There was evidence. A lot of it.
"He wasn't there, he was at home with me," I insisted, but my voice broke and I could hardly be heard under sudden, desperate sobbing. I knew he wanted to come to me, comfort me, but he couldn't.
I found Mom's cold eyes, watching him, and it made me cry all the harder.
(She didn't believe me either. Hadn't ever since she found out about Miss Nakiya.)
But it wasn't Daddy, it wasn't. I don't know why everyone says such terrible things about him. Just because he was there the night before? Because no one else saw him at home with me all morning?
They let me leave, told me to go with Mom. She tried to be comforting and said empty things that didn't cover the coldness.
(She hated Daddy now, I could tell. She wanted him to go to prison forever.)
"He d-didn't do it," I told her. She tried to hug me, tried to murmur something about me being too young and how I shouldn't have to deal with this, but-
"I sh-shouldn't have t- d-d-deal with you!" I tried to snarl, the delivery somewhat blunted by the uncontrollable shaking sobs.
(I hadn't stopped crying once since giving my testimony. I'd tried to stop, then felt guilty for trying. Didn't he deserve my sorrow, if no one else would cry for him?)
"Now, Liru, you don't mean that," she said, in her calm voice. I didn't care.
"I d-do too mean it. I don't want t-to stay with yo-you any more."
"Liru, stop this," she said. Strict voice now. I still didn't care. I'd rather go with Grandma even if she was crazy.
I wanted to stare her in the face, but my defiance wasn't that strong. I couldn't look at her, had to imagine the stern cold look I knew she was giving me.
"N-no. I won't."
"There's evidence," she pressed, but lowered her voice. Since we were in public and there were a few people watching. "You couldn't possibly have been awake early enough to account for his movements."
"I w-was t-too." We'd got up early specially, because there was a rerun of my favourite series. It started at 4am, and I'd told them that, and Mom tried to say it didn't matter because we owned the DVDs so we could have watched it any time and TV schedules weren't evidence. "Why do you h-hate Daddy now?"
"Because he did something bad," she said.
"He d-didn't."
"He did. You're too young to understand. Even if he was up with you all morning, that doesn't change the fact that he did."
(Of course I wouldn't understand if she never explained. How convenient for her stupid argument.)
"I want to g-go to Grandma's, not with you."
She sighed and forced a handkerchief into my hand. "For heaven's sake, stop sniffling and wipe your face. You'll give yourself a rash."
I didn't want to, but my tears did seem to have exhausted themselves at last. I did as instructed, then got into the car.
I should have turned around. I should have run back in, should have pushed past all the strangers trying to stop me, and run to Daddy. Should have at least given him one last hug.
Because the next morning, he was dead.
Heart attack, they said. Perfectly natural, claimed the police. Kira, whispered the internet.
He must have been guilty, then; because Kira knew everything and would only punish those who deserved it. But whatever had happened to Miss Nakiya, however much evidence there had been placing him there, despite the lack of alternative suspects, I knew better. He'd been home, with me, watching TV. And yet no one listened. No one believed me. They all believed in Kira.
(I knew better. He wasn't a god, he was evil. If he knew everything, then he'd killed an innocent man. If he didn't know everything, then he was using his power wrongly by hurting those he couldn't fairly judge.)
So I promised myself then, amid the quiet 'sympathy' of my neighbors and the dark whispers at school and the silent coldness whenever Mom saw him or heard his name, that one day I would find Kira and make him pay.
One day, my father would be avenged.