“Who knows? You drank an entire bottle of whiskey. Stranger things have been reported.”
I pull out of the driveway and take him to his apartment. He staggers out and disappears into the building.
My phone rings. It’s Willis. “Yeah?” I answer.
“Jameson, I think you need to come down to the Wharf.”
Chapter 18
Sinclair
Ireceive a brown envelope and place it on my kitchen island. I stare at it for a few minutes. I should call Officers Willis or Jameson. Let them open it with me. I should not tamper with evidence, even if it is addressed to me, delivered to my home. Getting the mail has become one of those tedious tasks, but I insist on doing it, so my kids or husband don't have to carry this burden. I finger the edges, finally deciding what to do. I open the flap, feeling inside the envelope. I gag when I finally pull out the contents. Pictures.
Tears sting my eyes, and my hands tremble as I hold onto the sheets of glossy paper for dear life. I knew that things were too good to be true. I knew there was something horribly wrong, but this is so much more than that. I feel my heart shatter into a million pieces. I can't cry, the tears refuse to come and give me any sort of relief. It’s like the body chooses to abandon you at the most inopportune time, like mine is now.
There are more pictures in the envelope, so many of them. They're dated, small digits on the right-hand corner of each one. I look at them and shake my head. This has to be a sick joke, but who would do this to me? Who would be so cruel? There's a knock on my door, and somehow I know that this was all carefully orchestrated. I think of my girls, but I have no energy to think beyond my trip to the front door. Creed isn't standing there. Cold Detective Jameson is him and two other men. I let them cuff me, the cold steel cutting into my flesh, like a branding iron. There are sirens, they're announcing to the world their victory.
"Mrs. Finley,you are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Chelsea Morgan.” One of the officers says.She’s my friend.My inner voice shouts.My best friend. “Anything you do say may be used as evidence.”How did I not see this before?
The interrogation roomis the size of my bathroom, with a metal table and four chairs. The walls are void of any posters, instructions, or anything remotely exciting. There isn't a two-way mirror-like in the movies. It's just four walls, with bad ventilation. I never imagined someone like me could end up in a room like this. I sit mutely, gazing at the two men across from me. Jameson looks at me calmly, too calmly. His eyes try to unravel me. His stare is hard, and it makes me uncomfortable. What happened to friendly Creed? I guess he disappeared along with my life. We're waiting for my lawyer, and until she arrives, I refuse to say a word. This is a crime against humanity. How dare they bring me in here? Accusing me of killing Chelsea. It's fucking absurd. God knows I have every right to, but I didn't.
My friend Samantha Taylor bursts through the door, her cheeks flushed.
“My God, Sin, what on earth? Wait, say nothing.” She puts up a finger to still me. “Officers, I’d like a word with my client.”
Willis and Jameson stand. Jameson looks from me to Sam. "We'll be right outside." He holds my gaze for too long, and I feel like I'm suffocating. They exit the door, and Sam takes the seat across from me.
"Where are the girls?" My heart pounds inside my chest. This is all a big mistake, and now my children have to suffer for it.
“Cohen is outside. The girls are with Bronwyn.” My shoulders tense. He’s here. “Sin, I’ve read the charges.” She sighs. “I just don’t think I understand any of this.”
“That makes the two of us. It’s all a fucking lie. ” I say, my hands wrapping around me.
“It says here -” she opens a brown folder. “-they say they have evidence that implicates you. I haven’t had a chance to get any more information...”
My friend holds my gaze. "I need some time to go through the case files, but if there is anything you want to tell me, or anyone, you think may have it in for you, or Chelsea. I need to know. The DA is holding their cards close to their chest."
“This is bizarre.” Tears sting my eyes, and I bite the inside of my mouth to hold them back.
“I know.” She reaches out and places a hand on mine, squeezing it. “We’re going to fix this. Cohen wants to see you.”
“I’d rather not see him. Not right now.” Her eyes widen.
“Why ever not?”
“Just make him go away. Please.”
She lets out a breath, but nods. “I’m going to try and get bail posted. It may take a couple of hours, but I need you to hang in there for me.”
She stands and comes around the table. I rise, and she pulls me into her arms, squeezing me. "It is going to be okay, Sin."
I wish I could believe her. I watch her retreating form, and I sink into the chair, my head falling into my hands. I hear the door open and close, but I can't look up, the sobs fall from my lips.
I feel strong hands on my shoulder. , and when I look up into Jameson's eyes, I feel like crumbling. “I didn’t do this.”
“Sinclair, I shouldn’t even be talking to you. But if this is a mess, then it’ll clear itself up” I place my face in my hands. “Hey,” He shifts next to me, and when I look at him, he’s kneeling down beside me. He tips my chin toward him, forcing me to look at him. He realizes what he is doing and drops his hand.
“I have to move you to a holding cell, just until your lawyer gets you bail.”
