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- Author: P.D. Workman
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“How are you feeling?” Molly asked. “It looks like you’re healing.”
Zachary nodded a little jerkily. “Yes. I’m doing well. Everything will be back to normal soon. My doctors are happy with the rate of my progress.”
“I couldn’t believe it when I heard about your accident. They said it was very bad. That you had a spinal cord injury and were paralyzed.” She shook her head solemnly. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you walking around so soon.”
The police must have interviewed her, as one of his clients, to find out her alibis for the times he had received the threats or when the brake lines had been cut. He knew they had been making the rounds, trying to narrow down the suspect list. They didn’t have any forensic evidence. No fingerprints or DNA. There must have been tool marks on the brake lines, but maybe nothing could be matched to the tool used. Or maybe matched to a common tool that they all had access to.
“There was just swelling around my spinal cord,” he explained. “Inflammation. It’s mostly gone, now. I just… have to be careful. Think about what I’m doing for a while until it all becomes natural again.”
“No permanent damage?”
“No. I was very lucky.”
“And your girlfriend? Her injuries were not severe?”
Had she heard that from the police? Or had she checked up on him through other channels? It wouldn’t be hard. A call to the hospital. To one of the reporters who had covered the crash. Not a lot of information had made it into the news articles, but the reporters knew that there had been a second person in the car. They had those details.
“She’s… not exactly my girlfriend. We’ve been out together a few times, but… it’s not that serious yet. We’re taking things slow.” He didn’t know why he was telling her so much. What did it matter whether she thought Kenzie was a serious girlfriend or not?
But Zachary didn’t like the thought of anyone thinking Kenzie was a serious girlfriend. If someone was out to hurt him, out to coerce him into closing a case, he didn’t want them threatening her. Someone who was serious enough to cut Zachary’s brake lines might be serious enough to take a hostage.
Surely that wasn’t Molly Hildebrandt. She was a little old lady. He couldn’t see her crawling underneath his car to cut his brake lines. He couldn’t picture her grabbing Kenzie and holding a knife to her throat or a gun to her head. Sometimes it was the least likely suspect, but he still couldn’t fit Molly into that role.
“Oh… well, I’m very glad that neither of you was killed or permanently injured. I think we’ve all had enough of hospitals this winter.”
Zachary nodded his agreement. “How is Isabella?”
“She was released December thirtieth. We’re still trying to keep a pretty close eye on her. Neither of us believes she’s recovered… she’s stable as far as the doctors are concerned, but she still won’t take the antidepressants they want her to. She’s convinced that they will make her worse.”
Zachary scratched his knee intently, considering his approach. “I have several concerns about Isabella.”
“Yes. We all do,” Molly agreed. She avoided his eyes and didn’t ask him what his concerns were. Maybe she figured his concerns were the same as hers, or that she had enough on her plate already and couldn’t handle anything more.
“I think… that Isabella was the one who gave Declan cough medicine the day he died. Whether she was scared by his reaction, or she had been expecting it… I suspect she was the one who took him to the pond that day.”
Molly’s eyes went wide and two bright spots appeared in her cheeks. Her voice when she addressed him was not weak or wavering. There was no uncertainty.
“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. Isabella wouldn’t let anyone give Declan cough medicine. She would never give it to him herself. She would certainly not plan his death or do anything that led to it. You are wrong, Mr. Goldman. Your brain must have been addled by your accident. There is no way my daughter had anything to do with Declan’s death.”
“You weren’t there. You weren’t with her. The possibility is still open.”
“No. It’s not. That’s ridiculous. Why? Explain to me why she would give him cough medicine when she knew he would react negatively to it. Explain why she would take him to the pond and drown him?”
“She gave him the medicine so that he would be unconscious and not fight her.”
“Why? Why would she harm her own son?”
“Because she didn’t want to be a mother. She hadn’t realized how difficult a job it would be, and how much he would interfere with her job and with the order she and Spencer had developed in the house. She didn’t realize how his care would interfere with her routines, day after day. Every day it wore on her. She wanted to paint. She wanted to tape her shows. She wanted to live a predictable, ordered existence. Declan screwed that up.”
“No, you’re wrong.” A tear slid down Molly’s cheek. Was it a sign that he’d hit the mark? He had hit too close to the truth, and she couldn’t help reacting? “My daughter wasn’t like that. Isn’t like that. She loved Declan dearly.”
“That doesn’t preclude her doing something to harm him. She could love him and still decide that she just couldn’t handle him anymore. It happens. You read about it in the news. People who are overwhelmed with their children’s care. Or with the stresses at work or in other areas of their lives. They decide that they can’t go on like that anymore, and they decide to take the child or children out of the equation.”
“She didn’t do that. She would never do that.”
“Drowning is a common method of disposing of unwanted children.”
“Drowning is a common method of disposing of unwanted kittens. Not children. People
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