“Okay then.”
I take that as my approval. I hit record.
“Can you state your full name for me please?”
She crosses her legs, pulling her body away from the phone. “Patricia Leighton.”
“Patricia Leighton here in her apartment with myself, Sloane Ashford. And you’ve agreed to this interview as well as this recording?”
Her brow pinches with concern. “I guess so, yeah.”
“Yes or no, please?”
“Yes. I agreed.”
“Great.” I pull a notepad and pen out of my purse, dropping them down on the table between us. “Since we’re on a time limit here, let’s get right to it. You and Trey Domata dated?”
“Yeah, we did,” she agrees before adding quickly, “but he’ll say we didn’t.”
I scrunch up my nose in disgust. “Isn’t that always the way? They’re in it when it’s happening but after it’s over suddenly they have amnesia.”
Her brow slackens slightly. “Yeah. Yeah, exactly.”
“So, when was the last time you and Mr. Domata had sex?”
“Wh-what?”
“The last time you had sex.” I click my pen expectantly. “When was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“When was the abortion?”
“Uh, in April.”
I make a note on my pad. “Early or late?”
“Early or late in the month?”
“Yes.”
“Late, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I don’t remember the exact day. It was kind of awful,” she answers bitingly. “I’ve tried to forget it.”
“Did he go with you?”
“Did he go with me to the clinic?”
“For the abortion, yes.”
“No. He gave me the money for it but he never showed his face.”
“How much?”
“How much did the abortion cost?”
I cock my head to the side. “Are you having that much trouble hearing me? You’re repeating everything I say.”
Her brow tightens again. “I can hear you.”
“Alright, then how much did the abortion cost?” I ask, enunciating clearly.
She shrugs. “A few hundred.”
“A… few… hundred…” I mumble to myself, making notes on the pad. “How far along were you?”
“How far along—“ Tish catches herself when I look up at her sharply. She licks her lips. “I was about two months along.”
“Two months along at the end of April, so the last time you had sex with Mr. Domata would have been somewhere near the end of February, correct?”
“Yeah. That sounds right.”
“According to Mr. Domata, you had sex the day before the Combine. February 28th.”
“That’s it,” she agrees, her eyes lighting up as the facts fall into place. “That was the time.”
“He says he used a condom.”
She smirks. “Which time?”
“Every time,” I answer coolly, unimpressed with her sudden swagger. “He says he always used a condom with you and every girl he had sex with to avoid exactly the situation you’re describing. How do you respond to that?”
“I—uh, I don’t know. He’s lying.”
“One of you is.” I click my pen shut, pulling a folder out of my bag. “This is a copy of Mr. Domata’s financial records all through his college career. At no point did he have ‘a few hundred dollars’ to spare. His scholarship paid for his housing, his school, his books, and a small stipend to live on, and when I say ‘small’ I absolutely do mean small. It was a struggle sometimes for him to get by, but he was used to that.” I pull out another folder, flopping it open in front of her. “These are his parent’s financials during that same time period. Not an extra dime in the mix. There were days when they didn’t have two pennies to rub together let alone money to burn on the unexpected outcome of their son’s dalliances. So where would Mr. Domata have gotten this money?”
She shakes her head, her mouth opening and closing. “His friends, I guess. He has some rich friends.”
I pull out another folder. And another. These are thicker than the others, each labeled with the name of one of Trey’s inner circle. “These are the financials of every person close to Mr. Domata over the last two years. They’ve all offered up their records in support of Mr. Domata because not one of them believes your story. Not one of them has ever heard him speak of a pregnancy or abortion in the time they’ve known him.”
Her eyes bulge. “You told people here at the school about it?”
“I told them about the accusations. I didn’t tell them who was making them. Not yet.”
“Not yet?” she shrieks.
I sit forward calmly. “Listen, Tish, and listen closely. Trey Domata didn’t have the money for an abortion. His parents didn’t have it either. His friends didn’t give it to him. So you tell me, where did he get it? This is a breaking point in your story, so you better get it right. Where did he get the money?”