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“I won't ask!” I shake my head and he agrees.
“But I definitely have some questions about this blood.” He looks at the drops soaked in ashes on the sink and the dirty sink.
Fuck! I totally forgot to clean up.
“I had a bloody nose last night. It happens to me a lot since...” I wave my hand vaguely, pointing towards the mess in the kitchen.
“Okay,” the guy continues to step carefully, avoiding the ashes, and pulls a chair aside to sit on.
“So, what do you wanna talk about?” I change the subject, but I can feel backed into a corner. “Did you suddenly change your mind overnight, and now I'm your type?”
I flash him a smirk, but I think he's had enough. I can sense the tension in the air.
“I have my principles, so let's discuss what went down in the parking lot.”
“I mistook the old lady for someone else, it was no biggie,” I decide to throw him a bone just to get him off my back. “I know, I overreacted. My bad,” I raise my hands in a defensive gesture.
“I think you should see a specialist. You're not the first person who can't handle a loss and acts impulsive.”
“I'm fine,” I take another sip of this disgusting coffee and make a face.
“You don't look fine.”
I check myself out in the mirror on the wall-mounted cupboard and to be honest, I look like a hot mess. Messy hair, dark circles under my eyes, this shirt that's gone from white to gray because I always mix up my laundry, and the fact that I'm standing in the kitchen in just my underwear with a law enforcement officer, says a lot about how “fine” I am.
“I guess I need to book a salon appointment then. My roots are showing,” I reply, trying to lighten the mood.
“We need to have a serious conversation,” he insists.
“Yes, of course,” I raise a hand to my chest defensively. “It takes me some time to process stuff, but I'll get there,” I’m trying to assure him and get him off my back, like Manasseh wanted.
I don't want to give him what he wants, but avoiding any more complications seems like the smart move.
“Fine, but if there's another slip-up, you might have problems,” he warns.
“I promise there won't be another slip-up,” I cross my fingers and a smile escapes him, even though he shakes his head disapprovingly.
“Pull yourself together. We'll see each other again,” he walks to the door, coffee in his hand.
“Do I have to stay in town, Commissioner?” I bump my shoulder against the doorframe and sweep my hair to the side, trying to pull off a seductive look I've seen in movies.
“No need for that. The man from the hospital didn't file a complaint. He was arrested for manslaughter, as he confessed to the crime. He's going to be tried, but it seems like he'll be locked up for a good chunk of time for premeditated murder,” he explains.
A man paying for the death of my mother, who is, as Manasseh claimed, safe somewhere only he knows.
“And the others?”
“He didn't provide any statements. He insists that he was the one who struck the fatal blow on your mother, and that he met the others the night before at a bar, agreeing to make some money under the pretense of the attack. Another man is being pursued for the other victim, a 48-year-old man.”
I bring my hand to my temple and sigh. I recall the images of the attack and remember the man lying on the ground in a pool of blood.
“There were more of them! There... I think there were five,” I catch myself speaking out loud, my anger resurfacing at the memory.
I almost give them a name, Manasseh Morgenstern, but I can't bring myself to do it, for some unknown reason.
“We'll stay in touch. Stay out of trouble,” he warns.
“Got it,” I bring my hand to my forehead and pause before closing the door. “Hey...”
