You were just killing them.
Andy tried to think back to this morning, to fill in the blanks with the video. Could Laura have left the knife in Jonah Helsinger’s throat, taken away his gun, and then … what?
The police would’ve come. Dispatch would’ve radioed in an ambulance, not a coroner, because the fact was that, even with a knife sticking Herman Munster-like from the side of his neck, Jonah Helsinger had not been dead. No blood had coughed from his mouth or sneezed from his nose. He had still been capable of moving his arms and legs, which meant his carotid, his jugular, were likely intact. Which meant he had the chance to remain alive until Laura had killed him.
So, what would’ve happened next?
The EMTs could’ve stabilized him for the ride to the hospital and the surgeons could’ve worked to safely remove the knife, but none of that had happened because Laura had braced her right hand near Jonah Helsinger’s right shoulder and ended his life.
“Ms. Oliver,” Palazzolo said. “I find the lack of communication on your part very troubling. If nothing’s wrong, then why aren’t you talking to me?”
Andy made herself look the detective in the eye. She had to speak. This was her time to say that Laura had no other choice. My mother was acting in self-defense. You weren’t there but I was and I will swear on a stack of Bibles in front of any jury that my mother had no other choice but to kill Jonah Lee Helsinger.
“Laura?” Gordon said.
Andy turned, finally breaking out of Palazzolo’s vortex. She had expected to see her mother lying in yet another hospital bed, but Laura was sitting up in a wheelchair.
“I’m all right,” Laura said, but her face was contorted in pain. She was dressed in a white gown. Her arm was strapped to her waist in a Velcro sling. Her fingers were held stiff by something that looked like a biker’s glove with the tips cut off. “I need to change, then I’m ready to go home.”
Gordon opened his mouth to protest, but Laura cut him off.
“Please,” she said. “I’ve already told the doctor I’m going to sign myself out. She’s getting together the paperwork. Can you pull up the car?” She looked annoyed, especially when Gordon didn’t move. “Gordon, can you please pull up your car?”
“Dr. Oliver,” Palazzolo said. “Your surgeon told me you would need to stay overnight, maybe longer.”
Laura didn’t ask the woman who she was or why she was talking to the surgeon. “Gordon, I want to go home.”
“Ma’am,” Palazzolo tried again. “I’m Detective Lisa Palazzolo with the Savannah—”
“I don’t want to talk to you.” She looked up at Gordon. “I want to go home.”
“Ma’am—”
“Are you hard of hearing?” Laura asked. “This man is a lawyer. He can advise you of my legal rights if you’re unfamiliar with them.”
Palazzolo frowned. “Yeah, we’ve already do-si-doed that two-step, but I want to get this straight with you, on the record: you’re refusing to be interviewed?”
“For now,” Gordon intervened, because nothing made him stand more firmly by Laura’s side than to have a stranger challenge her. “My office will call you to schedule an appointment.”
“I could detain her as a material witness.”
“You could,” Gordon agreed. “But then she could stay here under doctor’s orders and you’d be denied access to her anyway.”
Laura tried, “I was under anesthesia. I’m not competent to—”
“You’re making this worse. You realize that, right?” Palazzolo had let the helpful, we’re-on-the-same-team façade drop. She was clearly pissed off. “The only people who are quiet are the ones who have something to hide.”
Gordon said, “My office will be in touch when she’s ready to talk.”
The hinge of Palazzolo’s jaw stuck out like a bolt on the side of her face as she gritted her teeth. She gave a curt nod, then walked off, her jacket swinging as she made her way toward the elevator.
Gordon told Laura, “You should stay in the hospital. She won’t bother you. I’ll get a restraining order if I—”
“Home,” Laura said. “Either get your car or I’ll call a taxi.”
Gordon looked to the orderly behind the wheelchair for help.
The man shrugged. “She’s right, bro. Once she signs that paperwork, we can’t keep her here if she doesn’t wanna stay.”
Gordon knelt down in front of the chair. “Honey, I don’t think—”
“Andrea.” Laura squeezed Andy’s hand so hard that the bones moved. “I don’t want to be here. I can’t be in a hospital again. Not overnight. Do you understand?”
Andy nodded, because that much, at least, she understood. Laura had spent almost a year in and out of the hospital because of complications from her surgery, two bouts of pneumonia and a case of C. difficile that was persistent enough to start shutting down her kidneys.
Andy said, “Dad, she wants to go home.”
Gordon muttered something under his breath. He stood up. He tucked his hand into his pocket. His keys jangled. “You’re sure?” He shook his head, because Laura wasn’t given to making statements she wasn’t sure about. “Get changed. Sign your paperwork. I’ll be out front.”
Andy watched her father leave. She felt a familiar guilt ebb into her chest because she had chosen her mother’s demands over her father’s wishes.
“Thank you.” Laura loosened her grip on Andy’s hand. She asked the orderly, “Could you find a T-shirt or something for me to change into?”
He bowed out with a nod.
“Andrea.” Laura kept her voice low. “Did you say anything to that detective?”
Andy shook her head.
“You were talking to her when I was being wheeled up the hall.”
“I wasn’t—” Andy wondered at her mother’s sharp tone. “She asked questions. I didn’t tell her anything.” Andy added, “I didn’t speak. At all.”
“Okay.” Laura tried to shift in the chair but, judging by the wince on her face, the pain was too much. “What we were discussing before, in the diner. I need you to move out. Tonight. You have to go.”
What?
“I know I said I wasn’t going to give you a deadline, but I am, and it’s now.” Laura tried to shift in the chair again. “You’re an adult, Andrea. You need to start acting like one. I want you to find an apartment and move out. Today.”
Andy felt her stomach go
