I wish I had time to fill you in. I wish I had time to walk you through the full soap opera of my life, but I don’t think it has anything to do with my murder and I just can’t hang around listening to Mum telling a virtual stranger what a disappointment I was.
I’m sad that she found me so difficult at the end there, and I’m sorry if I was ever brittle towards Mum. But I told you before, she wasn’t responsible for what happened to me, both in life and in death, so this is all a great waste of my time, and yours.
Please, let’s stay on track.
Chief Chasin has now appeared and is walking back across the road (who knew a crime scene could be such great exercise?). He is talking into his phone. He is sounding excited for once.
“Okay, got it, yep, great… Yep, yep… Okay, thanks Maurice, I owe you big time.”
He clicks off, then frowns slightly as he catches sight of my mother and Tandia on the veranda in front of Cass’s house.
“This is Mrs Gold,” Tandia tells him, and I watch as his frown softens into a look of polite sympathy. He’s a pro, that one.
“I am so sorry for your loss, Mrs Gold.”
“Dot, please,” she says, taking the hand he is extending.
He glances back at Tandia, the frown returning. “I thought you were meeting at the—”
“Yes,” she interrupts. “Mrs Gold just wanted to be close.”
He nods. “If it’s any consolation, it would have been instant. Your daughter would not have felt a thing.”
Er, actually I did feel a shot of pain before I dropped dead, thanks very much. But I’m quietly glad he said that. Mum doesn’t need to know otherwise.
She is nodding, gratefully. “Do you mind if I sit here for a bit? I’ll call a taxi in a moment.”
“No need, Mrs Gold,” he says, reaching for the doorbell. “Tandia can organise a lift for you to the morgue. I wish we didn’t have to do the formal identification process but, well, we can’t rely on the evidence of a child you see, so…”
Not a child, Detective Chasin, a thirteen-year-old boy on the cusp of manhood.
I can see that young man still perched at the kitchen bench, patiently waiting for the Chief to arrive. He’s not having a tantrum; he’s not falling apart. Despite finding his mother dead, despite the blood and trauma, he is sitting quietly, waiting, as he’s been asked to do. He is filled with dignity.
And I know in that instant that he did not do this thing to me. Bob could not have killed me. I don’t care what Chasin has to say or what new evidence he has found. I know that in my heart. I know that deep in my soul.
Bob is innocent.
The front door opens slowly, and Brenda appears to let the detective in, then she spots my mother hunched in the chair.
“Dorothy?” she says, stepping out and reaching down to grasp her arm.
Mum looks up at her, takes a moment to register who it is, then surprises me completely by grabbing Brenda’s hand and squeezing it tight.
“Oh Brenda dear, how is Cass? How is poor Bob?”
“They’re okay, all things considered.”
“The poor child. I can’t believe he had to see…”
She nods. “Yes, extremely distressing, but he will be okay, I promise you that, Dot. We will look after Bob, he will be all right.” She glances inside. “Will you come in? I’m sure he’d love to see you. So would Cass and the girls.”
“No, no, pet, I’m due elsewhere. I’d better not get in the way. This lovely detective is about to find me a lift. I was just catching my breath.”
Brenda smiles warmly. “Well if you feel up to it later, please come back and join us for dinner. I’ll set an extra place. Just in case.”
My mother looks happy to hear this, but I can’t help feeling gutted. It’s not so much that they get along (who knew they got along? When did that happen?). It just feels as though I have already been replaced. Everybody is moving on. They are having dinner parties without me!
I want to be sitting at that dining room table.
I want to be sharing lasagne with my son even if it isn’t as good as my spaghetti bolognaise.
Okay, more deep breaths. Grandma is right. I can’t hover here feeling sorry for myself. I need to forge on. Chasin has made his way into the kitchen and is now indicating one of the vacant stools beside Cass.
“May I?” he says.
Cass nods. “Of course, please, Detective.”
Oh yes, by all means, wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable while you accuse my son of murdering his mother.
Chief doesn’t look excited anymore. He sighs deeply like he really doesn’t want to be here, and I wonder if that is the case. It brings me little comfort.
“I’ve just been on the phone to the pathology lab,” he begins, pulling off his glasses and rubbing them with the end of his shirt. He places them back on, adjusts them slightly. “We’ve got some more information on the weapon that was used.”
“The knife?” Cass says, glancing at Bob, and Chief nods.
“Apart from the blood, we located something else on the knife. At first we thought it was mud.”
Ah, no you didn’t if I recall correctly. I’m pretty sure the word “faeces” was used, and you better not be confirming it as we speak.
He clears his throat. “We found traces of chocolate.”
Now he glances at Bob, who looks ready to pass out.