The county jail was as silent and foreboding as I had imagined it would be. From the moment we had stepped through the gates, we were under the scrutiny of the many stern-faced guards that lined our path, their guns holstered. The one that led us through the inner gates, directed us a suspicious stare.
"You both eighteen?" he questioned with a frown, double checking our IDs.
"Yes sir," Adrian replied.
I struggled to maintain a bland face when Mary Clark was ushered into the room. Her face was ashen, her lips parched and peeling, and her green eyes now empty of emotion. Her fiery hair was coated in grime as if she hadn't washed it in weeks.
She stared through the glass at me wordlessly.
"That night at the party," I broke the silence, "You recognized my name."
"Everyone knows you're Anthony Green's bastard."
Her words were cold. Dry.
The woman was in prison for a crime she had not committed; of course, she was angry.
"Good. So, we can skip the introductions and get right to it then," I said, "Tell me about everything that happened that night. Everything."
A weak sigh escaped her lips, "I'm already in jail. What more do you want?"
"I'm not here to lengthen your sentence, Ms. Clark. I'm here because I know you didn't kill my father," the curt words caused Mary to glance up, shock flickering through her eyes.
"You believe me?" she asked, disbelief tainting her words.
"I believe my father is innocent," I replied nonchalantly, "If proving you not guilty is part of the process, then so be it."
Her eyes widened slightly, a flicker of hope passing through them, "I'll tell you whatever you need to know."
"Why did you go to that exhibition in Wrightwood that night?"
She blinked twice, "Because I like art-"
"But why that specific one?" I questioned impatiently, "Were you invited by someone?"
"I received an invitation in the mail," Mary replied. My eyes narrowed.
"By whom?"
"I don't remember. Some company."
"And the exhibition was cancelled when you got there?" Adrian piped in, his voice earnest.
Mary nodded.
"Why was it cancelled?" he pressed.
She blinked dumbfoundedly, "I don't know." We both stared at her in silent frustration, and she threw her hands into the air, "Uh... The Markingson's Family! They're the company that organized it. They would know."
Adrian nodded, "Why'd you go to the bar afterwards?"
Mary swallowed, "It was right across the street from the exhibition. Someone suggested we all head there instead." My eyes narrowed. That seemed all too convenient.
"Did anything happen when you were at the bar?" I asked.
Her gaze dropped as she thought hard, "No... I just drank."
"Did you talk to anyone?"
After a moment, she admitted, "One person."
My brows raised sharply, and I leaned forward in my chair, "Who?"
Panic flickered through her wide eyes, "I don't remember!" she cried, fidgeting nervously in her seat as she wrung her hands together.
"I need you to try, okay? Think."

YOU ARE READING
How to Kill a Man in Thirty Seconds
Mystery / ThrillerSince her father's sinister murder three years ago, Charley Green's life has never been the same. She finds her family shattered and frozen in the tragedy that derailed their lives that fateful Christmas morning, in which her father's lifeless body...