The Circle of Blood Page 13

  “No,” Cameryn said. “I’m fine.” She took off her coat and hung it on a brass coat rack as a high-pitched whistle came from the kitchen.

  “And there’s my water boiling. Let me know if you change your mind.” She left Cameryn, humming to herself as she disappeared around a corner.

  Who was in the room with her mother? Cameryn, who had been bursting with good news, held back. Quiet, she went up the stairs. The door to Hannah’s room was ajar, and she could see Hannah perched in the wingback chair wearing a pair of jeans and a too-large sweater that bunched in her lap. Her hair hung in tousled curls and her feet were bare. For a moment, Cameryn stared. Hannah’s face had delicate, straight bones and wide, dark eyes— Cameryn’s eyes. The eyes, though, looked frightened.

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember,” Hannah was repeating, over and over.

  “I’m just asking—have you been taking your Tegretol?” It was a male voice, and familiar. When Cameryn heard it, her heart sank.

  “I think so,” said Hannah, sounding like a child. “But I don’t remember for sure.”

  “Hannah, you’re going into a manic phase. You may not be able to tell, but I can. You’re talking nonstop.”

  “No, Justin, I’ve never been better. Cameryn thinks I’m fine.”

  “She didn’t know you in New York. I did. Show me your prescriptions. Or do you even have them?”

  Trapped in the hallway, Cameryn stood perfectly still. She watched her mother rise and go out of her line of sight and then return, dropping two bottles into Justin’s hands.

  “There. See? Here they are. Are you satisfied, Justin? I’ve got my medicine.”

  All the lights were on, both the overhead and the squat bedside lamp centered on an end table. A light in the bathroom cast a fan-shaped glow onto the carpet. Her mother’s voice lost its wispiness. “This is none of your business.”

  From where Cameryn stood, all she could see of Justin were his hands. She watched as he popped a lid, spilling the contents onto his palm. “The Tegretol,” he said. The pills were white ovals, which he then replaced. “And the Fluoxetine.” These were a deeper pink tablet, shaped like jelly beans. “Both of these are full. Look at the date—Hannah, you haven’t taken a single pill since you came here,” he accused. “Is that why you’ve been hiding from me?”

  “I’m not hiding. I’ve just been busy.”

  “You can’t stop taking your pills. You know better.”

  She dropped back into the chair. “Those pills make me feel flat. It’s like . . . it’s like my head is all wrapped up in cotton. It’s like the color has bled out of my life and all that’s left is black and white. I wanted to experience Cameryn without the meds.” She leaned forward, her face flush with excitement as her voice rose, almost shrill. “Justin, since I stopped I’ve felt so much better. I’m on fire again. All those years of doing what the doctors told me. They were wrong. I stopped medicating myself and something woke up inside. I’ve got my energy and I feel like I’m alive! ”

  The knowledge twisted through Cameryn like a snake. Her mother had stopped taking medication because of her.

  “Is that why you came to see me?” Hannah asked. “To make sure I’m on my meds? As far as I know, failure to take medication is not a crime.”

  “That’s not why, Hannah.” Justin’s voice was gentle. “I came because of our Baby Doe. We’ve got a name for her now. The victim was Esther Childs.”

  “Esther?” Hannah paused. She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest tight, as if to hold herself in.

  “Have you ever seen this girl before? I’m talking about Saturday, December ninth. Here’s what she looks like.” Justin handed Hannah a picture.

  Hannah glanced at the photograph and gave an exaggerated shrug. “No. I’ve never seen her.”

  Justin paused. “We have a witness who saw the two of you together. You and Esther. Our witness said you were talking to the girl in your blue Pinto shortly before she died.”

  Cameryn’s heart beat wildly as she watched her mother’s face go through a range of expressions. Cocking her head, Hannah pulled the photograph within an inch of her eyes.

  “Who told you they saw me?” she asked. "A man from town. Don’t lie, Hannah. Just tell me what happened.”

  “I was confused because of the hair. The girl I picked up had long hair.”

  “So you recognize her now?”

  “I think she might be the child I found at the gas station. But then she ran away and I never saw her again.” Hannah returned the picture. “That girl’s death has nothing to do with me.”

  “I’m sure it doesn’t,” replied Justin. “But I need to ask you some questions, and I want you to answer honestly. This has turned into a homicide investigation. The rules have changed.”

  “Homicide.” Hannah’s hands grabbed her elbows so hard Cameryn could see the jut of every knuckle. “Cameryn told me it was a suicide.”

  “That’s what we thought at first. But we were wrong.”

  “So you were wrong.” Hannah jumped to her feet. Still clutching her arms she began to pace the room. “Talking to a girl isn’t a crime. All I did was talk to her. What are you saying, Justin? What are you implying?” Her voice had become high and frightened. “I thought you came as a friend and you’ve come as a deputy. You’re here thinking—Why are you here?” She caught Cameryn’s eye and shrieked, "Cammie! ”

  Cameryn felt her skin jump at the sound of her name. The door swung open. Justin stared at her, his eyes electric, but he didn’t get up. In his hand he held a notebook and a pen.

  “Cammie called me right before you came, Justin,” Hannah insisted. “Right before you came. She says she knows who committed the murder.”

  “What do you know about this?” he asked her quietly.

  Her mind worked furiously. Hannah didn’t know that the clues had tied together through the ring. How could she? But the truth had to come out, so there was nothing to do now but tell it.

