“Andrea?” Palazzolo rested her elbows on her knees. Andy could smell coffee on the detective’s breath. “I know this is a difficult time for you, but we can clear this up really fast if you just tell me what your mom said before Helsinger died.” She waited a beat. “The phone didn’t pick it up. I guess we could send the video to the state lab, but it would be easier if you just told—”
“The father,” Gordon said. “We should pray for the father.”
Palazzolo didn’t look at him, but Andy did. Gordon was not the praying kind.
“I can’t imagine...” he paused. “I can’t imagine what it feels like, to lose your family like that.” He had snapped his fingers together on the last word, but close to his face, as if to wake himself from the trance that the video had put him in. “I’m so glad your mother was there to protect you, Andrea. And herself.”
Andy nodded. For once, she was a few steps ahead of her father.
“Look, guys,” Palazzolo finally sat back in her chair. “I know you’re thinking I’m not on your side, but there are no sides here. Jonah Helsinger was a bad guy. He had a plan. He wanted to murder people, and that’s exactly what he did. And you’re right, Mr. Oliver. Your wife and daughter could’ve been his third and fourth victims. But I’m a cop, and it’s my job to ask questions about what really happened in that diner this afternoon. All I’m after is the truth.”
“Detective Palazzolo.” Gordon finally sounded like himself again. “We’ve both been on this earth long enough to know that the truth is open to interpretation.”
“That’s true, Mr. Oliver. That’s very true.” She looked at Andy. “You know, I’ve just realized that you haven’t said one word this whole time.” Her hand went to Andy’s knee with almost sisterly affection. “It’s all right, honey. Don’t be afraid. You can talk to me.”
Andy stared at the mole on the woman’s jawline because it was too hard to look her in the eye. She wasn’t afraid. She was confused.
Was Jonah Helsinger still a threat when Laura had killed him? Because you could legally kill someone who was threatening you, but if they weren’t threatening you and you killed them, that meant you weren’t defending yourself anymore.
You were just killing them.
Andy tried to think back to this morning, to fill in the blanks with the video. Could Laura have left the knife in Jonah Helsinger’s throat, taken away his gun, and then... what?
The police would’ve come. Dispatch would’ve radioed in an ambulance, not a coroner, because the fact was that, even with a knife sticking Herman Munster-like from the side of his neck, Jonah Helsinger had not been dead. No blood had coughed from his mouth or sneezed from his nose. He had still been capable of moving his arms and legs, which meant his carotid, his jugular, were likely intact. Which meant he had the chance to remain alive until Laura had killed him.
So, what would’ve happened next?
The EMTs could’ve stabilized him for the ride to the hospital and the surgeons could’ve worked to safely remove the knife, but none of that had happened because Laura had braced her right hand near Jonah Helsinger’s right shoulder and ended his life.
“Ms. Oliver,” Palazzolo said. “I find the lack of communication on your part very troubling. If nothing’s wrong, then why aren’t you talking to me?”
Andy made herself look the detective in the eye. She had to speak. This was her time to say that Laura had no other choice. My mother was acting in self-defense. You weren’t there but I was and I will swear on a stack of Bibles in front of any jury that my mother had no other choice but to kill Jonah Lee Helsinger.
“Laura?” Gordon said.
Andy turned, finally breaking out of Palazzolo’s vortex. She had expected to see her mother lying in yet another hospital bed, but Laura was sitting up in a wheelchair.
“I’m all right,” Laura said, but her face was contorted in pain. She was dressed in a white gown. Her arm was strapped to her waist in a Velcro sling. Her fingers were held stiff by something that looked like a biker’s glove with the tips cut off. “I need to change, then I’m ready to go home.”
Gordon opened his mouth to protest, but Laura cut him off.
“Please,” she said. “I’ve already told the doctor I’m going to sign myself out. She’s getting together the paperwork. Can you pull up the car?” She looked annoyed, especially when Gordon didn’t move. “Gordon, can you please pull up your car?”
“Dr. Oliver,” Palazzolo said. “Your surgeon told me you would need to stay overnight, maybe longer.”
Laura didn’t ask the woman who she was or why she was talking to the surgeon. “Gordon, I want to go home.”
“Ma’am,” Palazzolo tried again. “I’m Detective Lisa Palazzolo with the Savannah—”
“I don’t want to talk to you.” She looked up at Gordon. “I want to go home.”
“Ma’am—”
“Are you hard of hearing?” Laura asked. “This man is a lawyer. He can advise you of my legal rights if you’re unfamiliar with them.”
Palazzolo frowned. “Yeah, we’ve already do-si-doed that two-step, but I want to get this straight with you, on the record: you’re refusing to be interviewed?”
“For now,” Gordon intervened, because nothing made him stand more firmly by Laura’s side than to have a stranger challenge her. “My office will call you to schedule an appointment.”