Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 63139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
A knock at the door has me turning my head and glancing at it. I’ve been here for less than five minutes, who the hell is at the door? I look to Remy, and his eyes are narrowed. He walks over and opens it and standing there are two police officers. I’m confused, did we speed? Is that what they’re here for?
“Is Gabriella Cutter here?”
Something tightens in my stomach.
“What do you want with her?” Remy demands.
“Sir, if you’ll move, we need to see her,” the officer orders.
Remy steps to the side, and I walk closer, staring at the two of them. I shake my head as I ask, “What is the problem?”
“Gabriella Cutter?”
“Yes.”
“You’re under arrest for the murder of Constance Hayes.”
Everything in my world stops.
Like literally stops.
For a minute, I can’t breathe, I certainly can’t think. There is no way that what they’re saying is real. No way in the world. I can’t have heard them right, there must be some mistake. They just said I was under arrest for the murder of Constance Hayes.
I’ve never even met Constance Hayes.
As they move toward me, reading me my rights as they cuff me, my mind spins, and I can’t think of anything. I can’t even breathe. The package I was holding drops to the ground, and the officer picks it up along with my purse. That package contains evidence, my father gave it to me ... my father ...
He did this.
I look frantically at Remy. “Remy,” I whisper.
His face is masked with shock. “It’s okay,” he tells me, his voice calm. “We’ll fix this.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I croak as the officers, still talking to me, turn and walk me out of the house.
“I didn’t do anything!” I scream, jerking. “This is a set up.”
“Ma’am, we need you to remain calm. Once you’re at the station, you may call a lawyer. Until then, you need to settle down or we’ll use force.”
“Gabby,” Remy yells, “do as they say. I’m coming. It’s going to be okay.”
Tears burst forth and roll down my cheeks as I’m shoved into the car, the officer’s big hand on the top of my head. I get in and they slam the door. I haven’t cried in a long time, a good long time, but the tears are flowing. They’re pouring out and my heart feels like it’s going to explode. My father is a monster, a true to god monster.
He never wanted me to plant that evidence, he wanted me to take it and have it on me so he could have me arrested.
My father.
My own father.
By the time we arrive at the station for processing, the tears have dried up and the anger has set in. I don’t say a word as they put me through and take me to an interview room where two officers come in. A woman and a dark man. They’re both friendly enough looking, I’m guessing detectives. They sit across from me, and I place my cuffed hands on the table.
I won’t break.
My father won’t get away with this.
So help me god, I’m getting out of here.
“Gabriella Cutter, is that correct?” the woman asks.
“Yes.”
“My name is Officer Sheryl, and this is Officer Quinn. We’re going to be conducting your interview today.”
They go over my rights, and then we get started.
“Can you please explain to us how you know Constance Hayes?”
“I don’t,” I say, my voice firm. “I’ve never met her.”
“We have reason to believe otherwise. Evidence was found in your possession tonight, evidence that links you directly to the crime.”
“What evidence would that be?”
They glance at each other. “Her phone, necklace, and a few items of clothing. All blood stained. The phone has your fingerprints on it.”
How in the ever-loving fuck are my fingerprints on it? How is that possible? How the hell would that happen? My mind spins as I try to figure out what the actual fuck is happening right now.
“I have never met her in my life. You’ve got the wrong person; my father is the one you should be looking at.”
“Care to explain that more?”
I tell them everything I know, from start to finish. I give every ounce of information. Including my searches on my laptop recently and my argument with my father tonight. They write the entire lot down, asking questions as I go, and when I’m done, they both nod.
“We’ll be questioning those involved, but at this stage, you’ll be held until we have proof otherwise.”
“You’re sending me to prison?” I gasp.
“If you’re approved for bail, you will be released. If not, you’ll be held until a trial can be arranged.”
“What trial? I didn’t do anything. I swear to god. I’ve never met her in my life. Go and ask her family, her friends, do your damned jobs.’
The two of them stand, and Sheryl looks at me. “We’ll do our jobs, you have my word.”