My mom came into my room sometimes, asking me again to go through everything that had happened that night. I’d tell her how Nicole came to my room, how she apologized, how she asked to come out with me and Ryan. Mom would stop me at different places, asking me to repeat something, wanting every detail. “What was she wearing? How did she stand when she said that?” When I told her Nicole had said something was going on that she couldn’t tell me about, Mom fixated on it, trying to get me to think of anything I’d missed. I would always hesitate when I got to the part at the lake, hating the look on my mom’s face when I told her how we left Nicole alone, and I’d cry when I got to the part where we’d made out in the bushes and slept while she was being killed. By the time I told her, sobbing, how we’d seen Nicole’s body in the headlights, she’d usually be rocking back and forth and moaning. Once, I reached out and rested my hand on her shoulder, but she stood up and left the room. I didn’t try to touch her again.
We had a memorial service for Nicole. Most of our school came, and we had to rent a big hall. Friends and teachers all talked about what a wonderful girl she had been. Some of her friends had made slide shows with photos of her. Shauna and her girls were there but they didn’t speak. I saw them, all dressed in black, as we passed by to sit at the front of the room with the rest of my family. Shauna’s and Rachel’s faces were cold as they stared at me, Kim’s was streaked with tears, and Cathy just looked out of it. Afterward my mom and dad walked around thanking people for coming, but Mom sounded like a robot, her responses mechanical and stilted. Close friends and family were invited to come with us when we put Nicole’s ashes in the river near our place, then back to our house for food and drinks. The girls came to the river, standing together in a huddle, then drove off in Shauna’s car. At the house, my mom reached for wineglass after wineglass. When my dad tried to take one away from her, she glared at him and jerked it back, sloshing some out. That night, after I’d helped clean up with some of the other women, I passed by their room and saw my dad trying, tenderly, to button up her pajamas, her head hanging down like a broken doll’s. I turned away.
I stayed at home those days, not even sneaking out once to see Ryan, afraid to do anything to upset my parents. I cleaned the house, cooked our meals, finally being the daughter my mother had always wanted. I kept telling myself the police were going to find Nicole’s killer soon, but it had already been two weeks since she’d been murdered, and on the phone one night, Ryan, his voice scared, said, “They’re going to arrest us, Toni.”
“Why would you say something like that?” Fear flooded my body. Was he right? Did they think we did it? My dad had been on the phone with them every day and they said they were following up on leads, but they never told us if they had any suspects. Was that because we were their only ones?
“Because it’s the truth.” His voice was urgent. “With my record—and us getting in trouble together before—it doesn’t look good. We were the last people to be with her, Toni. There’s no one else they can blame.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I hung up on him for the first time ever. Then sat in the dark, my heart thudding.
*
The police arrived the next afternoon, on a Friday. There were two of them, older men in uniforms, one tall with gray hair, the other shorter with salt-and-pepper hair and a big mustache, both with serious faces when my father opened the door. I’d been doing the dishes in the kitchen when I saw the patrol car pull up. I set down the towel, moving toward my dad. Had they found the murderer?
The gray-haired officer said, “I’m Constable Brown. We’re here to see your daughter.”
“What’s going on?” I said.
The shorter officer introduced himself as Constable Ruttan. “We’re here to advise you, Toni Murphy, that you are under arrest for the murder of your sister, Nicole Murphy. Please turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
I was stunned, unable to speak or move.
Dad reached for my arm, pulling me behind me. “Do you have a warrant for this? Where are you taking her?”
“Sir, please move away.” The gray-haired officer stepped closer, his face stern.
Dad didn’t budge, his voice rising. “We want to talk to our lawyer.”
The officer rested his hand on my dad’s shoulder, trying to guide him to the side, using his body to separate him from me. “Sir, I know this is upsetting, but we need you to stay calm.” Dad was grabbing for me, trying to hang on.
The other officer was behind me. Cold metal cuffs snapped around my wrists. I pleaded with the officer. “This is a mistake. I didn’t do anything.”
Dad yelled, “Get your hands off my daughter!”
The other officer was blocking him, forcibly holding him in place. “Sir, if you don’t calm down we’re going to have to arrest you as well.” My dad’s face was flushed, his face furious. But he let go, held his hands up.
The officer turned to me. “I need you to listen to me. It is my duty to inform you that you have the right to retain and instruct counsel in private, without delay. You may call any lawyer you want. There is a twenty-four-hour telephone service available which provides a legal aid duty lawyer who can give you legal advice in private. This advice is given without charge and the lawyer can explain the legal aid plan to you. If you wish to contact a legal aid duty lawyer, I can provide you with a telephone number. Do you understand?”
My mom was rushing toward us, almost running down the stairs.
“What’s going on?”
“They’re arresting Toni,” Dad said, as I started to cry. “They think she killed Nicole.”