Read Online The Perfect Mother by Nina Darnton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nina Darnton
Tags: Literary, detective, Literature & Fiction, Mystery, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction, Literary Fiction, Itzy, Kickass.so
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think it’s right to find fault with him.”
Roberto was contrite. “You are right, senora. I meant no harm. I apologize. I misspoke because of my own sadness.” He waited for her to politely inquire what that was, but she was silent.
“I am divorced,” he said finally. “My child lives with my former wife in another city. I find the separation very painful.”
She resisted her natural impulse for compassion. She didn’t want to swerve from her main concern. This man offered some hope, yet his manner was both peremptory and surprisingly intimate and, she thought, inappropriate. She put this down to cultural differences, but she was determined to stay strictly on an American business-only basis. “I’m sure it is,” she murmured. Then she gathered her belongings, said good-bye, and told him she would be in touch very soon.
Jennifer went straight to the hotel to tell Emma that she had found someone who seemed like he could help them. She took the elevator to the third floor and knocked on the door of the room they had reverted to sharing after Mark left. Emma had been sleeping a lot lately, or just hanging around in her pajamas—signs, Jennifer knew, of depression. Not that Jennifer blamed her, under the circumstances. Still . . . She used her key to let herself in, calling Emma’s name as she entered. There was no sign of her daughter but rumpled sheets and some of her clothes flung around the room. At least Emma was awake, Jennifer thought, and was probably out getting a bite to eat. It would have been nice if she’d left a note, though.
She sat down in one of the comfortable armchairs. She had pulled out the contract, turned to the English translation, and started to read when she noticed that the hotel phone was flashing. The message was from José. He had bad news. The pathology report was completed. The investigators had determined that the victim’s wounds could not possibly have been made by a person who fit the description Emma had given the police. They were pressing forward with the theory that Emma had invented the story of the Good Samaritan, that there was no Algerian. Along with the knife found in her kitchen, they felt they had enough to hold her. Jennifer took a deep breath and called José. He answered on the first ring.
“I got your message,” she blurted as soon as she heard his voice. “But it doesn’t make sense. It’s all circumstantial. Maybe her description was wrong. She was traumatized; she can’t be expected to have an accurate memory of what he looked like.”
“We can argue that point in court, if necessary. But they have enough to suspect she is withholding evidence. They believe she knows more than she says. . . .” He paused, then continued quietly, “And there is another problem. The boy’s parents have arrived from Madrid. In Spain, even if the police don’t think they have enough evidence to press charges against a suspect, they must hold her and continue to investigate if the victim’s family makes an accusation. Emma has already been picked up and is at the police station.”
“Where are you?”
“I am with her. She is very upset. You should come quickly. And one more thing—the reporter for the
Diario
is here. Whatever she asks, don’t answer.”
Jennifer headed for the door but then stopped. She rummaged through her bag until she found Roberto’s card and quickly dialed his number. “Habla Roberto,” his recorded voice sounded. “Digame lo que quiera.”
“Roberto, this is Mrs. Lewis. I haven’t read your terms, but I agree to whatever they are. My daughter is in jail at the police station. I don’t know what to do. Please, can you come?”
He picked up the phone. “I will meet you there, senora.”
CHAPTER 8
W hen Jennifer got to the police station José and Raul were waiting for her, but Roberto had not yet arrived. José continued to fill her in. Emma was being held as a material witness who was a flight risk and ineligible for
Roberto was contrite. “You are right, senora. I meant no harm. I apologize. I misspoke because of my own sadness.” He waited for her to politely inquire what that was, but she was silent.
“I am divorced,” he said finally. “My child lives with my former wife in another city. I find the separation very painful.”
She resisted her natural impulse for compassion. She didn’t want to swerve from her main concern. This man offered some hope, yet his manner was both peremptory and surprisingly intimate and, she thought, inappropriate. She put this down to cultural differences, but she was determined to stay strictly on an American business-only basis. “I’m sure it is,” she murmured. Then she gathered her belongings, said good-bye, and told him she would be in touch very soon.
Jennifer went straight to the hotel to tell Emma that she had found someone who seemed like he could help them. She took the elevator to the third floor and knocked on the door of the room they had reverted to sharing after Mark left. Emma had been sleeping a lot lately, or just hanging around in her pajamas—signs, Jennifer knew, of depression. Not that Jennifer blamed her, under the circumstances. Still . . . She used her key to let herself in, calling Emma’s name as she entered. There was no sign of her daughter but rumpled sheets and some of her clothes flung around the room. At least Emma was awake, Jennifer thought, and was probably out getting a bite to eat. It would have been nice if she’d left a note, though.
She sat down in one of the comfortable armchairs. She had pulled out the contract, turned to the English translation, and started to read when she noticed that the hotel phone was flashing. The message was from José. He had bad news. The pathology report was completed. The investigators had determined that the victim’s wounds could not possibly have been made by a person who fit the description Emma had given the police. They were pressing forward with the theory that Emma had invented the story of the Good Samaritan, that there was no Algerian. Along with the knife found in her kitchen, they felt they had enough to hold her. Jennifer took a deep breath and called José. He answered on the first ring.
“I got your message,” she blurted as soon as she heard his voice. “But it doesn’t make sense. It’s all circumstantial. Maybe her description was wrong. She was traumatized; she can’t be expected to have an accurate memory of what he looked like.”
“We can argue that point in court, if necessary. But they have enough to suspect she is withholding evidence. They believe she knows more than she says. . . .” He paused, then continued quietly, “And there is another problem. The boy’s parents have arrived from Madrid. In Spain, even if the police don’t think they have enough evidence to press charges against a suspect, they must hold her and continue to investigate if the victim’s family makes an accusation. Emma has already been picked up and is at the police station.”
“Where are you?”
“I am with her. She is very upset. You should come quickly. And one more thing—the reporter for the
Diario
is here. Whatever she asks, don’t answer.”
Jennifer headed for the door but then stopped. She rummaged through her bag until she found Roberto’s card and quickly dialed his number. “Habla Roberto,” his recorded voice sounded. “Digame lo que quiera.”
“Roberto, this is Mrs. Lewis. I haven’t read your terms, but I agree to whatever they are. My daughter is in jail at the police station. I don’t know what to do. Please, can you come?”
He picked up the phone. “I will meet you there, senora.”
CHAPTER 8
W hen Jennifer got to the police station José and Raul were waiting for her, but Roberto had not yet arrived. José continued to fill her in. Emma was being held as a material witness who was a flight risk and ineligible for
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