‘A pillow?’
‘A pillow or a cushion. They found fibres,’ says Dad. ‘In her eyelid and inside her mouth.’
I think back to the baby pillow in London. How you can actually breathe through it.
The soups arrive and we pause our conversation.
‘But how? KT was strong. A pillow on her face?’
‘She had bruising on her cheeks but also on her torso and upper arms. We never saw those marks. She was pinned down in the bed, my love,’ says Dad, and Mum is crying now. He puts his arm around her. Holds her tight. ‘The police say it would have happened very fast. A few minutes from start to finish. Or less, even. Katie would have lost consciousness well before she died.’
I take a deep breath and focus on Mum.
‘Her blood work came back clear,’ says Mum. ‘No drugs or poison. Your father was right – she didn’t hurt herself. That might have been much slower, so that’s something to be grateful for.’
I feel sick.
‘At least we know now,’ says Dad, looking tired. ‘It’s the worst thing that has ever happened to me, to any of us, but at least we know now.’
‘Did they say anything else?’ I say.
‘They asked where your father and I went shopping that dreadful afternoon.’
‘Where was that?’
‘Your mum went to Macy’s. I went to the Apple store. Just window-shopping.’
‘Are they close to arresting someone yet?’ I ask.
‘Martinez couldn’t tell us,’ says Dad, picking up his muffin. ‘He just said they were working on the assumption that the perpetrator knew Katie. There was no sign of a struggle and there were no reports of screaming or shouting. The doors and windows were secure and nobody heard any scuffles. It seems like Katie let the killer in. Or else the killer had a key to her apartment.’
‘But why would she let a killer in? Why would she do that?’
Mum looks at me. ‘Because she trusted them.’
Chapter 18
Our morning hostel activity revolves around our two doors, and the hallway immediately outside. We make sure we hold the bathroom for each other so at least we protect that semblance of normality. Wet hair, thin H&M robes Mum bought on Fifth Avenue the night she moved here and realised the bathrooms were communal, washbags under arms, disposable slippers Mum brought from the Best Western.
From the outside we look like a normal family.
Mum and Dad have to pick an outfit for KT for her cremation tomorrow. Just saying these words inside my head is hideous. Picking her an outfit? How on earth did we get to this point? All her life, she was near us, she was safe. And then she moved to New York and all this happened.
I call Violet.
‘Hey, Molly. I was just thinking about you. How are you holding up?’
Traffic noise in the background.
‘Can we meet, please? For a quick coffee or something. I know you’re busy but I need to ask about KT’s sponsorship. I need to find a few more pieces of this puzzle before I fly back to England.’
‘I got class now but I’m done by eleven. Meeting Scottie actually. You want to do a threesome?’
The phrase seems wholly inappropriate, especially as Scott was sleeping with someone identical to me.
‘The three of us could have coffee? Sure. Then I can ask him some questions, too.’
‘Or a dirty water hot dog? How about it? I’m hungover as fuck. You had a NYC dirty water hot dog yet, Molly?’
‘I don’t think it’s for me.’
She laughs.
‘Meet us on the corner of 72nd and Broadway. Eleven-fifteen.’
‘I’ll be there.’
I walk out to Jimmy’s food cart. ‘Morning.’
‘Hey, Molly. Smoothie? Fresh papaya?’
‘I’ll take a coffee, please.’
He looks at me like how do you take it?
‘Black with one sugar.’
‘Coming up.’
‘You miss home, Jimmy?’
He makes the coffee and talks over his shoulder. ‘I miss my cousins and my nephews and I miss my old neighbours. But I’m a New Yorker now. I miss the food back there, and the heat. I miss some things, I guess.’ He hands me the coffee. ‘But this is my home. Best city on the planet.’
‘I still find it scary here,’ I say.
‘The way I see it, Molly, you gonna die of something some time, you may as well just relax and make the most of the day you’re in right now.’
‘I wish I could do that.’
He starts rearranging the fruit out on display: guavas and mangos and oranges and kiwi. ‘You will. Only way to survive in New York is to just let it happen. Face it all head-on and ride the wave. Wall Street guy once said to me, Just turn up and do good shit every day. Turn up and do it. Simple as that. Some people overthink these things but I don’t reckon us New Yorkers got the time.’