When Andrew finished, the investigator said, “Good. Now about Brennan. He was also detained yesterday evening. Now both are in the detention center. Tomorrow, there will be an interrogation.”
“What are they saying? Do they confess?”
“Brennan is silent, demands a lawyer. Your wife, on the contrary, is talkative. She’s trying to blame everything on her lover. Says he forced her. That she was afraid to refuse. That she would never have decided on her own.”
Andrew smiled bitterly. “She’s lying. I heard her voice that night. She wasn’t afraid. She was confident.”
“I know. We have recordings. Her testimony doesn’t match the facts. This will play against her in court.”
The investigator poured herself water from a carafe into a glass, then continued. “Mitchell, you did everything right. I know it’s hard now. But if you had stayed silent, you wouldn’t be alive. And your daughter would have remained with a murderous mother.”
Andrew nodded. He understood this with his mind, but his heart still ached.
After leaving Walters, he returned home, went up to Liz’s room, and knocked quietly. “Honey, can I come in?”
Silence.
“Liz, please. I need to talk to you.”
Another minute of silence passed. Then the lock clicked. The door opened slightly. Liz stood on the threshold, pale, with red eyes and disheveled hair. She hadn’t slept all night, that was obvious.
“What do you want?” she asked dully.
“To talk. To explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain. You turned Mom into the police. She’s in jail now.”
“Liz, she wanted to kill me. The police have evidence.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Liz.”
“I don’t believe it!” the girl repeated louder. “Mom couldn’t have done that. She’s not a murderer.”
Andrew took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Alright. Then come with me to the garage. I’ll show you something.”
Liz became alert. “What?”
“You’ll see.”
They went downstairs, went outside, and walked to the garage. Andrew opened the door and turned on the light. The car was still there; he hadn’t touched it since the inspection.
“Look,” he said, leading his daughter to the front wheel. He squatted down and showed the brake line. “See this cut? It was made on purpose. At night before my business trip… if I had gone, the brakes would have failed at speed. I would have died.”
Liz was silent, looking at the damaged line. Her face was stone.
“Experts confirmed,” Andrew continued. “This isn’t wear, not an accident. This is intent. Someone wanted to kill me.”
“Maybe it was… Thieves? Or hooligans?”
“Liz, don’t make things up. You’re a smart girl. You know the truth yourself.”
His daughter turned away. Her shoulders shook. She was crying, quietly and restrainedly, but tears flowed down her cheeks. Andrew hugged her. She didn’t resist, just stood there, her face buried in his chest.
“Why?” she whispered. “Why did Mom do this? She… She loved you.”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know.”
They stood like that for several minutes. Then Liz pulled away and wiped her tears.
“I want to see her. Talk to her.”
“Not possible yet. The investigation is still ongoing. But later… Later, maybe.”
Liz nodded and returned to the house. Andrew stayed in the garage, looking at the car. This car was supposed to become his coffin. If it weren’t for Mrs. Barnes… He remembered the old woman. She saved his life simply by warning him, not demanding anything in return, risking that she wouldn’t be believed.
Andrew returned to the house and found Mrs. Barnes in the kitchen. She was peeling vegetables for soup.
“Mrs. Barnes,” he called.
The old woman turned. “Yes, Mr. Mitchell?”
“Thank you. For everything. You… You saved my life.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Nothing to thank me for. I just couldn’t stay silent. You’re a good person. You took me in when I had nowhere to go. Gave me shelter. Work. Family. I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”
Andrew hugged her, carefully, like a son. “You’ll stay with us,” he said. “Whatever happens. You’re part of this family. Forever.”
Mrs. Barnes nodded, unable to speak.
The next day Glenn Brennan’s interrogation took place. He was tall, athletic, with a confident gait and an arrogant expression. Dressed in a tracksuit, his hair was neatly styled. Even in the detention center, he managed to look well-groomed. Brennan sat at the table. Walters took a seat opposite and turned on the recorder.
“Glenn Brennan, forty years old, detained on suspicion of preparing for murder. You have the right to a lawyer.”
“My lawyer is already on his way,” Brennan answered dryly. “Until he arrives, I won’t say anything.”
“All right, then just listen.”
Walters turned on the recording. From the speaker came Christine’s voice.
“Glenn, I’m scared. What if something goes wrong?”
Brennan’s voice followed, calm and confident. “Nothing will go wrong. We’ll think everything through. An accident at home. No one will prove anything.”
A pause. Then Christine again. “And if he survives? What if he refuses? Like the business trip. And it turns out again that you damaged the brakes for nothing.”
“He won’t survive. We’ll prepare everything carefully.”
The recording cut off. Walters turned off the recorder and looked at Brennan. “Is that your voice?”
Brennan paled, his jaws clenched. “No comment.”
“We have more recordings where you discuss other ways to kill Andrew Mitchell. Gas leak. Fall down the stairs. Everything is recorded. Everything with your participation.”
“I’m waiting for my lawyer.”
Walters nodded. “Wait. But know this: there’s enough evidence for a conviction. Your lover is already giving testimony. Says it was all your idea. That you forced her. That you were the organizer of the crime.”
Brennan’s face twisted. “She’s lying. She’s the one who talked me into it. She wanted to get rid of her husband. Take the house and money. I just loved her.”
“So you admit to participating in planning the murder?”
Brennan stopped short. He realized he had said too much. He fell silent and turned away.
