by N L Hinkens
So many unanswered questions were swirling in her head. Her family was disintegrating around her, splitting at the seams. One way or another, they were all involved in this vile crime, all of them except Harper, who would pay the price for the poor decisions they had made. As innocent as her seven-year-old daughter was, she was about to be thrust into the limelight—the orphaned child of a killer family.
Giving up on sleep, Bridget belted her robe around her waist and made her way to the kitchen shortly before five to brew some coffee. She was surprised to see that Henry was already up. “Let me guess. You couldn't sleep either.”
He shrugged. “I was studying for my math test.”
Bridget groaned. “Is that today?”
“Yeah, third period. I don’t care if I miss it. Do you think we'll get to see Dad at the station?”
“I don’t know,” she said, popping a coffee pod into the Breville. “But we can ask.”
“What are you going to tell Harper?”
“I’ll say I have to take you to an appointment this morning. I'm going to drop her off at Samantha's house. Her mom will take them both to school. That's all Harper has to know, for now.” Bridget twisted her lips. “I’ll tell Grandma and Grandpa the same thing in case we run late at the station and Grandpa has to pick Harper up. I hate lying to them, but I don’t want to worry them needlessly. Let’s wait and see if the police intend to charge us before we say anything more.” She glanced at her phone and then reached for her coffee mug. “I’m going to get showered up, you should do the same.”
After they’d dropped Harper at her friend’s house, Bridget and Henry stopped at a diner for breakfast before driving to the police station, where the lawyer Bridget had contacted was waiting.
“Bryan Miller, nice to meet you,” he said, shooting an arm out to shake hands with Bridget.
“This is my son, Henry,” she said, turning to introduce him.
Henry smiled tentatively as Bryan proceeded to pump his arm enthusiastically.
“All right, follow me. They’ve allocated us an interview room.” He led them into a starkly furnished room with light gray walls and a maroon carpet and placed his briefcase on the fixed desk in front of him. “I want to run through briefly how we're going to handle the interview before Detective Wright arrives.”
Bridget and Henry listened intently as Bryan covered some ground rules for the process. ”Once you've given your statements, I'll follow up and find out if the police intend on pressing charges. Any questions?”
“How long do you think this will take?” Bridget asked. “My son has an important math test this afternoon.”
“Assuming the police don’t detain him, we’ll be out of here long before—“
A sharp rap on the door interrupted them. Detective Wright stuck his head inside. ”Are you ready for us?”
Bryan waved him in. “We’re all set.”
Officer Lopez followed behind Detective Wright and both men took a seat opposite Henry and Bridget.
“Who do you want to begin with?” Bryan inquired.
Detective nodded at Henry. ”Are you okay going first?”
Henry shrugged. ”Sure, I guess.”
Officer Lopez switched on the recording device and began by stating the date and naming those in attendance for the record.
Bridget fought the sting of impending tears as she listened to Henry explain how he’d found Jen’s body while looking for his textbook, and how he’d been afraid for his dad, and also of what his friend, Quinn, would say when he found out.
“Where did the blanket come from that was wrapped around the body?” Detective Wright asked.
“I don't know,” Henry said. “It was already there. Maybe it—“
“Just answer the detective’s questions,” Bryan cautioned. “You don't have to speculate.”
“Can you describe the blanket for me, Henry?” Detective Wright continued.
“Gray and red checks, I think.”
“Did you attempt to clean out the trunk after you disposed of the body?”
Henry frowned. “No, there was nothing to clean out.”
Detective Wright leveled a few more questions at Henry and then switched off the recording machine and nodded to Bryan. “That concludes the first interview. Do your clients want to take a five-minute break?”
Bryan quirked an eyebrow at Bridget. She shook her head. “No, let's just get this over with.” She interlaced her fingers beneath the desk and waited for Detective Wright to begin.
“Can you state your name for the record?”
“Bridget Hartman.”
“Will you please tell me in your own words what happened on the morning of January twentieth?”
Bridget took a shallow breath and began to recount her movements. “I came back out of the store with my groceries and popped the trunk. I remember seeing the tartan blanket first and thinking that's not ours. And then I looked at it more closely and saw that the shape beneath it looked kind of like a body. I told myself it wasn't, of course. But, some sixth sense made me cautious, nonetheless. I reached for a corner of the blanket and took a quick peek.” Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry, this is just so difficult.”
“Take your time, Bridget,” Bryan interjected.
She heaved a heavy breath. “That's when I saw her face.”
“And did you recognize who it was?” Detective Wright asked.
“No, well, yes, sort of. I thought it might have been the woman I saw coming out of my husband’s office the night before. But I’d never met Quinn's mother, so I didn't know it was her.”
“Did you check to make sure she was dead?”
Bridget pressed a tissue to her eyes and shook her head. “I knew she was dead. Her eyes were—“
“You don't have to answer that,” Bryan interrupted.
“Why didn't you call 911 as soon as you found the body?” Detective Wright asked.
