But I knew she wasn’t. She was awake and frantic, just as tired and worried as I was. It dawned on me after I arrived that, while I was happy she was out of harm’s way with my father gone, I still didn’t want her walking through this world without me. I didn’t want to miss anything.
For that reason, maybe I regretted doing what I did.
The door suddenly opened, and I turned my head, seeing a short, pepper-haired man in a gray suit but still pretty young and fit.
“Hi,” he said, stepping aside and allowing the officer in behind him. “I’m Monroe Cason.”
The cop came over, and I watched as he uncuffed me and turned away to leave, only to turn back with tight lips and pick up the cinnamon roll, setting it down in front of me.
Huh?
I leaned my forearms on the table, picking up the roll and turning it over in my hands a moment before I flung it at the door just as he was closing it.
Jerk.
I looked up at the dude, cocking an eyebrow. “I didn’t call a lawyer,” I told him.
He smiled small and shot his eyes up. I followed his gaze, seeing the video camera, and after another moment, the power light went off.
What the hell was going on?
I glanced at him again.
He dug in his briefcase, pulling out something wrapped in plastic. He set it on the table in front of me.
“I can have it taken care of, if you like, but I thought you’d want to see it destroyed yourself,” he informed me.
I leaned over the package, making out Rika’s dagger inside. Clean and shining new. Maybe particles of blood could still be found on it, though, which was why he suggested it be destroyed?
Why would they let me destroy my murder weapon?
I thinned my eyes on him. “What is this?”
“You’re free to go,” he said.
My heart leaped. “Why?”
He let out a small breath and placed his case on the table, unbuttoning his jacket and having a seat. Pulling out a paper from his briefcase, he placed it in front of me.
“No one will mourn your father,” he told me. “In fact, there are many who are quite happy—and grateful—that he’s gone. The testimony is that you and your friends showed up at the parade to celebrate. When you arrived, one of your father’s disgruntled employees had done him in, and you found him lying in his blood up
on the roof.”
I scanned the paper, the testimony written there.
“Everyone has signed it,” he informed me as I spotted the signatures.
That was why they hadn’t taken samples of the blood on me. Or my clothes.
“His guards…?” I argued.
What about his bodyguards? They knew things.
But he was quick to answer. “They are now on your sister’s payroll, as she is the sole heir of your father’s estate. She assures me that she has her house under control.”
Her house. It was strange to hear, but it had a ring to it.
The cops, though. The blood that was on the dagger. My prints. People might’ve been happy to see my father go, but they weren’t shoving this under the rug out of the goodness of their hearts. There were many who still didn’t like me, either. They were rid of my father, so why not let me go to prison for it and be rid of me, too?