Mollie
She was nervous being in the interview room of a police station. Mollie wasn’t sure why, exactly. It just gave her an uneasy feeling to be sitting at a cold, metal table in a room where the heat had apparently been turned back a few notches. She vaguely remembered seeing an episode of Law & Order: SVU where Lieutenant Benson instructed the other detectives to make the interview room colder in order to make the suspect uncomfortable. But she wasn’t a suspect. She was the victim. So why did she feel so anxious?
Mollie’s hands were wrapped around a Styrofoam cup full of coffee. She didn’t regularly drink coffee, but considering the early hour and the fact that she and Laurel had stayed up talking until three in the morning, she sipped at it anyway. Kitty sat next to her in the matching metal chair, checking her emails from her phone.
Just when Mollie thought she was going to lose her mind from boredom, Detective Jamison opened the door, stepped inside, and sat across from her.
“Thank you for coming in, Mollie,” he said with a curt nod.
“Well, you said you needed her formal statement,” Kitty answered for her. “I talked to the attorney I work for. He doesn’t do criminal law, but he said as long as Mollie isn’t a suspect and she’s free to leave any time she chooses, it would be fine to come down here.”
“Yes, that’s right,” the detective responded with his elbows on the table and his fingers steepled before him. “She is free to leave at any time she wants. And no, she’s not a suspect in any crime. At least, not yet.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Kitty asked with a raised, perfectly plucked eyebrow.
Detective Jamison leaned forward. “It means, Ms. Cartwright, that I’m not an idiot. Mollie may not know where your father is holding Collin McAllister, but she knows more than she told me at your house.” He turned to face Mollie. “Isn’t that right, Mollie?”
Mollie stared at her fingernails as she picked at the hot pink polish she had just applied with Laurel last night. She shrugged.
“You don’t know? Or you don’t want to say?”
Mollie knew, all right. Or at least, she had some idea of what her grandfather was up to, but mad as she was at him for causing what happened to her, she wasn’t about to sell out her pops. She still loved him, despite all the grief he’d caused.
Detective Jamison turned again to her mother. “Kitty, I think it would be best if we spoke to Mollie alone. My partner, Detective Howard, is outside, and he’ll be more than happy to wait with you.”
Kitty sat upright and shook her head vehemently. “No way. I’m not letting you question her alone. She’s my daughter. I don’t have to let you.”
“Actually, Kitty, you do. Mollie is nineteen. She’s not a minor, so if I say I need to speak with her alone, you have two choices. You can either excuse yourself from this room for a few minutes and go talk to my partner, or you can continue to hinder a police investigation by refusing to let me take an official statement from the victim. In which case, I’ll have no choice but to charge you with obstruction of justice.”
Mollie looked at her mother and watched for her reaction. Katherine Cartwright was a strong woman, but not even a strong woman could stand up to a detective when they were threatening to press criminal charges. She wondered what her mother would decide to do. Normally, she knew Kitty would call Pops and have him intervene, persuade, or even threaten the detectives, but they both knew damn well that Pops was unreachable at that moment.
Kitty shook her head. “I don’t like this. Not one bit. I’m going to step outside, but not to talk to your partner. I’m calling my attorney. Surely the victim has rights.”
“She does have rights,” Jamison said. “And as I’ve already said, she’s free to leave at any time. But I do need to get her official statement sooner rather than later.” He turned back to Mollie. “Mollie, will you cooperate with me? Or do you want to leave with your mother?”
Now Mollie was torn. She didn’t want to go against her mother, but she knew that despite what the detective way saying, she really didn’t have a choice in the matter. If she didn’t give her statement now, she would have to at some point down the line. Besides, maybe if she gave it now, she could buy Pops some time. She still hadn’t forgiven him for being the reason she was kidnapped, but he was family, and she wasn’t about to let this detective—or anyone, for that matter—arrest him and throw him in prison for the rest of his life.
“I’ll stay,” Mollie said without looking up at her mother. She was afraid of what she’d see in her face. Confusion? Hurt? Betrayal?
“Well,” Kitty said, breaking the uncomfortable silence that seemed to stretch on after Mollie’s declaration, “I guess I’ll go call my lawyer, then. Mollie, don’t you let this detective push you around. Remember, the police are not your friends. They will try to manipulate you and tell you—”
“All right, all right,” Detective Jamison said as he shooed her out the door. “That’s quite enough. I think she gets the picture.”
Kitty tossed her heavily-highlighted hair over her shoulder, huffed, and exited the room, slamming the door behind her.
The detective faced Mollie again and sat back in his chair. Mollie looked at him and thought she saw a vague resemblance to her pops. She now knew this man and Pops used to be best friends as children, and that they’d fallen out over something pretty serious years ago. But that was all she knew for sure.
“Is there anything you’d like to say?” he finally asked her.
“No.”
“Well,” he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a small Dictaphone, “I need you to start at the beginning. Tell me everything that happened from the time you left Macy’s two days ago.”
He set the little machine on the table between them, pressed RECORD, and sat back and crossed his arms, waiting for her to begin.
She let out a long-held breath. “I clocked out at Macy’s right at ten thirty. I texted Mom and told her I was on my way home, then I walked out into the mall. I saw a few friends on the way out, and I stopped to talk to them for a minute.”
