PART 3
Mom came out fifteen minutes later.
I barely recognized her.
A bruise was forming along her cheekbone.
Her lower lip was swollen.
One sleeve of her blouse had been torn.
There were dark marks around her right forearm.
Finger-shaped.
She saw me.
Then started crying.
I crossed the room.
“Mom.”
I hugged her gently.
She winced.
“Sorry.”
“My ribs.”
I pulled back.
“What happened?”
Detective Keene interrupted softly.
“We need to preserve her statement.”
I nodded.
“Then let her speak.”
Mom sat.
I sat beside her.
The detective remained across from us.
A recorder was placed on the table.
“Mrs. Vance.”
“Tell me what happened from the beginning.”
Mom looked at me.
I squeezed her hand.
Then she began.
“Julian came to my house around one-thirty.”
“Did you call him?”
“No.”
“Did you invite him?”
“No.”
“Why did he come?”
“He said we needed to talk.”
“About what?”
Mom swallowed.
“My bank accounts.”
My chest tightened.
“What about them?”
“I found transfers.”
Julian had told me she accused him of stealing.
That part was true.
But apparently there was a reason.
Mom continued.
“I was paying bills yesterday.”
“I noticed money missing from my investment account.”
“How much?”
“Almost eighty thousand dollars.”
I stopped breathing.
Detective Keene leaned forward.
“When did the transfers occur?”
“Over several months.”
“Where did the money go?”
“I didn’t know.”
“So I called Valerie’s husband.”
“Why him?”
“He manages some of my online accounts.”
My head snapped toward her.
“What?”
Mom looked embarrassed.
“You were deployed last year.”
“Julian offered.”
I remembered.
I had been in Poland for six weeks.
Mom had needed help setting up new online banking authentication.
Julian volunteered.
I never thought anything of it.
“He knew your passwords?”
Mom nodded.
“Some.”
I felt sick.
She continued.
“I called the bank yesterday.”
“They said several transfers went to an account I did not recognize.”
“I wrote the number down.”
“Then Julian came over.”
“Did you call him after speaking to the bank?”
“No.”
“How did he know?”
Mom’s eyes filled.
“I don’t know.”
That mattered.
A lot.
She continued.
“He kept telling me I was confused.”
“He said I must have authorized everything.”
“I told him I was calling Valerie.”
“Then what?”
“He took my phone.”
My jaw tightened.
“He said I was going to ruin the family over a misunderstanding.”
“I tried to take the phone back.”
“He pushed me.”
“I hit the hallway table.”
“Then I yelled.”
“He grabbed my arm.”
“I screamed for him to leave.”
“What happened next?”
“He walked into the living room.”
“He picked up the little fireplace poker.”
“The brass one?”
“Yes.”
“He stared at it.”
“Then he put it down.”
Mom’s voice trembled.
“He scratched his own neck.”
The room went silent.
Detective Keene did not react.
I did.
Not outwardly.
Inside, something collapsed.
“He did what?”
“He scratched himself.”
“With his fingernails?”
“Yes.”
“He tore his shirt.”
“Then he called 911.”
My stomach turned.
“What did he say?”
“He said I attacked him.”
“With the fireplace poker.”
Mom started crying again.
“I kept telling the officer it wasn’t true.”
“But Julian was bleeding.”
“He sounded calm.”
“I was crying.”
I understood immediately.
Presentation.
Julian had been composed.
Mom had been terrified.
One looked credible.
One looked unstable.
He had counted on that.
Detective Keene asked.
“Where is the brass fireplace tool now?”
Mom looked confused.
“In the living room.”
“Was it collected?”
The detective stood.
“I need to check.”
She left.
Mom looked at me.
“Valerie.”
“Yes?”
“I think Julian took my money.”
I stared at her bruised face.
Then I asked something I never imagined asking.
“Do you think this was the first time?”
She looked away.
“No.”
