Every single one of us who saw any part of this 's father isn't going to let the truth win on its own. We have to help it along. I'll go right now, Norah said, one hand still resting protectively on her stomach. I'm coming with you, Frank said. Marjorie looked at the closed sign she was about to flip on the bakery door, glanced once at the ovens still warm behind her, and made her decision without a second thought.
"Lock up behind me," she told the empty shop, and went to get her coat. At the station, the three of them gave their statements one after another in a small room down the hall from where Ren was being held, though none of them were told that, and none of them saw her. Frank went first, walking a young officer named Petrov through the whole sequence. The cane knocked to the floor, his knee buckling, Grant's laugh the way it had felt, he said carefully like the boy hadn't even registered him as a person, just an obstacle in a hallway. He's done this before, Frank added unprompted.
Not to me, to her, to Ren. Every morning for weeks, best I can tell. This town's let it slide because of who his father is. I'd like that written down if it's all the same to you. Petro wrote it down.
Norah went next, one hand resting on her stomach the whole time, voice steady, even though her hands weren't quite. She described the grab, the stumble, the half second where she genuinely thought she might fall. I want to be very clear, she said. Ren Hale did not attack that young man out of nowhere. He put his hands on a pregnant woman on public transportation.
I would like somebody to explain to me why that isn't the story making the rounds in this town today. Marjorie's statement was shorter, but no less firm. She hadn't seen the incident on the sidewalk herself, only its aftermath. Earl's face pale in her doorway, Ren untying her apron without a word of hesitation. I've known that girl a year and a half, Marjgerie told the officer.
She's never raised her voice at a single customer, not once, not even the difficult ones. If she felt she had to step in today, I'd bet my whole shop that it's because somebody needed stepping in for. By 6:30, three separate accounts consistent with each other and consistent with they's grainy security footage sat on Chief Doyle's desk, telling a story that had almost nothing in common with the one Walter Colton had walked in, demanding he believe 2 hours earlier. The interview room at the Cedar Hollow Police Station was small, graywalled, with a single table and two chairs and a window that looked out onto the parking lot. Ren sat with her hands folded on the table, back straight, the exact same posture she'd carried onto the bus every morning for a year and a half, if you counted the way old habits keep their own private calendar, regardless of what season a person tells themselves they're in.
Waiting. Watching the door, counting out of habit the number of steps between herself and the exit, though she had no intention of ever needing that information. Chief Doyle came in with a folder and a cup of coffee he didn't offer to share, and sat down across from her. "M Hail," he said. "I appreciate you coming in."