“Who were these friends?”
“Jillian Michaels and Leanne Richey from high school.”
“Go on.”
“Anyway, when I was done talking to them, I walked out of the mall and toward my car. Since I work at the mall, I’m supposed to park near the back to let the customers have room to park up front. I usually try to find a spot under a street lamp, but there weren’t any this time. I remember it was cold. Very cold. I didn’t bring a jacket, so I walked a little faster. When I got to my car, I accidentally dropped my keys. That’s when he—”
“Collin McAllister?”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I know that’s his name now, but I didn’t know him at all then. He came up behind me and put his hand over my mouth. He told me to do everything he said or he would kill me right there. I knew I was supposed to fight him. I’ve seen it on enough crime TV shows. But it’s easy to say that when you don’t have a gun pressed into your back.”
“He had a gun?” The detective’s eyebrows raised.
“Yeah. He jammed it in my back and made me climb into the back seat of my car. I didn’t want to do what he said.” Mollie choked back tears and swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat. “But he said he wouldn’t kill me if I did what he said. I know that was stupid now. But then…”
“Do you need a tissue?” he asked kindly.
“No, I’m fine.” She pulled her hand back up into her shirt sleeve and wiped the snot that was starting to drip from her nose.
“Go ahead,” he said in a near whisper. “It’s okay.”
“He drove my car for a while. I don’t know how long, but it seemed like forever. We stopped at some rundown grocery store. He said he had to pee, but it seemed like maybe he was looking for something. I jumped out of the car and tried to run so I could call 911, but he caught me and dragged me into the store. When he saw I was trying to call for help, he hit me on the top of my head with my cell phone then threw it down and stomped on it.”
“Yes, we found your phone at the old grocery. That was very brave, Mollie.”
Mollie wasn’t sure whether he was coddling her because he genuinely cared, or because he was trying to play Good Cop. It didn’t matter.
“We got back in the car, and when we finally stopped for good, he pulled me out of the back seat. I tried to fight him then. I kicked and screamed as loud as I could, even though we were in the middle of the woods. It was stupid.”
“It wasn’t stupid, Mollie. It’s called the fight or flight instinct. You chose to fight.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“What happened next?”
“He made me go down into the…the…”
“The bunker.”
“Yeah. That thing. But he called it The Vault. I didn’t want to go, but what was I supposed to do? I was out there all alone, and when I’d screamed before, he’d hit me again with the butt of his gun. That’s how I got this big cut right here.”
She lightly touched the tender, raw wound on her forehead. It had scabbed over by now, but it still hurt like a bitch.
“Tell me what happened while you were down in the bunker.” The detective shifted in his seat and crossed one leg over the other, the same way her grandfather sat sometimes.
She shrugged. “He chained me to the wall.” Mollie could still feel the cold steel shackles on her ankles and the bruises they had left behind. “I don’t know how long I was down there. He spent most of his time sleeping, reading, or yelling at me about—”
Mollie clamped her mouth shut. She had almost said too much. She had vowed to not even mention her grandfather during her statement. There was no way to know how much the detective already knew about what Pops had done to Collin’s father, but by God, it wasn’t going to come from her.
“About what?” He set his leg back down and leaned forward again with his elbows on the table. “Mollie…you were about to say something. What was he yelling at you about?”
Mollie sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Butterflies fluttered around in her belly, and her heartrate was rapidly increasing. “I don’t remember.”
“Come on, Mollie.” The detective’s tone changed from soft and low to sharp and loud. After staring at her for a beat, his eyes lit up. “Oh, my God. He told you about what your grandfather did to his father, didn’t he?”
“No. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied as she looked away from the detective, who was now staring right at her.
“Mollie, cut the crap. Listen. No matter what your grandfather did all those years ago, it didn’t give Collin McAllister the right to do this to you. Don’t get me wrong. I feel sorry for you. You’re definitely the victim in this whole thing. But don’t try to tell me you don’t know where Frankie took Collin. I know you know more than you’re saying.”
“No, I don’t.” She couldn’t look at the detective. He knew she was lying, but she was afraid if she looked in his eyes, she might be tempted to tell him everything, so she stared at the wall to her right. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The door to the interview room swung open, and Kitty was standing there with a young man who couldn’t have been thirty. In fact, he was kind of good-looking. He reminded Mollie of a younger Ryan Gosling.
“Let’s go, Mollie,” Kitty said.
“Ms. Cartwright, I already told you, I’ll charge you with—”
“You won’t be charging my client with anything. Not today, anyway. Not without proof.”
So, the attractive young man was Kitty’s boss, the attorney. Mollie had never met anyone from the law office where Kitty worked, but she was gladder than ever of her mother’s chosen profession. She glanced at the detective, who looked like he was about to explode with anger. Mollie could tell he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the right words.
“Come on, Mollie,” the young man said. “We’re leaving.”
Mollie stood from her cold chair and shuffled over to the doorway. As she passed by the detective, whose vein was throbbing at his temple, she looked at him and said, “Sorry.”
She didn’t know why she said it. Was it because she knew he was only doing his job? Or was it because of the guilt she felt at helping her grandfather get away with murder? She wasn’t sure, and it really didn’t matter. She was in this now, and there was no getting out.