“My legs were like jelly, so I climbed into the car to think. I was debating what to do—whether to call 911 or drive straight to the police station. That’s when one of the grocery store employees knocked on my window to hand me the bag of groceries I’d left in the cart. I … I panicked. I was afraid I looked suspicious sitting there. So I grabbed the bag and drove off with no real idea where I was going. I cruised around for twenty minutes or so, too scared to make a decision. Just when I’d made up my mind to head to the police station, my dad called to tell me about Mom's accident. So I drove straight to the hospital instead.”
Detective Wright posed several more routine questions before ending the interview. “Okay, I think I’ve got everything I need for now.” He got to his feet. “Thank you both for coming in this morning.” He dipped his head in Bryan’s direction. ”We'll be in touch.”
After he exited the interview room, Bridget turned to Bryan. ”How do you think it went?”
“As well as can be expected. I’m not making any predictions. Now, it's just a waiting game.”
They looked up at another sharp rap on the door. Officer Lopez peered inside; his genial smile firmly fixed in place. ”Bail’s been set for your husband. As soon as you post it, he’s free to leave.”
20
Bryan got up and exchanged a few muttered words with Officer Lopez before returning to the table. “It appears the prosecutor’s only going to charge Steve with tampering with evidence, for now. But he isn’t buying the idea that Steve had no idea Jen’s body was in his car.”
“For now?” Bridget echoed.
Bryan rubbed his jaw. “I don’t know anything more than that. Detective Wright’s coming back in to brief us.”
Henry’s guarded gaze slid to Bridget. “Is Dad coming home?”
She squeezed his shoulder. “Yes, we’ll make bail, somehow or other.” She glanced up to see Detective Wright entering the room clutching a file. He resumed his seat opposite them and flipped it open. “On the whole, it’s good news. According to this report, forensics found some carpet fibers on the body t
hat seem to indicate Jen Carson was murdered someplace other than in Steve’s car. Without any more evidence, the prosecutor can't make a strong case that Steve was actually the killer. A good defense lawyer will argue that anyone could have put the body in the trunk of his car.”
“You said it’s good news on the whole,” Bridget prompted. “What did you mean by that?”
Detective Wright’s eyes held a discriminating glint as they darted from Bridget to Henry. “Make no mistake, we’ll be thoroughly investigating the carpet fiber evidence. If it leads back to Steve, he’ll be charged with murder. In the meantime, bail’s been set at $15,000.”
Bryan turned to Bridget. “Can you make bail, or do you need me to help you find a bondsman?”
“I think I can get the money together.” Bridget reached for her purse and stood. “I’ll have to go by the bank. And I need to drop Henry off at school on the way. He has an important test today that he can’t miss.”
Detective Wright nodded and got to his feet. “I’ll have the paperwork ready when you return.”
Bryan accompanied Bridget and Henry to the front door of the station. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I hear something,” he said, shaking their hands before striding off to his car.
“Why can't I just skip the stupid test?“ Henry grumbled, as he and Bridget walked through the parking lot.
“Because you've missed enough school so far this week. Besides, I need some time to talk to your dad alone.”
Henry shot her a sideways look. “You're not going to get divorced, are you?”
Bridget clenched her jaw. The thought had crossed her mind. If Steve was convicted of murder and sent to prison, would she really stick by his side? She couldn't give Henry the reassurance he wanted, not yet at any rate. There were too many unknowns, too many questions growing in the widening gap between her and Steve—a fertile breeding ground for doubt, mistrust, and suspicion.
Truth be told, she was in survival mode, mechanically going through the motions, putting one foot in front of the other as the hurdles kept getting bigger. They didn’t have $15,000 in their bank account, and Steve had made it clear that the business was struggling. She’d have to call her dad and ask for a loan. “I honestly don’t know what the future holds,” she said wearily. ”Divorce is the least of my concerns right now. I have to stay focused on what I need to accomplish in the next few hours.”
As if sensing that he’d pushed things far enough, Henry turned his attention to his phone as Bridget started the engine and pulled out of the station parking lot. After dropping Henry off at school, she called her dad who readily agreed to meet her at the bank. She only hoped he wouldn’t have to give a reason for the rather large amount he’d be withdrawing from his savings account. Her nerves were already shot without the added humiliation of the bank employees knowing her shameful business.
After Bridget had navigated the process at the bank with her dad, and successfully posted bail, she drove Steve straight from the police station to the Verizon store to pick up a disposable phone which he insisted he needed for work. Afterward, they drove home in stony silence. Bridget couldn’t decide if she felt relieved or petrified at the idea of her husband coming home. Not knowing for sure whether he was guilty or not was eating her up inside. Once or twice, Steve attempted to start up a conversation, but each time Bridget shut him down. “I don’t want to talk about it yet. My head’s spinning. We’ll sit down later and discuss everything.”
Eventually he shrugged, leaned against the glass of the passenger window, and closed his eyes.
”I’m going to drop you home and then I need to go check on my mom,” Bridget said, once they turned into their subdivision.
Steve straightened up in his seat and fixed a brooding glare on her. ”I know what you’re doing, Bridget. You can’t ignore what’s happening. We need to talk about this.”
“My head’s splitting, and I have other responsibilities to take care of first.”
