I paused, going over the facts and wondering if lies were necessary to protect Gil. A fabrication to perhaps grant a shorter sentence. But lies hadn’t saved him, and lies wouldn’t save me. The truth was the only option.
My voice stayed monotone as I gave as much information as I could in as few sentences as possible. “Gilbert Clark painted me at his warehouse, drugged me so I’d stay asleep, planted a GPS tracker on me so he could follow, and took me to the location his uncle had advised. The plan was to trade me for his daughter and then chase after me and set me free. He was shot in the back after his uncle decided to keep both me and Gilbert’s daughter. Jeffrey then took both of us deeper into the forest where he’d been living for a while in a camouflaged caravan. He said he planned on selling us into the sex trade. He took me outside to rape me, Gilbert arrived just in time, he passed out once Jeffrey was dead. That’s it.”
The skinny officer looked up from scribbling notes. “You said he put a GPS tracker on you? So he had hope that you wouldn’t die?”
“Of course. His intention was always to keep both of us alive...if he could achieve it.”
“Yet he painted those other women and allowed them to be murdered?”
I still couldn’t believe he’d been guilty of that.
I looked into my tea again, wishing it had the answers.
“Do you think Gilbert Clark is a good person?” Gloria asked, pen poised over paper.
I nodded fiercely. “Yes. He’s a good person.”
“Is he a killer?”
I don’t know.
“I don’t believe so.”
“But he did paint them?”
I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to answer because Gil had told me the truth. The same truth he’d provide in court. I stood taller. “Yes. He painted them.”
Flicking back through her notes, Gloria asked, “In your previous statement, when you first called the police about the attempted kidnapping outside Gilbert Clark’s warehouse, you said the van used was white with blue stripes. Do you still wish to stand by that statement?”
I slouched, knowing I’d been caught in that fib. “I lied to protect Gil. It was a black van.”
The skinny cop sniffed. “Do you think, if you’d told the truth about the van, we might’ve been able to prevent what happened to you and ensured both Gilbert and Jeffrey were in prison?”
“I have thought about it, and I agree that lying prevented Jeffrey from being found. However, I lied because Gil asked me to, and I would lie again, knowing what I know now.”
“And what is that?”
“Olive would’ve died in that caravan if Jeffrey had been caught. She wouldn’t have been found until it was too late.”
“And the life of one girl is worth the lives of others?”
I tipped my tea down the sink. “I can’t answer that.” Striding to the door, I opened it. “I need to go to work. I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to leave.”
They stood, tucked their notebooks away and walked in heavy boots across my threshold. “We’ll be in touch, Miss Moss.”
I nodded, smiled goodbye, then closed the door in their faces.
The moment their boots sounded on the staircase, I grabbed my phone and called Shannon at Status Enterprises.
“Hello?”
“Shannon, I’ve had enough time off. I’m ready to return to work.”
“Oh, that’s great! We’re short-staffed so we’d super appreciate it. You can come in tomorrow.”
“Today? I’m free today.”
“Today is great! See you soon.”
I hung up and padded toward my bathroom and the shower.
I couldn’t save Gil from what was coming for him.
I couldn’t protect Olive from having her family torn apart.
I couldn’t figure out what I needed to do to put this behind me.
But I couldn’t sit at home anymore.
I had to do something productive.
Before I did something wrong.
Something like catching a bus to Gil’s and demanding the entire sordid story so I knew what he would face in court, so I knew how long he would be imprisoned, so I knew how this sorry tale would end.
Chapter Sixteen
______________________________
Gil
I UPLOADED ANOTHER time-lapse video of a girl I’d transformed from human into a lush, dew-misted strawberry last year. My Facebook page no longer acted as a positive beacon for my business. Instead, it granted a platform for people to comment on how vile I was, how they wished I was dead, how they planned on killing me if I wasn’t dealt life imprisonment.
My star rating had plummeted from five stars to one, effectively blacklisting me from any future commissions.
I’d done my best to keep uploading previous videos and pieces of art, hoping my inbox would fill with a request for work rather than death threats. But no company contacted me for ad work. No campaign or business dared hire me with the bad press surrounding my name.
It fucking sucked because yes, I was involved, and yes, I had taken a life, but no one knew the full story, and they’d stolen my livelihood. I only had a finite amount of time to pay off my debts, squirrel away enough cash for Olive, and figure out a way to keep her happy and safe before the police summoned me to trial.
I even considered getting a job as a house painter or some other labourer, but I couldn’t leave Olive. I knew I should enrol her back into school and set up a routine so she had something familiar and trustworthy in her life, but I wasn’t prepared to miss out on huge chunks of time together.
Not now.
Not when every moment was precious and our time together unknown.
Two weeks had passed since I’d seen O.
Two weeks since I’d had my daughter back and pretended things were normal. I’d taken her to Kohls and bought her a new outfit to replace the ones she no longer fitted. I’d sold my car so I had some disposable cash for food and incidentals. And Justin had become a regular dinner guest. Some nights we ordered in. Some nights I cooked. Most times he fucking paid.
My guilt and self-hatred at him picking up the bill and delivering groceries because I couldn’t leave ensured I diligently kept note of what I owed him. I had a little notebook now, full of numbers, the tally growing bigger and my debt growing heavier each time he popped round.
I’d warned him that he wasn’t welcome if he continued to bring small gifts for Olive and found some unsubtle way of ensuring we ate. He’d jokingly said ‘I’ll put it on your tab’ when I’d tried to force the entire three-thousand-pound pay-out I got for my car into his hand.
He’d been kidding.
I hadn’t.
I took it literally, and my notebook had become my tab.
One that I had every intention of wiping clean one day.
I wanted to banish him from popping around so much, but yet again, I was fucking selfish.
I knew why he made the effort after a long day in the office to swing by my place and watch TV with Olive. Why he learned the names of silly cartoon characters and sat on the floor and submitted himself to a painting lesson that ended up speckling his suit with colours.
I’d catch his eye mid stupid joke with Olive and my heart would squeeze in agony.