Secrets? Never.

17. Eaten Alive

Daniel sat in front of the desk of police chief Strickland; a burly man, fattened by years of sitting behind a desk. His voice was throaty, and, oddly enough, as with most overweight individuals, he sounded fat, as if he were a fat man (which he was). He just sounded as though he had huge jowls slapping his face every time he turned his head (which, of course, he did, but that was beside the point). His salt and pepper hair was cut into a short back and sides buzz cut, leaving the fuzz on the top of his head only marginally longer than that around the sides. Every now and then he'd find himself quickly tapping the tip of each finger against the tip of his thumb, starting with the index, ending with the pinkie, he'd do it, Daniel noticed, when things began to get stressful (which almost all of their entire conversation was).

"These are extremely serious accusations you're levelling against your own parents Mr Grayson." he winced, (understandably) not wanting to get into any kind of altercation with a family as powerful as the Graysons (be it verbal, physical, or legal). "Yet they've been levelled with all the truth in the world Chief Strickland" Daniel responded seriously, his face straight as a board. "Alright," the chief reluctantly replied "I'll organise a team to go over and investigate. We'll take your parents in for questioning, and search the area in which you claim they buried Ms Davis' body, before taking statements from you and your wife. Us she here today?" he finished, intertwining his fingers over the paperwork on his desk in a brusque fashion. "No, she's at home with our kids, but I could have her come over and leave the kids at a friend's if you'd like?" "I think that'd be prudent thank you, Mr Grayson as we'll be needing both of your statements upon our return."

"Serg, we've got a body over here, matches the description."

"Victoria Grayson, you are being charged with the murder of Lydia Davis. You have the right to remain silent, anything you do say can and will be taken in evidence and used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?" "Yes"

"Conrad Grayson, you are being charged as an accessory to the murder of Lydia Davis. You have the right to remain silent, anything you do say can and will be taken in evidence and used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?" "Yes"

Victoria had never once in a million years pictured her life going in this particular direction. She'd pictured a nice, happy nuclear family for herself. Later on, once she's been married to Conrad for a few years, she'd pictured being an alluring divorcée living in Paris, and collecting fine art. Never had she pictured being led in handcuffs ahead of her husband through a police station, after having been swarmed by cameras and news stations eager to catch a whiff of the rotting carcass of her social standing. She looked left and right, scanning the room. No, it couldn't be. It was Daniel! Turning her head one hundred and eighty degrees, she caught Conrad's gaze, and told him to call the lawyer, after which she kept quiet, deciding to instead bide her time.

She got her one phone call. Seeing as she knew Conrad was calling the lawyer, she made a call of higher importance; to her son Daniel. "Sweetie, please don't hang up. Don't say anything, or else they'll know speaking to you." The sound of heavy breath met her ears, which she took as confirmation of a vow of silence on Daniel's part. "Just check the safe in your father's desk. There are two files inside it; one marked Amanda Clarke. The other is marked Emily Thorne. Take them and read them. I'll say no more, and let the information speak for itself." A tone rang out, letting her know that Daniel had hung up.

The stairs of the beach house creaked as Emily descended, taking a squatted seat on the last of them, breathing heavily as she let her head rest in her hands, which in turn she had propped up on her knees. She had to admit, she was exhausted. She looked around the house at the mess that surrounded her, which only served to exacerbate her weariness. She was especially glad of the fact that she'd managed to unload her children into Nolan (they can't make more of a mess in a house they're not in), so that she could go in to give her statement. The police, however, needed yet more time from Daniel (which was admittedly understandable, she thought, given that he was both the main witness, and the one who turned them in to begin with). Figuring Daniel would help her once he was in the door, she made the decision to pour herself a glass of Pinot and settle in the couch with her book. The evening wind was easily visible as it blew the exterior foliage into an almost horizontal position. It was weather like that that made her especially glad of the roaring fire the crackled next to her, warming her bare feet with its flames.

A key rattled in the deadbolt, and Daniel half walked and was half blown in by the wind. He took heavy, definite steps towards his wife, carefully setting his briefcase on the coffee table. "Hey babe, everything working out?" Emily asked, not looking up from her book to see the tense looking Daniel eyeing her from the other side of the coffee table. Without speaking Daniel removed two photographs from his briefcase. The one he held in his right had was of his wife. The one he held in his left was of the woman he'd come to recognise as Amanda Clarke. Motioning to the left he said "Emily Thorne", to the right "Amanda Clarke."

A pause ensued.

"Explain."

© Sarah Egan 2014 - 2015. All rights reserved. This story is subject to copyright and may not be copied or reproduced without the express permission of the author.