âThat may be so, but murder isnât genetic. What your father did has nothing to do with you and I know youâre smart enough to realize that.â
The press might have a field day with this case because of that very fact, but they were vultures who only cared about making assumptions and would try their best to tear another von Karma down. But they wouldnât. Not while he was here.
As Franziska begins to speak about what she knew, the lawyer flips to a new page in his notebook a.k.a his COURT RECORD. Scribbling down a few details - including that one about the victim being a defense attorney - his brows raise.
(Theyâll try and say she hates all defense attorneys like her old man and that it was her motive.)
But that wasnât hard evidence, so right now he could place it a bit further down on the priorities list and focus on something else for now. Such as the apparent murder weapon. Okay, so the victim was strangled by Franziskaâs whip. The whip that may have her fingerprints on it (unless she only ever picked it up with her gloved hands, which he doubted.) and left at the scene.
âKeep going,â He encourages, focused on his page. âTell me everything you can. Time of murder, where you were when it happened, your relationship with the victimâŠâ He would receive the autopsy report to refer to in due time, but he didnât want to wait for these details if Franziska could give him a general time frame.
A pained look immediately comes across her pretty features. âIt has everything to do with me. My father was everything to me, but I donât expect you to understand that.â No. Those werenât the words she meant to say. Any time someone brings up her father she can hear what they think practically. What a monster. A murderer. But he had been her father. How could she ever hate him? He had raised her -- taught her everything he knows. She canât condone his actions but that doesnât stop her from loving him still. Even now.
âHeâs never coming back. . . â
Silver gaze darts down to her lap, fists tightening into the material of her denim. She tries to school her expression back. Conceal it. It takes her a second.
âThe time I canât remember exactly. Maybe eight-thirty.â A pause as she runs fingers across her temple. The events feel blurred in her head. When he asks where she was at the time of the crime she peeks up over at him under long eyelashes. Heâs taking this serious. She can tell. Why? Sheâs caused nothing but problems for him in the past. Shouldnât he be relieved sheâs in such trouble?
âI was there around the time of murder,â she deadpans. âAnd captured in a photo leaving the scene of the crime after with my whip intact. ---- Think about it carefully now. I have an incriminating alibi.â
Give up. Thatâs what sheâs waiting for. For him to give up.