Walters smiled. “Thank you. That’s enough.” She got up and left the office.
The next days passed in tense waiting. The investigation continued with interrogations, examinations, and the collection of witness testimony. Andrew gave testimony twice. Mrs. Barnes once. Melford was also called as a witness. He talked about the surveillance and provided photographs and video recordings.
At home, the atmosphere remained heavy. Liz hardly talked. She walked like a shadow, ate little, lost weight, and looked haggard. Andrew tried to support her, but she withdrew. The only person she went to was Mrs. Barnes. The old woman hugged her, stroked her head, and said nothing. She just was there.
One evening, when Andrew was passing by Liz’s room, he heard a conversation.
“Grandma Maggie… Why did Mom do this?” Liz asked quietly in a choked voice.
“I don’t know, dear. People sometimes do strange things. Lose their heads from love. From fear. From greed.”
“But she’s Mom. She should have loved Dad. Loved me.”
“She loved. In her own way. It’s just… her love turned out not to be strong enough to keep her from evil.”
“I hate her.”
“Don’t say that. Hatred is a bad feeling. It destroys from within. Better just let go. Accept what happened and live on.”
Liz cried. Andrew stepped away from the door, not wanting to eavesdrop, but his chest felt warmer. Mrs. Barnes was doing what he couldn’t: comforting his daughter and giving her support.
A month later, the case was sent to court. On the appointed day, Andrew came to court. He didn’t take Liz; she herself refused to go, saying she didn’t want to see her mother.
The courtroom was small and austere. Andrew sat on the bench for victims. Opposite was the defendant’s bench. A few minutes later, Christine and Glenn Brennan were brought there. Andrew saw his wife for the first time since the arrest. She had changed. She had lost weight, her hair had dulled, and her face looked haggard. She was dressed simply, with no makeup and no jewelry. She looked for him with her eyes, found him, and looked directly into his eyes. There was no remorse in her gaze. Only anger.
The judge entered. The session began. They read the charges: preparation for murder, conspiracy. Christine and Brennan pleaded partially guilty. They said they were planning but didn’t intend to follow through. However, recordings, examinations, and witness testimony said otherwise.
The trial lasted three hours. Interrogation protocols were read. Audio recordings were played. Photographs of the damaged brakes were shown. Andrew sat and listened. He listened to how they dissected his family life piece by piece. How they read Christine’s correspondence with her lover. How they described their plans to kill him. It was humiliating and painful. But necessary.
At the end of the session, the judge retired to deliberate. He returned half an hour later and announced the verdict.
“Christine Mitchell and Glenn Brennan are found guilty of preparation for murder by prior conspiracy. Sentenced to seven years of imprisonment each. The sentence to be served in a medium-security prison.”
The gavel struck the table. Christine cried out, trying to say something, but the guards were already leading her away. Brennan walked silently with a stone face. Andrew sat, watching them leave. It was over. The trial had taken place. Justice had prevailed. But why was there such emptiness inside?
After the verdict was announced, Andrew left the courthouse and stopped on the steps. Cold wind ruffled the hem of his coat. Gray clouds covered the sky. People hurried past, bundled in jackets, and no one paid attention to him. An ordinary day for the city. But for Andrew Mitchell, this day became a boundary between past and future.
Seven years. Christine would spend seven years behind bars. By that time, Liz would be twenty-two. She would finish high school, university, and become an adult. All of this without a mother.
Andrew took out his phone and called home. Mrs. Barnes answered.
“Mr. Mitchell?”
“Yes. It’s over. The verdict. Seven years each.”
The old woman was silent for a few seconds, then quietly exhaled. “Lord. Well. Maybe it’s for the best. At least there’s closure. How’s Liz?”
“Sitting in her room. Hasn’t come out all day. I offered lunch; she refused.”
“I’m coming now. I’ll try to talk to her.”
Andrew caught a taxi and headed home. On the way, he looked out the window, trying to collect his thoughts. What would he say to his daughter? How to explain that her mother was a criminal, convicted of attempted murder? How could one explain such a thing to a child at all?
At home, it was quiet. Mrs. Barnes met him in the hallway, looking worriedly toward the stairs.
“Not a sound from her. She’s not even playing music, just lying there.”
Andrew nodded, went upstairs, and knocked on Liz’s door. “Honey, it’s me. Can I come in?”
Silence. Then dully, “Come in.”
He entered. Liz was lying on the bed, turned to the wall. The room was half dark, curtains drawn, light not on. Andrew sat on the edge of the bed.
“The trial’s over. Mom got seven years.”
Liz didn’t answer. Only her shoulders trembled.
“Liz, I understand how hard this is for you. But…”
“You don’t understand anything,” she interrupted, still not turning around. “You can’t understand. This is my mom. I loved her. And now she’s in prison.”
“Because of you.”
Andrew sighed heavily, restraining himself. “Not because of me. Because of her own actions. She tried to kill me, Liz. Kill your father. If she had succeeded, I wouldn’t be here now. Think about that.”
Liz turned over and looked at him. Her eyes were red, her face swollen from tears. “Maybe it would have been better that way.”
The words hit harder than a slap. Andrew paled. “Liz!”
“Leave,” she said, turning back. “Just leave.”
Andrew sat for another minute, then quietly got up and left. Behind the door, Mrs. Barnes was waiting, having heard the conversation.
