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“Your legal one, Miss.”
“Aurora Harper. I registered it.”
He nods as if the information is new to him, when it’s most likely a tactic. Even the white room we’re in, which seems sterilised, must be some psychological trick. The police played them a lot on me back in the day, but I was too young to recognise them.
“Why have you come here, Ms Harper?”
“Voluntary questioning.”
He fixes me with his bland eyes. “For what?”
“Maxim Griffin’s parole hearing.” My hands grip each other on my lap, but I force them to loosen.
“What’s your relationship with Mr Griffin?”
“He’s my father.”
“And you’re the Clarissa he’s accusing of being his accomplice?”
I nod.
“Are you admitting to his accusations?”
“I’m admitting to being his daughter that used to be named Clarissa. That’s all. His accusations are entirely false.”
He focuses back on the file, retrieves images of the murdered women, crime scene ones, too, and lays them in front of me. I force myself to stare at their faces, even though tears start rushing in.
“Do you remember them, Ms Harper?”
“Of course I do. I dream about them all the time.”
“Who are they?”
“My father’s victims.”
“Do you remember their cause of death?”
I swallow a deep breath, the air sticking in my throat. “Suffocation by duct tape.”
“Do you know how l
ong it takes for death by suffocation?” The question is clearly rhetorical since he continues in his flat tone, “Normally, it’s twenty minutes, but in their cases, he left a small opening in the duct tape to slow the process. Their death processes ranged from four to twenty hours. They spent all those hours begging for air, only to find death.”
“I know that! I also know he stalked them and made them feel like he was their dream on earth before he lured them to the cabin. I also know he cut their arms, played with their bodies while they suffocated, then kept the duct tape as a trophy before he buried them. I also know those seven reported victims weren’t his only ones, and that many other cases were closed for lack of evidence. So why don’t you look into those instead of this entire masquerade? Why the fuck are you allowing that sick bastard the right for parole?”
Despite my outburst, Joffrey’s voice and expression remain cool. “Because, Ms Harper, we might have evidence that he wasn’t the only one involved in those murders.”
“What evidence?” I laugh with a bitter edge. “I testified against my own fucking father. I brought him to you the day I lost my sister. If you have something against me, show it, but I know you don’t. All of you are playing into his hands.”
“Then why did you escape the Witness Protection Program?”
“I didn’t trust the police. They were aggressive and careless, and I didn’t feel safe in their company.”
“Or you wanted to run and hide.”
“If I wanted to run and hide, why would I come here of my own volition?”
He opens his mouth to say something, but a knock on the door cuts him off. Before he can stand up, it barges open, and in comes a man looking to be in his early fifties. He’s slim and short, wearing an elegant striped suit and carrying a leather briefcase.
