Chapter 8 - The Minutes That Were Taken
“Then you should have called for help anyway.”
My voice sounded strange.
Too calm.
Margaret sat across from me, crying into her hands.
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
I gripped Rebecca's bracelet.
“You got to go home that night. You got to wake up the next morning. My sister didn't.”
Margaret lowered her head.
“I have no defense for what I did.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I looked at Vincent.
“Please take me somewhere else.”
He stood immediately.
“Of course.”
Outside the lounge, I stopped beside a window.
The streets below were filled with ordinary people.
Someone carrying groceries.
A woman pushing a stroller.
A man waiting for a bus.
I watched them and wondered how the world could keep moving after something so terrible.
Vincent stood beside me without speaking.
Finally, I asked, “Do you think she knew she was dying?”
He took a breath.
“I don't know.”
“Margaret said she was calling my name.”
“I heard.”
I looked at him.
“Why wasn't I there?”
His expression softened.
“Emma, your sister was trying to keep you safe. She didn't want you there with Daniel.”
I pressed the bracelet into my palm.
“I wish I'd answered differently when she asked about taking time off work.”
Vincent looked at me.
“You didn't know she was asking you to leave your life behind.”
“No.”
“And you didn't cause what happened.”
I wiped my face.
“I know that in my head.”
He nodded.
“Sometimes the rest of you takes longer.”
Margaret agreed to give a formal statement to Detective Helen Shaw.
She didn't receive promises that she would avoid consequences.
She didn't ask for them.
She described the argument, Rebecca's breathing difficulties, and the threats Daniel had made.
She also admitted she'd concealed her presence for eighteen months.
Detective Shaw listened carefully.
Then she asked the question I'd been afraid to hear.
“Mrs. Russo, did you see Daniel physically assault Rebecca?”
“No.”
“Did you see what happened inside the bedroom?”
“No.”
“Then we're going to need evidence beyond your interpretation of what you heard.”
I hated how clinical that sounded.
But I understood.
A frightened woman's memory wasn't the same as proof of a crime.
Especially eighteen months later.
The detective began reviewing the original investigation and requesting the medical and emergency-response records through proper channels.
She interviewed Gloria.
Then Mae.
Then me.
Daniel had not been located after leaving the Grand Meridian, and police were investigating his threats against me as well as Rebecca's death.
Vincent offered to let his people find Daniel.
Detective Shaw was firm.
“If they locate him, they contact us. Nobody approaches him.”
Vincent nodded.
“Understood.”
Later, I asked why he'd agreed so quickly.
He looked at me.
“Because I want you to have answers that will hold up in a courtroom.”
I studied his face.
“And not just someone to blame?”
“Exactly.”
It was the first time I realized how carefully he was choosing what kind of man he wanted to be.
A week later, Detective Shaw asked me to return to the police station.
Vincent came with me.
She had reviewed the emergency dispatch information and spoken with the building's former evening security attendant.
His name was Arthur Bell.
He was sixty-eight now.
He'd retired a few months after Rebecca died.
When he entered the interview room, he looked at me and immediately began crying.
“You look just like her.”
I swallowed.
“You knew Rebecca?”
“Lovely woman. Always brought me flowers when she had extras.”
He sat slowly.
“I should've done more that night.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
Arthur looked toward Detective Shaw.
“I wrote down a disturbance complaint from the apartment next door. Someone heard shouting.”
“What time?”
“A little after nine.”
He rubbed his hands.
“I went upstairs. Mr. Mercer answered.”
“Was Rebecca there?”
“I couldn't see her. He wouldn't let me inside.”
“Did you hear her?”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“I heard a woman crying. Then she said something about needing help.”
My hands began shaking.
“What did Daniel say?”
“He told me his wife was having an anxiety attack. Said she'd been under a lot of stress.”
I stared at him.
“Did you believe him?”
Arthur looked ashamed.
“I'd known him for years. He was always polite. Brought Christmas gifts for the staff.”
“And you left?”
He nodded.
“I asked whether I should get medical help. He told me absolutely not.”
I felt sick.
“What happened afterward?”
“About half an hour later, an ambulance arrived.”
Detective Shaw looked at me.
“The dispatch record confirms Daniel requested emergency assistance later that evening.”
I couldn't stop staring at Arthur.
“Why didn't you tell anyone?”
“I told the officer who came afterward. I assumed they'd include it in the investigation.”
Detective Shaw opened a folder.
“Arthur also kept the building's original overnight incident log. The relevant entry was not included in the material reviewed when Rebecca's death was initially classified.”
My heart pounded.
She placed a copy of the page in front of me.
Arthur's handwriting was clear.
9:08 P.M.
Noise complaint.
Apartment 4B.
Female occupant requesting assistance.
Husband states no emergency.
No entry permitted.
I read it twice.
Then I looked at the dispatch record.
Daniel had not called for an ambulance until 9:43.
Thirty-five minutes later.
Detective Shaw spoke carefully.
“Emma, we still need medical review to establish what that delay meant. We can't assume the outcome would've been different.”
I nodded.
But I could barely hear her.
Thirty-five minutes.
Rebecca had been asking for help.
And Daniel had kept another person from reaching her.
Arthur looked at me through tears.
“I'm so sorry.”
I stared at the page.
Then I noticed something handwritten beneath the original entry.
It wasn't Arthur's writing.
A second person had added a note after the ambulance left.
Resident's sister listed as emergency contact. Husband requests she not be notified.
I looked up.
“Detective?”
“Yes?”
I pointed.
“Daniel didn't just refuse to get Rebecca help.”
May you like
My voice broke.
“He made sure nobody called me while she was dying.”
