I handed my father's ten year old statement back to Vincent, who sat silently beside me on the sofa. It had felt strange reading my father's words - words that he had written so long ago. Again it felt as if I were spying on him somehow - as if I had found his private diary and sneaked a peek inside. I had never known he had witnessed the death of a friend and colleague, and in a way, it explained why he, Mac, and Woody had such a close bond.
"So Jonathan Smith was right in his suspicions that his daughter was involved with a local man," I said, looking at Vincent.
"Yes," he nodded.
"Did they ever find out who he was?" I asked.
"Nope," Vincent said, slipping my father's statement back into the file and pulling out another.
"How come?"
"Because your father changed his statement," Vincent said, looking at me. "All three of them did."
"What do you mean my father changed his statement?" I breathed, eyeing the sheets of paper Vincent was now holding.
"I found this," he said, passing a new statement to me. "At first glance it reads almost identically to the other, but there is a difference."
"Like what?" I asked, looking down at what appeared to be an exact copy of the first statement I had read.
"Read the paragraph about how your father and the others first came across the girl, Molly Smith," Vincent said, his voice barely a whisper.
With my hands gripping the edges of the paper, and my mouth turning dry, I scanned the statement until I found the part where my father and the other constables had been in the van on the road. To my horror, it had been changed. My father's account now read like this:
I was sitting in the passenger seat next to Constable Lee and Constables MacDonald and Woodland were both seated in the back. Suddenly Constable Lee swerved the vehicle away from the curb and braked sharply.
"I nearly hit that girl," I heard Constable Lee shout.
"What girl?" I said.
"There was a girl walking alongside the road. Didn't you see her?" Constable Lee asked me.
Once the vehicle had stopped, all four of us climbed out. It was then I saw a young girl standing beside the road in the dark. I walked towards her. I now know this female to be called Molly Smith. I would describe Molly as being about eighteen years old, and about five foot and four inches in height. She was of slim build, with long black hair and wearing a thin black dress. I noticed her feet were bare, which struck me as being odd, as the night was cold and it was raining. I recognised this girl to be part of a small family who had recently moved to the town of Cliff View, who had been suspected of committing burglaries in the area. As I approached Smith, I said, "What are you doing all the way out here in the dark?"
"Fuck off, copper!" I heard Smith shout.
I then saw Smith turn and run into the wooded area beside the road. At this time, I lost sight of her. Constable Lee ran back to the police van and returned a short time later with two large dragon lights. He gave one of them to me and kept the other. The four of us then made our way into the thick crop of trees beside the road in search of Smith...
The rest of the statement read exactly the same as the first. With my hands trembling, I handed the statement back to Vincent. I didn't want to touch it. I didn't want to be a part of his lies.
"Why?" I gasped, although I knew the answer already.
"I guess it was easier to say it happened like that," Vincent said. "The old guy - Jonathan Smith - suspected that his daughter had gone to meet someone that night, a man who she had been having a secret relationship with. We know from your father's first statement that really was what happened. I guess once the old guy started kicking up a fuss, it was easier to change the statement..."
"So as not to point the finger at any of the good townsfolk of Cliff View," I whispered. "After all, the Smith family was seen as just a bunch of thieves, drifters - witches."
"And I guess the local police didn't want to go asking all sorts of questions and unearth some secret relationship between one of the Smiths and a law-abiding member of the community," Vincent said. "I guess it could have been any man Molly Smith was meeting that night. They could've been married - they could've been a cop. How would that have looked in the eyes of the local community?"
I felt numb all over and sick to the pit of my stomach. Now I could understand how easily my father, Mac, and Woody had got their stories straight - how they had twisted the truth about the accident I had been involved in. They had done it before to protect someone from the local community, like they had lied to protect me. They had made Molly Smith look as if she were out that night committing thefts, just like they had made out that Jonathan Smith was reckless enough to cause that accident out on the road. But I was a part of that lie. I had gone along with it to protect myself. So was I any better than my father, Mac, or Woody? I guessed not. However wrong my father's actions had been, I could understand him risking so much to protect me - I was his daughter. Who could have meant so much to him that he would have lied all those years ago? Who had he been so desperate to protect, and why?
"Whatever happened in the past is done now," Vincent said. "We know your father changed his statement and I'm not saying that is right. Whatever way you look at it, Molly Smith's death was an accident. What good would come out of digging up the past just to find out who it was she met up with that night?"
Slowly, I lifted my head and looked at Vincent. "I don't believe her death was an accident," I said.
"What do you mean?" he asked right back.
"Molly Smith was pushed into that well," I whispered.
"How can you be so sure?" he frowned at me.
"Because she told me," I said.
