Mr. Holt

Blame

I return to the room, Alexander is there, and Jocelyn sits beside him.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

I shake my head and sit in the chair beside Alexander's bed, laying my head on his shoulder.

"Please wake up," I say.

"Savannah," Jocelyn says. "What's the matter?"

"Your father..." I say, wiping my eyes.

She doesn't have the chance to respond because a Highway Patrol officer walks in.

"Ma'am," he says, extending his hand to shake mine.

"Hello," I say.

"I'm Lieutenant Betts. You are Mr. Holt's fiance?"

"I am," I say.

He looks at Jocelyn and says, "We need to speak with Miss Duley alone for a few moments."

Jocelyn  nods and says to me, "I'll be right in the hall, Savannah."

Once she's in the hall, the Patrol Officer says, "Are you aware of any details surrounding Mr. Holt's accident earlier today?"

"No," I say, shaking my head.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, Ma'am, but we have reason to believe there was foul play involved," he says.

"Foul play? What do you mean?" I ask.

"Well, Ma'am, Mr. Holt's vehicle has a mechanism inside of it that clocks his speed and the route taken. It's a very intelligent vehicle. Despite the considerable damage to the vehicle, we were able to retrieve information from this mechanism and understand where he'd been today, how fast he had driven, and a lot of other information about the vehicle."

"From the Bugatti?" I ask.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And what did you find?" I ask.

"He wasn't driving at an excessive speed like the crash would indicate. He was going just at or barely above the speed limit. The doctors reported his toxicology report showed he was not driving under the influence either. We have zero evidence to believe he was the cause of his accident."

"So, what happened?"

The officer reaches out, showing me pictures of Alexander's beloved car, and he says, "These pictures are of the vehicle before it was removed from the crash site."

I look at them only a moment before I realize there is blood splattered all over the inside of his car, and I look away, closing my eyes. "I can't look. I'm sorry."

"That's fine, Ma'am. I understand. We just want you to know that we are beginning an investigation to find out what might've happened to Mr. Holt today. Can you tell us everything you remember from the last time you saw him this morning?"

"He left home around nine. He kissed me goodbye and said he had a meeting in the city. That's it. I texted him a few hours later when I thought he was gone longer than I thought he would be, but I've had no other communication with him since."

The officer pulls out a few pieces of paper to show me and he says, "This is the most recent texting thread we pulled from your account with Mr. Holt. At 12:30, it shows you asking him to come home. When you didn't receive a reply, you texted him, begging him to return home, claiming an emergency.

"No," I say. "I never sent those. Look." I pull out my phone and show him the messages with Lex. 

The officer takes my phone, looks through the messages, and says, "Well, the problem with this is that you can delete messages."

I grab Alexander's phone and show him the same. 

"Again, you could've deleted the messages. See, the problem we have is that you stand to inherit a lot of money if Mr. Holt dies, Ma'am."

"No. I just found out," I say. "I had no idea! Why would I want to hurt a man I'm supposed to be marrying in three weeks?!"

"Ma'am, we're just doing our jobs. Mr. Holt's brake lines were cut. Someone was trying to murder him. We know you were raised by a tire salesman," he says.

"And that gives me the knowledge to do what?" I say. 

"Ma'am, we're just doing our jobs. We'll be in touch," he says and walks out.