128 Skipping Over Linear Flow of Time (1/2)

A small smile played on his lips. He really didn't believe we had evidence. ”We don't understand why you went to her house. Are you afraid to tell us that you went over to see her and then came out while she was alive?”

And there it was, the opportunity to say that he had come out of the house but that he had not killed her. I stared at McCain to see if he would take the bait.

”We can work with you there. But I know you went to her house. I saw you in your shirt, walking into the house through the backyard, not talking the cement path but going through the soil and grass,” Nash explained passionately.

McCain turned to me for help. He was wide-eyed and caught in the headlight.

”Why did you go to her house? What did you talk about?”

McCain stared at the wall, thinking about what he should say next.

If he wasn't so surprised and scared, he might have thought about getting a lawyer. Instead, he persisted and thought about appeasing our curiosity and still getting out of this situation innocent.

”Maybe my days are slipping. Maybe I thought I was in the house all day.” He scrubbed his face. ”But I am so sure that I was in the house,” he said in a small voice. ”Can't you track my phone to see where I was at the time?” he pleaded.

”Okay,” Nash said quickly, not putting emphasis on it.

”Why did you go to her house?” Nash asked again.

”I don't even think I went out of the house!” McCain breathed heavily.

Nash waited patiently, not falling into his panicked state. He didn't give any reassurance.

”But we have footage of you going to a store to buy things,” Nash said quickly. ”Even if you are not sure, we are sure that you weren't in your house all day.”

McCain couldn't bend out of that logic. This part was true. He had gone out of the house and we had video footage to prove that.

”I did go to the store one of these days,” he said softly.

”Do you remember which store you went to?” Nash asked.

”No.” McCain shook his head. ”I know that the clerk had very broken English, but nothing else.”

Nash nodded. ”Okay. Tell us what time of the day it was.”

”I don't know… Early afternoon, maybe?” he said. ”I was just driving around, my mind was in turmoil because I couldn't compose the tune for my newest song and I needed some air. I was a little distressed.”

”Okay.”

”I drove to Maya's home to talk to her,” he said.

”Okay.”

”And we were talking for some time when she started freaking out and asked me to leave.”

”And did you leave?” Nash asked on cue.

”Yeah, I left immediately.”

”When you say she freaked out. Why did she freak out? What did she do after that? Did she scream at your, throw things… scratch you?” Nash asked.

McCain remained silent.

”You have a scratch on your bicep, so…”

McCain frowned. ”No. I scratch myself in my sleep. That's what…” He made a motion of scratching his arm to reinforce his words.

”Okay…” Nash ended the conversation quickly.

We now knew that there had been some sort of struggle even though Maya couldn't overpower McCain in the situation. She did get a scratch on him.

”Okay, so where was the conversation taking place?” Nash asked immediately after. ”Was it in the living room or dining area? Where was it happening?”