Page 48 of Warped

Caroline Bailey was already there, and she got to her feet as I entered.

“Thanks for coming in, Ms. Guerra.”

“Please, it’s Verity.”

She gave a tight smile. “Of course. Take a seat. Can we get you anything? Coffee? Water?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.” I just wanted to get on with it. “Please, tell me what this is about.”

She pressed her red-painted lips together and leaned forward, her forearms placed on the table between us. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but someone has come forward regarding the circumstances surrounding your mother’s death.”

My stomach tightened. “There are no circumstances. My father killed her. I was there when it happened. I saw the whole thing, remember? That’s the whole reason I’m testifying, so he’ll be sent down for her murder.”

“Of course, I am aware of all that, but as I said, someone has come forward with new information.”

My cheeks flared with heat, and then a moment later drained of blood. Who the hell would have come forward? Please don’t let it be Nicole. If she’d come forward and said she was there when our mother died, she’d have made me look like a liar.

Catherine glanced at her paperwork. “His name is Vincent Thiele.”

My heart lurched into my throat and the room turned in a slow, dizzying circle.

“I’m going to assume you know the name?” she said.

I nodded. “He’s one of my father’s right hand men.”

“Well, he’s come forward to say he was in the warehouse the night you claim you witnessed your father shooting your mother, only his account of events is somewhat different.”

I felt removed from the situation, speaking, though I had little control over my body. “What has he said?”

“He claims it wasn’t your father who killed her, but in fact you who pulled the trigger.”

The world withdrew, and I found myself staring down the end of a long tunnel, the interview room distant and unreachable.

I was barely aware of Catherine’s voice. “Ms. Guerra? Verity? Can you hear me?”

I hadn’t passed out, just grown faint, and I managed to force myself back into the room.

“Yes,” I said, though my voice came out as a whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m okay.”

“Do you understand the consequences of this man’s story, Verity?”

I shook my head. “Why would he come in saying that? Isn’t he implicating himself?”

“Yes, which makes his story more believable.”

I gave a cold laugh. “That I shot my own mother? The woman I loved more than anyone.” Except for my sister. I’d chosen my mother to die, after all. I couldn’t say she was the one I’d loved the best.

“Your father would say the same thing,” Catherine replied.

I put my head in my hands. “Oh, God. Am I going to be arrested?”

She shook her head. “We don’t have any proof, or even a motive for why you’d want to harm your own mother. We at least had a witness in you, plus he had a motive with your mother’s affair, and we matched the murder weapon to your father, his prints on it, though yours were, too,” she reminded me.

I nodded. “I picked it up after he killed her. Threatened him with it. It was stupid. I see that now.”

These were all lies spilling from my mouth, but they were well practiced lies—ones I’d told over and over again, to the police, to the lawyers. I could almost believe them myself if I didn’t have the memory of that day so firmly etched on my brain.

“The problem we have, Verity, is that the defense has gotten hold of this information. They’ll put him on the stand. They’re painting you to be a troubled teen—with a record of violence and anti-social behavior. It’s all about perception. Something like this will sway the jury. If they get this image of you and end up disliking you, they’ll never give a guilty verdict for your father.”

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