face he started the questioning with. It seemed my words drew the attention of His partner as he was watching us, like he was at a tennis match his head was alternating between me and the man. This made me amused as it seemed he was quite new to the job - this level of distraction would not be present in some of the more veteran police officers. I would know, no, my dad would know as he worked with them regularly on court cases. That thought made me start to tear up again.