The morning sun seemed like an imputation. It was too bright. It illuminated the dust on my
furniture, lies in my eyes. I hadn't slept. Whenever I shut my eyes I heard the
flatline.
The kitchen was humming with Brigget. The scent of bacon and coffee was on the house. A normal morning. It was a sick joke.
You are silent, you see, I said, and put a plate in front of you.
It was a long night, I said to myself, looking at my eggs. They looked like vomit.
"The Bonny Terminal project?" asked her, with the innocence of complete confidence.
"Yeah. The Bonny Terminal project." I took a sip of coffee. It burned my tongue. The suffering was a desirable distraction.
My phone was vibrating on the table. It was a number I didn't know. My blood ran cold. I let it
go to voicemail.
It buzzed another minute later. A text message.
Unknown Number: This is Detective Miller, Mr. Smith. I should talk to you about it.
Angela Bennet. Please call me back.
The phone fell out of my fingers and rattled at my plate. Ketchup splattered on my
white shirt like blood.
"Alex! What's wrong?" Her face worried, said Brigget.
"Nothing," I said, too quickly. I got to my feet, scrap, scrap, scrap. "I... I have to go. I'm late."
"But you haven't eaten!"
"I'm not hungry!" I snapped. I knew the pain, flashing in her eyes. I couldn't deal with it. I
took my briefcase and rushed nearly out of the door.
The commute to the office was an indistinct one. My heart went jumping in every police car.
throat. As I entered the lobby, security guards did not smile. They just watched
Did they know?
My secretary was not in her office. Angela's desk. It was empty. Her little plant was still
there. A picture in a frame of her and her sister. I had to look away.
Godwin was expecting me in my office. The door was closed.
The police called, I said, trembling.
"I know," he replied. Drinking my costly scotch he was serene. At 9 a.m. "I spoke to
them. I informed them that you were here with me last night. A late business dinner. We were
arranging the shareholder meeting."
"You lied to the police?"
"What did you want me to do, Alex? Tell them the truth?" He shook his head. "We have a
story. Stick to it. You were with me. You have not seen Angela since she got out of work.
yesterday. You know nothing."
"But her family... Gregory..."
Gregory Bennet is searching after his daughter. She had not come home last night. He's
worried. That's all for now." Godwin walked over to me. "You need to hold it together. If
you crack, we all go down."
The outside of my office had a commotion. Raised voices. My assistant was trying to
stop someone. The door flew open.
Gregory Bennet stood there. He had a grey frightened face that was sleepless. His eyes,
usually so kind, were wild.
"Alex!" His voice broke with a scream. "Where is she? Where is my Angela? She's not
answering her phone. She never stays out! Do you know something? Please!"
I stared at the man whose daughter I killed. I heard the blind horror in his eyes. I had
to tell him. I was even forced to go down on my knees to repent.
Godwin stepped in front of me. "Gregory, please. We're all worried. I had an evening with Alex working dinner. Angela wasn't there. We presume that she had been out with friends.
"She would have called!" Gregory sobbed. It was a horrible sound. "Something is wrong.
I feel it."
I stood there, silent. I let Godwin lie for me. I was watching my friend and colleague break.
down in front of me. And I did nothing.
At last Gregory had gone, driven off by my assistant. The office was quiet again.
Godwin turned to me. "See? You have to be strong."
I walked to my window. I looked down at the city. My empire. It all seemed so
meaningless.
My intercom buzzed. "Mr. It was a tense voice, that of my assistant, Smith. "There are two
detectives here to see you. The Detective Miller and Detective Jones.
I closed my eyes. I could sense that the walls were closing in.
Godwin patted my back. "Remember the story. You were with me. You know nothing."
I had a deep breath, and swivelled about and looked at the door. I had to lie. I had to lie to save myself.
Send them in, I said, and my voice was surprisingly steady.
The door opened. Two men in suits walked in. They had serious faces. Detective Miller
held a notepad.
"Mr. Alexander Smith?" he said.
"Yes," I replied. "How can I help you?"
He looked me right in the eye. We have come to discuss the death of Angela Bennet.
The word hung in the air. Death. They knew. It was real. It was official.
I experienced the floor leaning under me. I clutched the side of my table to remain upright.
"Death?" I managed to say. "I... I don't understand. What happened?"
The eyes of detective Miller were lasers. And that is what we came to find out, sir. We have
some questions for you."
Godwin's story felt flimsy. I was certain they heard the pounding of my heart. I
was standing on the edge of the abyss.
And I was about to fall in.