Chapter 9: The Night I Couldn't Remember
I didn't answer Detective Harris.
I couldn't.
The photograph lay on the bed between Marcus and me.
The silver heart necklace rested against my collarbone.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, a door I had kept locked for seven years began to open.
“I wasn't there,” I whispered.
Detective Harris remained quiet.
Marcus took my hand.
“Danielle, breathe.””
“I wasn't there.””
The detective spoke again.
“I'm not accusing you of anything. I need to understand why your statement says you never saw Andre that evening.””
I stared at the photograph.
“I don't remember.””
“Then I suggest you come in tomorrow morning. We can review the original statement and the evidence together.””
Marcus answered for both of us.
“We'll be there.””
The call ended.
I looked at my husband.
“Do you think I had something to do with it?””
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he shook his head.
“I think somebody knows what happened to you that night.””
I leaned against him.
And for the first time, I wondered whether my memories had been protecting me or protecting someone else.
The following morning, Detective Harris placed a thick folder on the table.
Inside were photographs, statements, and copies of the original police reports.
He sat opposite us.
“Danielle, before we begin, I want you to understand something. Memory can be affected by trauma. A missing memory does not automatically mean you were involved in a crime.””
I nodded.
He placed a photograph in front of me.
It showed Andre standing outside my apartment.
The same photograph I had received anonymously.
“Do you recognize the location?””
“Yes.””
“Do you remember being there?””
“No.””
He placed another photograph beside it.
This one showed me standing near a parked car.
I was wearing the denim jacket I had found at my mother's house.
My hair was tied back.
The silver necklace was visible.
I stared at the image.
“That was me.””
Detective Harris nodded.
“The time was 8:12 p.m.””
He placed another document on the table.
“Your original statement was taken at 11:46 p.m.””
I looked at the time.
“Three hours later?””
“Yes.””
“What did I tell the police?””
He turned the page.
I read the statement.
I did not see Andre Jackson that evening. I was at home with my mother. I had no knowledge of any meeting between Andre and Raymond Brooks.
My hands began shaking.
“I didn't write this.””
Detective Harris looked at me.
“You signed it.””
I shook my head.
“No.””
He pointed to the bottom.
The signature was mine.
My name.
My handwriting.
I looked at Marcus.
He was reading the document too.
“Why would she say that if she had been there?”” he asked.
Detective Harris closed the folder.
“That's what we're trying to establish.””
I stared at the signature.
Then something came back.
A flash.
Bright fluorescent lights.
A police officer placing a glass of water in front of me.
Someone telling me to calm down.
A man's voice saying, You need to think carefully before you answer.
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
“Wait.””
Marcus leaned closer.
“What?””
“I remember something.””
Detective Harris opened the folder again.
“What do you remember?””
I closed my eyes.
“I was sitting in a room. Someone was asking me questions.””
“Who?””
“I don't know.””
“Was Andre there?””
I shook my head.
“No. I think I was looking for him.””
The memory disappeared.
I opened my eyes.
Detective Harris wrote something down.
“That's enough for now.””
But I wasn't finished.
“Why was I looking for him?””
The detective looked at the photograph.
“That's the question we need to answer.””
Outside the station, Marcus called my mother.
She answered immediately.
“Danielle?””
“Mom, were you with me the night Andre died?””
Silence.
“Mom?””
She exhaled.
“Yes.””
“Where?””
“At home.””
“Did I come home before the police arrived?””
Another silence.
Then she said, “Yes.””
I closed my eyes.
“Why don't I remember?””
My mother began crying.
“Because you were in shock.””
“What happened?””
“Baby, I don't want to talk about this over the phone.””
“I'm tired of that answer!””
Marcus touched my shoulder.
I lowered my voice.
“Please. I need the truth.””
My mother took a breath.
“You came home around nine. You were covered in rain. Your hands were shaking.””
“What did I say?””
“You kept asking for Andre.””
My stomach tightened.
“And?””
“You said somebody had taken him.””
I stared at the pavement.
“Who?””
My mother didn't answer.
“Mom, who?””
She whispered, “Raymond.””
I felt cold.
“Did I see my father that night?””
“Yes.””
I could barely breathe.
“What happened?””
My mother cried harder.
“You came home with a small cut on your forehead. You said your father had pushed you.””
Marcus went still.
I covered my mouth.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because you were terrified. You kept saying he had a gun.””
My knees weakened.
Marcus caught my arm.