“You mean other responsibilities that are more important than me?” Steve spat back. “I’ve been accused of tampering with evidence. Someone either used my car to commit a murder, or they're setting me up. Don't you care about what’s happening to me?”
“Truthfully, the only thing I care about at the moment is protecting my children,” Bridget answered. “You’ve been hiding things from me. I don’t know what you did, Steve, but whatever it is, you'll have to face it in court. My opinion doesn't matter.”
She turned into their driveway and parked the car, unable to meet his eyes. “Please get out. I need to go.”
Steve reached for the door handle. “Where are the kids?”
“In school.”
“That’s just great! You couldn’t even pull them out for one day.“ He thumped a fist on the dash. “I suppose you don’t think I'm safe around our kids anymore, is that it?”
Bridget’s voice rose and wobbled. “I don't know what to think. I just need for you to get out of the car.”
Without another word, Steve climbed out and slammed the door. Bridget hurriedly backed down the driveway and pulled out into the road, letting out a long, tremulous breath. It was all so surreal. How could she begin to wrap her head around the idea that her husband might be a killer?
Her dad looked up anxiously when he opened the front door to her. ”Did it go okay?”
She grimaced and nodded. “Thanks for bailing him out. I dropped him off at home. I can't even bear to look at him right now.”
“Don’t jump to any conclusions. We haven't heard his side of the story, yet.”
“And what side would that be?” Bridget demanded, biting back her frustration. “That it was all a big, fat accident? That he panicked and hid his lover’s body in the trunk of his car?” Briny tears stung her eyes. “If he killed Jen Carson, I’m willing to bet he knew exactly what he was doing.”
“I’m going to reserve judgement until we have all the facts.” Her dad pressed his wrinkled lips together and accompanied her to the family room where Elise was sitting in an armchair with a fuzzy blanket draped over her knees. To Bridget’s surprise, Harper was kneeling at her feet doing a jigsaw puzzle on the floor.
“What are you doing here, honey?” Bridget asked incredulously.
Harper's lips formed a petulant expression as she pressed a piece of the puzzle into place.
“The school called,” Elise hastened to explain. “She was terribly upset. Some of her friends were saying mean things to her about her father.”
Harper looked up at Bridget, wide-eyed. ”Did Daddy get out?”
“Yes, honey, he did.”
Releasing her fistful of puzzle pieces, Harper scrambled to her feet. “Where is he? I want to see him.”
Bridget pinned a tight smile across her lips. ”I dropped him off at home. Daddy's … tired. He’s resting.”
“Awww! Not fair! I want to see him now!” Harper folded her arms in front of her and sank back down on the carpet curling her lip up at the half-finished puzzle. After a moment’s hesitation, she kicked it, smashing apart the pieces she had painstakingly put together. “I don't want to do this stupid puzzle anymore.”
Bridget’s stomach muscles clenched. She knew Harper was only acting out because she couldn’t comprehend what was going on. But how was she supposed to explain any of it to her seven-year-old?
“I understand you're upset, Harper, but that's not the right way to handle things,” she scolded. “Pick up those pieces and put them back in the box so they don't get lost.”
Bridget turned to her dad. “Do you need any groceries or any errands run?”
“We’re all set, dear, thanks. Harper and I grabbed a few things on our way back from school, didn't we, pumpkin?”
Harper gave a tight nod. “Grandpa let me have a chocolate muffin because I was sad.”
Bridget patted her on the head. “That's all right. You needed a treat. Why don't you get your things together and I'll take you home now so you can see Daddy?”
; “Yeah!” Harper quickly finished tidying up the puzzle and then jumped up and ran to fetch her backpack.
“Have they charged Steve with anything?” Elise asked in a low tone.
“Tampering with evidence,” Bridget replied. “They don't have enough to go on beyond that.” She didn’t bother bringing up the carpet fibers that had yet to be analyzed and investigated. There was no sense in adding to her parents’ fears unless it was warranted.
The conversation ended abruptly when Harper came running back into the room with her thumbs looped through the straps of her silver-and-teal backpack. “I’m ready to see Daddy now. I drew him a picture at school.”
Bridget reached for her daughter’s hand. “I’m sure he’ll love it. Say goodbye to Grandma and Grandpa.”
On the drive home, Harper chatted away, giddy at the prospect of seeing her dad again and skipping the rest of the school day. Bridget mumbled the occasional appropriate response, mentally reviewing the statements she and Henry had given. Would hers be enough to clear her of any wrongdoing, or would the police see fit to prosecute her? Maybe Henry would even be charged as an accomplice. Goosebumps pricked her arms. The press was going to have a field day once the story broke. Especially if they got their hands on the video footage. There was no getting around the fact that Henry had done an awful thing, albeit with good intentions—a decision that could mark him for a long time to come.
Bridget pulled into her driveway and switched off the engine. Before she had her seatbelt halfway undone, Harper was out of the car and charging to the front door. She stood on her tiptoes and rang the doorbell, skipping excitedly from one foot to the other as she waited. Gathering up her stuff, Bridget climbed out of the car and joined her on the front step.