Gathering Dark Candice Fox (e reader TXT) 📖

SANCHEZ: So the only interactions you ever had with Orlov and Zea were negative ones. You complaining about the noise, they defending themselves. You were in that pattern already.

HARBOUR: Yes. I guess so. But look, you don’t shoot someone because they’re being noisy.

SANCHEZ: Well, most people don’t.

HARBOUR: I shot Adrian because it was him or her. He was on top of her when I walked in and he’d already hit her once and that big fist was coming down again and again and I thought He’s going to kill her and I tried to get in there and—

SANCHEZ: To get in there?

HARBOUR: To pull him away. I fought with him a little but he just threw me off like I was nothing. He was in a rage.

SANCHEZ: Uh-huh.

HARBOUR: And then I saw the gun and I just … You know. I just—

SANCHEZ: What you’re saying doesn’t make much sense, Dr. Harbour, if I’m being honest. You say you intervened in a domestic argument between these people who you barely knew, a violent domestic argument that you just happened to walk in on. That’s not what Zea is saying.

HARBOUR: What?

SANCHEZ: She’s saying you shot Adrian over the noise.

HARBOUR: No, she isn’t.

SANCHEZ: Yes, she is. She says you had it out for them. That the relationship was dire. That you walked in, confronted them about the noise, shot Adrian, and went into the kitchen to wash the gun and make yourself a snack. If what you’re saying is true, Harbour, and you just popped around to number 1107 to say hello and found yourself compelled to save Zea’s life, why the hell would she cook up this elaborate tale about you shooting her boyfriend over a noise complaint?

HARBOUR: I don’t know. I have no idea whatsoever why she would say that. I didn’t pop around about the noise. I looked out my kitchen window and saw them through their bathroom window. I saw him hit her.

SANCHEZ: And you just charged over there like Wonder Woman to help the girl out.

HARBOUR: You’re not listening.

Jessica sat back in her seat, looked at the aisles of cops around her. On the screen ten years earlier, and now, she was silent, thoughtful. Harbour’s words rang in her ears, and she winced now. The doctor was right. She wasn’t listening. She’d listened to the victim, Zea, already, and that seemed like enough. She watched herself in the interview and knew exactly what she was doing—pushing. Squeezing. Trying to massage a confession out of Harbour.

SANCHEZ: Zea says you snapped. That you were completely out of it. Talking crazy.

HARBOUR: Not … Not at that moment. Afterward, maybe, after I’d shot him. I was stunned and shocked but I wasn’t crazy. I had my wits about me. I was trying to think of what to do. I’ve never killed anyone before and I was horrified and for a few minutes I … I couldn’t think straight. But I’m not crazy. I’ve never been crazy. Can I talk to her?

SANCHEZ: No.

HARBOUR: But—

SANCHEZ: Why did you wash your hands and the gun?

HARBOUR: That was … I’ve been trying to figure that out. I think I’m just so used to doing it as a part of my job that it happened as a sort of reflex. Whenever I do anything at work I wash my hands. Before and after. I must wash my hands fifty times a day. I didn’t wash the gun, I dropped it in the sink. That’s what I do with my instruments. It must have got wet.

SANCHEZ: Bullshit.

HARBOUR: It’s not bullshit.

SANCHEZ: Making yourself a snack in the kitchen is crazy, Dr. Harbour. Don’t you think?

HARBOUR: I didn’t do that.

SANCHEZ: Why the hell would Zea tell us you made a goddamn sandwich if you didn’t?

HARBOUR: I have no earthly idea. I don’t know why she’s saying any of this. It’s possible she has a brain injury from being hit. If I could just speak to her for—

SANCHEZ: Why didn’t you administer first aid to Orlov after you shot him?

HARBOUR: Well, because he was dead. He was clearly dead. He died instantly. I shot him right through the heart.

SANCHEZ: Your statement is that you did absolutely nothing to try to bring him back. Am I understanding you correctly?

HARBOUR: There was no bringing him back.

SANCHEZ: Are you laughing, Dr. Harbour?

HARBOUR: I’m … I’m laughing at the absurdity of it. Of—what—doing chest compressions? On a heart with a giant bullet hole in it? He bled out in … in seconds. I’m not laughing at … It’s … Oh, god. This doesn’t feel real.

SANCHEZ: Can you answer the question? You did nothing to assist Orlov after you shot him?

HARBOUR: I feel like I’m on another planet right now.

SANCHEZ: You feel out of touch with reality?

HARBOUR: No, I mean I don’t know how to make you understand. He was going to kill her. I couldn’t let him kill her. You don’t just let a person die in front of you.

SANCHEZ: Well, most people don’t.

Harbour’s story had originally been that she had gone to 1107 Tualitan Road, the house next door to hers, after seeing Orlov strike Zea through the couple’s bathroom window. On arrival, she said, she had found Orlov beating his girlfriend savagely and, after making unsuccessful attempts to separate the two, had grabbed the gun from the dining room table in desperation and shot the man dead to protect Zea. The story explained the injuries to Zea, Orlov, and Harbour, but it didn’t explain why Zea wouldn’t back up Harbour’s version, why a young woman would tell the kind of lie that sent a woman to prison, presumably to protect the honor of her dead boyfriend, or as revenge for all the noise complaints. For Jessica, the story didn’t explain Harbour’s bizarre movements after the shooting, why she’d washed her hands and the gun in Orlov’s kitchen sink, why she’d made a cheese sandwich and taken a single bite, then wandered out the front of the house without dialing 9–1–1. By the time Harbour employed her first lawyer, her