My mother continued.
“Then Robert came to the house.””
I looked at Marcus.
“What?””
“He told me he would take care of everything. He said he knew people at the police station.””
“Did he make me sign something?””
My mother went silent.
Then she whispered:
“Yes.””
I felt my stomach drop.
“Did he tell me what I was signing?””
“No.””
I began crying.
My mother continued.
“He said it was a statement to keep you from being dragged into the investigation.””
I looked at Marcus.
“Robert wrote my statement.””
Detective Harris listened carefully when we returned.
He asked my mother to come to the station.
She arrived forty minutes later, carrying her handbag and looking as though she hadn't slept.
When she saw me, she immediately reached for my hands.
“I'm sorry.””
I stepped back.
“Please don't say that until you tell me everything.””
She nodded.
The detective placed a recorder on the table.
“Mrs. Brooks, I'd like you to explain what happened on the night of Andre Jackson's death.””
My mother sat down.
She folded her hands.
Then she began.
That evening, I had received a call from Andre.
He asked me to meet him outside the grocery store.
He said he had something important to tell me.
I went.
Andre was waiting near his car.
He looked nervous.
He handed me a small envelope and told me to keep it safe.
I asked what was inside.
He said it was proof that my father had been involved in something dangerous.
I asked whether he was going to the police.
He said he was.
Then Raymond arrived.
My father argued with Andre.
I stepped between them.
Raymond told me to go home.
I refused.
He grabbed my arm.
Andre pushed him away.
Raymond pulled a gun.
My mother paused.
I stared at her.
“What happened next?””
She wiped her eyes.
“You ran.””
I shook my head.
“No.””
“You ran toward the road. Andre shouted for you to keep going.””
“What about the envelope?””
“You dropped it.””
I looked at Marcus.
He remembered the note we had found.
The one Andre had left for me.
If I don't get the chance to explain...
My mother continued.
“You called me from a payphone. You were crying. You said Raymond had a gun and Andre was hurt.””
I covered my mouth.
“Did I see him get shot?””
My mother lowered her eyes.
“I don't think so.””
“Then why don't I remember anything?””
“Because Robert found you before the police did.””
I looked up.
“What?””
“He took you to a private clinic. He said you were having a panic attack. He told me he would handle the police.””
Detective Harris leaned forward.
“Which clinic?””
My mother gave him the name.
He wrote it down.
Then she added something else.
“Robert said Danielle had suffered a concussion when Raymond pushed her. He told me she needed rest.””
I looked at her.
“Did I?””
She nodded.
“You were unconscious for several hours.””
My head began pounding.
I remembered rain.
A car door.
Someone shouting.
Then darkness.
Detective Harris closed his notebook.
“We'll need to verify the medical records.””
Marcus held my hand.
My mother looked at me.
“Baby, I never wanted you to carry this.””
I stared at her.
“But you let me carry the guilt of leaving Andre.””
She began crying.
I looked away.
Two hours later, Detective Harris returned with a new development.
The clinic still had archived records.
A doctor had documented a head injury, but there was no indication of a serious concussion.
More importantly, the records showed that someone had requested a sedative for me.
The prescription had been authorized under Robert Carter's name.
Marcus stared at the paper.
“Why would my father arrange that?””
Detective Harris answered carefully.
“We don't know yet.””
I looked at the doctor’s note.
“Did I receive the medication?””
“Yes.””
My hands trembled.
“How much?””
“Enough to explain some memory disruption, especially combined with trauma.””
I felt sick.
Robert hadn't simply helped me.
He had controlled what I remembered.
Or at least, he had tried to.
Detective Harris placed another document on the table.
“There's one more thing.””
It was a copy of an old telephone record.
Andre had called my mother's house at 8:43 p.m.
The call lasted eleven minutes.
My mother looked at it.
“That was when Danielle was trying to reach me.””
I stared at the time.
“Was I on the phone with him?””
My mother shook her head.
“No. I answered.””
I looked at her.
“What did Andre say?””
She swallowed.
“He told me he had been shot.””
The room went silent.
Marcus looked at the record.
“Then how did he call you if he was already dead?””
My mother began crying.
“He wasn't dead yet.””
I gripped the edge of the table.
“What?””
“He was still alive when I spoke to him.””
I couldn't breathe.
“What did he say?””
My mother looked directly at me.
“He asked me to tell you something.””
I leaned forward.
“What?””
She closed her eyes.
