Twenty-Five

The associate says something (pretend to says?) in Jones' ears. Once the associate has left, Jones leans to whisper to Newin. She looks at me and her lips tighten. True textbook style.
"We'll be right back. New evidence has come to light." They push back on their chairs. Jones leaves immediately but Newin continues with "Would you like something, anything, in the meantime?"
Oh what the hell! If they're going to keep me here for another couple of hours, I might as well abuse the government resources. "I'm hungry actually. Haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon. I'd like two double cheese burgers, and some coke, please."
"But—"
I hold up my hand. I've always been a hand talker. "I won't be long."
"No, don't worry. We'll get it for you," she says with authority, smiling into her own hands.
Ugh. Going to get myself something to eat was an excuse for getting out of here. Newin hangs her jacket on the chair. Now she's wearing a grass-green blouse that exposes her square shoulders. She grimaces, pulling down the sleeves. After the fifth try she signs, shoulders dropping farther to illustrate her discomfort.
She heads out but pauses at the door. One hand holding on to the frame. Her head jerks towards me. "Someone will bring you your food in a bit."
A couple of minutes (more like half an hour) after the detectives left, another officer brings in my food. Hey, the service is great here. A lot more minutes pass, during this time I eat, wait. Drink some soda, and wait some more. The place holds an uncomfortable silence. My left foot can barely stay on the ground. Wait. I do. I'm about to rip my blade out when the detectives fill in again.
They take about ten minutes of heavy silence scribbling something on their respective notebooks, whispering to each other. I sit so still I cease breathing. The edge of despair is so strong I'm swimming in it.
"Sorry about that," Newin says. "...but remember we asked for your DNA and your brother's?"
I nod. "Yes."
"Earlier you said you were by yourself, correct?" Her face remains calm and welcoming but there is a taunt in her voice.
"Is there a point to this?" Despite my best efforts I still manage to sound stiff.
"Would you rather have a lawyer present?" She says with a soft smile and for some reason this infuriates me.
This is a trick question. They want me to request the services of a lawyer so that they'll claim I have something to hide. I don't.
My palms sweat. Thank goodness it's not my face. "Why would I need a lawyer?"
"Okay then. So do you have my answer?" Her voice is a shrill, like nails on the chalkboard. Reverberating on the walls. It is everywhere. Not particularly pleasant. I decide I don't like this Newin woman. I am nine months pregnant with annoyance.
An air of unease permeates the room.
"I already told you. I was alone."
They look at each other and I notice Newin fighting a smile. I'm losing cool. I'm losing control. I close my eyes and count down from five. I'm smarter. I chant. I'm faster. I'm trickier. I'm better.
"Is that common?" She asks. "I mean, is it something you youngsters do these days?"
What the fuck? "Are you trying to tell me that you always have a friend or your mother holding your hand everywhere you go?"
"Well, I'm still waiting for an answer."
Oh God. "Yes I was alone. I just needed to clear my head, alright."
Newin cocks her head. "From what?"
I sigh. "Everything."
Newin's eyes grow wider as she regards me. If I didn't know better I'd think she was trying to figure me out by just looking at the surface. "You mean your father?"
I hesitate for a moment. "Well... No. I mean yes."
Her haggard expression seems to be getting impatient. "Which one is it?"
"Er..." I pause, my eyes narrowing. "Yes."
Jones' endless scribbling invites tingles to my body. Why is he here? He's quiet, too quiet for my liking. I liked him better when he was playing the concerned detective.
I turn back to find Newin giving me a weird look. She asks: "Why?"
I take a breath, struggling with my words. "We disagreed on something."
"Did you see anything unusual when you got home? Was you father alone?"
I stiffen. Hoping to cut the oxygen to the conversation I delay with an answer. They practice patience. "No, he was with Samantha. They were having sex. That's why I needed some air. Is that unusual enough for you?" Samantha's name drags up all kinds of unpleasant memories: his large hands on her waist, her moans of estacy, my father's naked body. I shudder. This is the one thing I wish to unsee. The most unpleasant thing ever.
Newin's face is pinched and weary. "Samantha?"
"Yes. Samantha Bradbury."
Jones' metallic grey eyes narrow in disbelief, an excited glint in them, they must believe they're closer to solving the murder. I hope that's the case. Papa deserves justice. Yet I can't help the panic that raises inside me when Jones gets up, rushes out of the room, only to return less than thirty seconds later. He must've went to Daniel's interrogation room to alert the detectives questioning my brother about the affair between Samantha and Papa. I regret saying anything. I hope I didn't get him in trouble. Jones is back.
"Did you know she's missing?"
Conscious of the detectives studying my every move, I'm careful to fake surprise. Truth: I don't care one bit that she's missing. She's probably somewhere, nursing off her embarrassment. Papa must've broke up with her. Maybe she had him killed. I think all this in a second and the next I shake my head.
I am raw with nervousness. "I didn't."
Jones pulls a face and asks "How do you know her?"
"She was. I mean is. Is. She is Daniel's girlfriend," I say, my voice taking on a note of desperation.
"Did you tell your brother what you saw?"
I frown, trying to block out the image of my father having sex with his young mistress, the tangled sheets, sweaty bodies, the sex. "I didn't. I couldn't."
"But you think he knows?" She pauses, as if gathering herself. "You think he did it?"
I play dumb. "Did what?"
Jones clacks his nails on the table. It takes all my restraint not to ask him to stop. If Jones' plan is to irritate me it's bloody working. "Killed your father in a fit of rage?"
"I don't think that. Why are you trying to put words in my mouth. I didn't say that."
Newin takes a slug of her coffee. Briefly, her face softens. The second she swallows the coffee the features return to grim again. She must love her coffees. "Did you know about the will?"