Hard Play by Kurt Douglas Page A

you?”
    “Carrie,” she said with a grimace. “Carrie Allen.”
    Amy eased her grip on the clipboard and pushed her glasses back into place.
    “Have you seen Chad recently, miss Carrie Allen?” she asked.
    The girl’s attitude disappeared somewhere behind her growing eyes. As though she’d been caught in the act, she tucked her chin into her chest and clasped her hands tight in front of her. Swinging back and forth like a scolded child, she confessed, “Just once.”
    Her mother shot her a look so hard that if it were a fist, the poor girl would’ve been knocked to the floor.
    “Carrie!” her mother shouted. “After he...”
    She paused. It was like the words were stuck in her throat. She even reached her hand up and massaged her neck just a bit. Then, finally easing the syllables free, she cried, “After he raped you?”
    Mrs. Allen didn’t wait for her daughter’s response. Amy could sense the offense on the woman as she kneeled down and grabbed a small dust pan and broom from the cabinet below the sink. The tips of her robe dragged across the tile, sopping up most of the brown liquid pooled on the floor.
    As Mrs. Allen cleaned up the shards of ceramic, Carrie went on, “He never! I loved him. You and dad! You two said he raped me. I was old enough to make my own decisions. I was old enough for a lot of things, but I wasn’t old enough to love! When dad showed up that night, well, he got what he deserved. He should have never came at Chad like that.”
    Mrs. Allen sobbed into the dustpan as her daughter talked.
    “And then he just fired Chad like it was nothing. Fired him and sent him to prison for loving me and protecting himself. Bullshit,” Carrie spewed.
    From the floor, Mrs. Allen pleaded through tears with her daughter, “That man beat your father. He beat him ’til he couldn’t move then strangled him. Strangled him with a plastic bag. He tried to kill your father that night, Carrie! And now your father’s dead. How can you protect that monster? How could you?”
    “He’s not a monster!” Carrie exclaimed.
    The young girl started to calm. The fight had gone from her body and finally she professed, “At least, he wasn’t.”
    Amy’s ears perked up.
    “You said, he wasn’t a monster,” Amy pointed out. “Tell me about the last time you saw him.”
    “Really?” Mrs. Allen breathed. She tapped the dustpan into the trash, the ceramic crashing into the bin as she glared at Amy and scolded, “Haven’t you done enough damage for one day, Mrs. Van?”
    Amy turned her attention back to Mrs. Allen, her eyes narrowing behind her thin-framed glasses, and said, “The damage has been done, Mrs. Allen. I’m trying to rectify things. Please, allow me to do my job. I am utterly sorry for your loss. I only have a few questions for your daughter and then I’ll be on my way.”
    Amy saw the anger swelling behind Mrs. Allen’s eyes, and before the woman could say anything, Amy added, “Your daughter is of age. If you won’t let me speak with her I’ll have to ask you to wait with the officers outside. Do not for one minute think that because I have sympathy for you, I will allow you to stand in the way of the investigation, the law and justice. I plan to find the man responsible for your husband’s death even if it makes you feel a little uncomfortable. There is no easy way to go about this, Mrs. Allen.”
    “Also,” she added as she turned to Carrie, giving only her back to Mrs. Allen. “I never married.”
    Either it scared her or calmed her, but either way, Mrs. Allen raised her hand in submission and nodded, allowing Amy to continue questioning her daughter.
    Amy put her arm over Carrie’s shoulder and guided her into the living room. The silhouettes of the two officers on the porch were prominent behind the thin, white curtains. Amy offered Carrie a seat as she herself sat upon the couch. Crossing her legs and pulling her skirt down to cover her thighs, Amy rested the clipboard in her