The Kill: Push

He died because she remembered.

Now her lawyer was advising her not to say anything to the detective until she arrives.

“As far as we’re concerned, you didn’t do anything,” the lawyer told her on the phone. “I’ll be right there. And again, don’t say anything to anyone.”

So she didn’t. She waited.

The detective waited with her. He sat across her at the table, watching her downcast eyes. He was feeling right at home in their little interview room at the ECPD, where he’d talked to a long parade of suspects through the years and gave them their golden tickets to the local prison.

“Do you want some water?” he asked her. She shook her head, did not meet his eyes.

The girl was very pretty. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, her shoulder-length black hair shone. Her face was pale, with nary a blemish to be seen. Her eyes were black, her lashes long. Her pouty lips were rosy pink. She was as cool and serene as an oasis, even with the blood all over her.

It was drying, he could see. It was now flaky and darker on her white blouse and blue plaid skirt. He idly wondered if those stains would ever peter out of the clothes.

“If you go to jail, you won’t be worrying about those stains,” he said to her, an attempt at a dark joke.

She glanced at him coldly, but still didn’t comment.

The door opened. They both turned to see her lawyer coming in her black suit and her usual black briefcase. She sat down, nodded at the detective, touched her client’s shoulder briefly and got right down to business.

“It was an accident of course,” she told the detective briskly. “My client did not push the boy down the stairs.”

“I somehow found that hard to believe,” said the detective grimly. “We have witnesses that say otherwise.”

“Those witnesses are easily confused, Detective. Statements from a bunch of silly girls in leotards won’t do much for your case.”

The detective turned to the girl. “Did you kill Paul Mitra, miss?”

“Don’t answer that,” snapped the lawyer. The girl said nothing.

“You’re looking at a murder rap here,” the detective continued. “Your schoolmates saw you push him. Tell us what happened.”

The girl looked coldly back at him. He waited. She remained silent. And the lawyer only smirked.

“All right,” said the detective. “At least tell us what occurred earlier in the day. Since you didn’t kill him…”

Sarcasm.

“Really, Detective,” said the lawyer, her lips curling.

“…maybe we can have your account of events. Can you do that? You were there when he died,” he pointed out.

The girl glanced at her attorney. The defense lawyer made a sweeping motion with her hand. “Go on,” she told the girl. “It won’t make any difference anyway.”

“Okay,” the girl said. She looked over at the detective as if she was granting him a big favor by just being in the same room with her.

“Paul was very excited that morning,” she started. There was a pleasant melody to her voice. “You see, he was my neighbor and my classmate since grade school. He was also my very bestfriend…”

The Kill: Push

He caught up with her just as she was gathering her books to leave for home.