Page 63 of What Comes Around

“Ashley, this is Detective Holt from Berkeley PD. I wanted to update you on the case.”

“I’m listening.”

“We managed to obtain a discarded water bottle from Marissa Richards,” he said. “Our lab pulled a DNA sample from it. The results came back this morning.”

I gripped the edge of the table

“It’s a match,” Holt continued. “The DNA on the bottle matches the DNA from the bite mark on Ines’s arm. That’s our primary comparison sample. It ties Marissa directly to the crime scene.”

I sank slowly into a chair.

“So… it was her.”

“Yes,” Holt said. “Marissa was taken into custody this morning in Riverton.”

“Did she talk at all?”

“She refused to make a statement without an attorney, which is her right.” he said. “But we have enough evidence to hold her, and we’ve already taken an official DNA sample for confirmation.”

I swallowed. “So she’s… staying in custody?”

“Yes,” Holt said. “She’s being held without bail at this stage. The judge agreed there’s a serious flight risk and substantial evidence.”

He paused, then added, “The original DNA we compared the bottle sample to came from the bite mark on your mother’s arm. That ties Marissa directly to physical contact during the murder.”

“And the motive?”

“Given that she was your father’s mistress, we can argue she had a reason to eliminate the competition,” Holt said. “It strengthens the case significantly.”

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“It’s been a long time coming,” he said gently. “But we finally have something solid.”

He continued, “In the next few days, Marissa will be transferred to Berkeley. That’s where the crime happened, and that’s where the case will be tried.”

“How long…” My voice caught. “How long will this take?”

“A while,” he said honestly. “Over a year, most likely, before trial.”

A year. After all this time, the case was finally moving.

Holt’s voice softened. “I have a good feeling about this. The evidence is strong. I believe we’ll get a conviction.”

I closed my eyes, letting the words sink in. “Thank you. Really.”

“One more thing,” he added. “I’ll notify your mother’s parents myself. They’ve been calling us every year from France, asking for updates, begging us to reopen the file. They deserve to hear this from me.”

My chest ached. “They do.”

“We’ll stay in touch,” Holt said.

“Okay. Thank you, Detective.”

When the call ended, I just sat there, staring at the silent phone in my hand. My chest felt tight, but not in a bad way. More like something inside me finally loosened after years of being wound too tight to breathe.

My mother was finally getting justice.

After all this time. After all the dead ends and the silence and the unanswered questions.