“He said, 'Tell Danielle I didn't leave her.''”
My tears fell immediately.
Marcus squeezed my hand.
My mother continued.
“He also said there was another person with him. Someone who had been helping him.””
“Who?””
My mother shook her head.
“I didn't know.””
“Did he tell you?””
She nodded.
Then she whispered:
“He said the person who shot him wasn't Raymond.””
I stared at her.
“What?””
My mother looked toward Detective Harris.
“That's why I've been afraid to tell you.””
Marcus stood.
“Who shot Andre?””
My mother began trembling.
Then she looked at me.
And spoke a name I had never expected to hear.
“Danielle, it was someone you trusted.””
Detective Harris asked my mother to identify the person.
She refused to speak until he promised that the statement would be formally recorded.
Then she took a breath.
“Derrick Cole.””
I stared at her.
“The man from the funeral?””
She nodded.
“He worked with Robert. He was the one who handled the transportation business.””
Marcus frowned.
“But we saw Derrick at the storage unit. He told Danielle to ask Raymond about the recording.””
My mother looked at him.
“Because Derrick was trying to tell you the truth without putting himself in danger.””
I shook my head.
“Why would he shoot Andre?””
“Because Andre had discovered that Derrick was moving money through the company too.””
Detective Harris leaned forward.
“Mrs. Brooks, are you saying Derrick Cole was the third person at the scene?””
“Yes.””
“Did you see him?””
“No.””
“Then how do you know?””
My mother looked at me.
“Because Andre told me.””
She explained that when Andre called, he was struggling to breathe.
He told her Raymond had arrived with Robert.
But Derrick had been waiting nearby.
When the argument started, Derrick came out of the shadows.
He fired the final shot.
Then he took the envelope Andre had been carrying.
My mother told Andre to stay on the line.
She promised help was coming.
But he asked her to call me.
She couldn't.
She was afraid Raymond would hear.
And before she could say anything else, the call ended.
I stared at the telephone record.
Eleven minutes.
Eleven minutes in which Andre had been alive.
Eleven minutes in which someone could have helped him.
I looked at my mother.
“Why didn't you call an ambulance?””
She began sobbing.
“I did.””
Detective Harris looked up.
“What?””
“I called emergency services from another phone. But when I went outside, Robert was already there.””
Marcus frowned.
“Why didn't you tell us that?””
“Because Robert told me the ambulance had already been called. He said if I spoke to the police, they would blame me for being involved.””
I felt my stomach turn.
Detective Harris immediately left the room to verify the emergency call.
When he returned, his expression was serious.
“We found the call.””
My mother covered her mouth.
He continued.
“The caller reported a man with a gunshot wound. The location matches the parking lot.””
I leaned forward.
“Was help sent?””
“Yes.””
“Then why didn't they save him?””
The detective looked at the report.
“Because the call was canceled.””
My mother shook her head.
“I never canceled it.””
Detective Harris turned the page.
The cancellation request had been made eleven minutes after the initial emergency call.
It was registered under a name.
Robert Carter.
Marcus stood.
“My father canceled the ambulance?””
The detective nodded.
Then he placed another sheet on the table.
“There's something else. The call wasn't made from your mother's phone.””
He looked at me.
“It came from a second phone registered to a woman named Danielle Brooks.””
I stared at the page.
“My phone?””
Detective Harris shook his head.
“Not the number you used later.””
He pointed to the account information.
“This number was registered to you seven years ago.””
I looked at my mother.
She began shaking her head.
“No.””
Detective Harris continued.
“The same phone number made the original emergency call.””
I felt the room tilt.
Then he turned the page.
The cancellation had been requested from the same device.
Marcus looked at me.
My mother covered her face.
And Detective Harris said:
“Danielle, according to these records, the person who canceled the ambulance was you.””
I stood so abruptly my chair fell backward.
“No.””
Marcus caught my arm.
“Detective, she was unconscious.””
The detective nodded.
“That's what we need to establish.””
I shook my head.
“I would never do that.””
“I believe you understand the seriousness of this.””
“I would never leave Andre to die!””
My voice echoed through the room.
Nobody answered.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from the unknown number.
One sentence.
*You canceled the ambulance because Andre was already dead when you called.*
I stared at it.
A second message appeared.
*Ask your mother what she did before you woke up.*
I slowly raised my eyes.
May you like
My mother was crying.
And for the first time, she wouldn't look at me.
