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I swallow with difficulty, surprised by his words and his first step in my direction. So he understands that I had a painful past and seems ready to break down that barrier between us to find out more. But I’m not ready. His voice sounds like an apology as the atmosphere between us becomes too heavy. It feels like we’re sharing something important, and I don’t want that. I decide to break this connection that is making me slightly dizzy.
“Speaking of the Larey case,” I announce as I open my bag, “here is my research. I made a summary of the hearing of Mikael Larey’s colleague. He is described as a man who cared deeply for his daughter, but I still think he is the culprit in this case.”
Tucker nods, presumably sharing my opinion.
“Yeah. I think so, too. Have you looked at the whole file?”
I shake my head, silently denying it. Since I started out on Mikael Larey’s guilt, I admit I didn’t look at all the pieces the other night. Tucker grabs the file from my hands and picks up one of the sheets I hadn’t looked at yet.
“Here, it’s the testimony of the Larey’s neighbors. They say that the little girl was an angel, that she often played alone in the garden with her dolls. The neighbors also explain that Mikael was always smiling and friendly with them.”
I curse as I read the following lines myself. Something catches my attention: the neighbors explain that Mikael’s wife, Mrs. Larey, who was found dead, had a completely different behavior. She didn’t say a word to them, as if she was always closed in on herself. How could I have not read everything?
Neighbors had seen the mother act harshly towards her daughter on several occasions, even insulting her in the middle of the garden a few months ago. They also stated that this must have been caused by the father’s obnoxious behavior which would have been reflected in his wife’s attitude.
I reread the last few sentences several times and, for the first time, I start to have doubts. I find it a bit strange.
I have a feeling, deep down, that something is wrong. His behavior doesn’t match. I take another look at Bob Harrison’s audition, painting a glowing picture of Mikael Larey. What if…what if my first impression was wrong?
“What?” asks Tucker as the questions start to race through my head.
“What do you think of the neighbors’ questioning?”
He shrugs. “To me, it’s just a mother talking bad to her child. I stand my ground, Mikael Larey is probably our culprit.”
I don’t answer anything and he raises an eyebrow at me.
“You don’t agree with me anymore? What, you have doubts about the culprit, when we know in what position he was found?”
“I know, but…I feel like something is wrong. I wonder if we’re making a mistake by declaring him guilty immediately. I don’t know,” I sigh, closing my eyes and rubbing my eyelids.
“He killed his wife and daughter. I don’t think we’re looking at an innocent man.”
“That’s what part of me thinks too. But maybe we need to dig a little deeper?”
My own words amaze me. Yet, as I say them out loud, I think maybe this isn’t such a bad idea.
“I feel like something doesn’t fit. I read the words of his co-worker, he describes him as an honest and decent man. And what you just showed me in the neighbors’ report…”
“All parents are tough on their kids,” Tucker tells me. “The cops came into the room, the mother was dead, the kid was dead, and her father had abused her. I don’t know what more there is to understand.”
“Do you really think that Professor Richards gave us this case so that we could just repeat the same scenario as the media?”
“So,” Tucker resumes after a minute, “you are thinking there’s a chance that the mother is guilty. And what? She stabbed herself after strangling her daughter?”
“That’s not what I said,” I reply calmly but firmly. “As far as I know, Mikael’s DNA was not found on the knife that killed his wife. The girl was abused with a statuette, Tucker, no fluids from her father were found in her. And the fact that she was strangled…I don’t know, I feel like something’s wrong. Maybe he didn’t kill his kid? Maybe the mother was the one who clutched the scarf and abused the kid. I don’t know,” I sigh, closing my eyes and letting my head go back. I think my brain is going crazy.
Look at me, I’m trying to find extenuating circumstances for a guy who probably killed his wife and daughter. But why won’t my brain stay on the main trail we’ve been given?
Instinct.
“That could hold,” Tucker finally tells me, after a few minutes. “But on what do you base this? Simple testimonies of neighbors and colleagues?”
When I open my eyes, I discover his so particular look on me. He observes each feature of my face as if he was trying to memorize them.
“You’re right. Maybe we should try to contact his colleague Bob Harrison. But we don’t even know where to find him…”
I yawn until my jaw drops as he grabs his phone and taps away.