  “Esther left this ring in my mother’s car,” Cameryn said, pulling it from her pocket. “Here, take it.”

  With thumb and forefinger, Justin lifted it from her open palm. He peered at it, then at her, stunned. “When did you get this?”

  “Yesterday.”

  "So you knew—? ” But Cameryn cut him off with, “Look at what it says. ‘Keep Sweet.’ I wrote Jo Ann Whittaker. She did some research—”

  His eyes flashed. “You shared information about an active homicide case—”

  “Justin, please, let me finish.” Cameryn took a breath. Hannah had stopped moving and was staring. Everything had become suddenly still, as if the room itself were holding its breath. “Jo Ann found out that ‘Keep Sweet’ is a saying used by Fundamentalist polygamists. If Esther had that ring, she was from a polygamist family.” Cameryn turned to her mother. “What did she say to you when she put it in the cup holder?”

  “She said she didn’t need it anymore.”

  “Right. She was running away. Girls her age are married off, and I bet she didn’t want to be. Except they’re not allowed to leave. Remember, Justin, how strange her underwear looked? We saw the polygamists on the street, how the women were dressed. . . . I think Esther was running, and she got caught. And her hair was cut off. I’ll bet that’s something they would do.” Cameryn looked from Justin to her mother. “We need to check it out.”

  “Tell me this again,” Justin said. “Slowly this time.”

  She did, filling in each detail as she repeated everything. There’d be trouble ahead for her, she realized that, but as her words tumbled over each other, it felt so good to free herself from the guilt she’d been carrying. Every part of the story came out, even about the wallet. “Esther must have been pretty desperate. I mean, I don’t think she looked like a thief, but she was. Justin, when I thought it was a suicide I didn’t see any reason to tell.”

  “So, Esther stole your mother’s wallet.”

  “Yes.”

  “
And you think she must have chucked it in a garbage can before the polygamists shot her.”

  “Or maybe they took it. I don’t know. It wasn’t at the autopsy.”

  “You mean this wallet?” Justin stood and walked to her mother’s dresser. The oak top was covered with a lace doily, and there, on top, lay her mother’s brown leather wallet. Cameryn had seen it before. It had a small gold tab with the words DOONEY & BOURKE stamped above the image of a goose.

  Behind her, Cameryn heard her mother’s voice cry, “Oh my God, Cammie. I promise, I can explain.”

  Cameryn, her muscles growing tight as wires, stared at the wallet as Justin picked it up.

  “No, look at me, Cammie,” Hannah begged, the skin on her face blanching to the same sickly color Mariah’s had taken in death. “I can explain,” Hannah cried wildly. “Cammie—all right—you’ve found my wallet and I know it looks bad. That’s why I didn’t tell before. I wanted to but I couldn’t.”

  Too stunned to speak, Cameryn blocked her mother out. Justin undid the wallet’s clasp and there was her mother’s driver’s license, the credit cards shining from their plastic sleeves. There was no mistake. It belonged to Hannah. All the other noise of the world seemed to have gone silent; the only sound was blood pulsing through her ears.

  “Cammie, look at me.” Her mother gripped Cameryn’s arm, but Cameryn’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Please, Cammie! Justin.” Riveting her gaze on the deputy, she cried, “I know how it looks, but you have to understand. I kept searching for Mariah and I thought I saw a patch of blue, so I went down that alleyway. I swear to God when I saw her, Mariah—Esther—she was already dead. I swear to God.” The eyes were back on Cameryn now; she could feel the intensity of her mother’s stare. Hannah cried, “I swear on Jayne’s grave and on anything else. You’ve got to believe me! I saw the backpack and I thought”—her grip became iron—“I thought—this girl is already dead. I didn’t want anyone to know. So I took what was mine.”

  A blankness filled Cameryn, as if her mind couldn’t absorb her mother’s words. Nothing could penetrate.

  “Are you listening?” The claw on Cameryn’s arm clamped so hard she almost cried out in pain. “I want you to leave now, Deputy,” Hannah raged. “I want you to leave my room.”

  “As much as I want to,” Justin said, his voice low, “I can’t.”

  Hannah stood rigid for a moment, and then, almost imperceptively, began to rock back and forth. “I’m going to go to jail. You’re going to take me to jail.” The rocking increased in intensity: forward and back, backward and forward. “I didn’t do it,” Hannah cried. “I didn’t. Cameryn, you’re the only one. You’ve got to believe me! ”

  Justin stepped forward. He shoved his notebook in his back pocket, and then carefully, gently, peeled away Hannah’s fingers from Cameryn’s arm, as though they were petals from a closed flower. He looked as though he felt sick. His own fingers trembled as he took a step backward.

  “I’m sorry, Cammie,” Hannah whispered. “I’m sorry about everything.”

  “Hannah, I want you to listen to me carefully,” Justin said. “Can you hear me? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Dropping her hands to her sides, Hannah sobbed a single word: “Yes.”

  “I need to make sure you know what I’m saying.”

  “I do. I do, I do, I do.”

  “Then, Hannah . . .” He paused. His next words were delivered quietly but clearly. “You have the right to remain silent. . . .”

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE SILVERTON COUNTY jail was situated inside one of the town’s most beautiful buildings. The county courthouse, a square-faced, steep-roofed affair, had a large circular clock mounted in the middle of a three-tiered steeple. The stone was gray, Protestant-looking. Cement pillars and roof protected the front door from the elements. An ecclesiastical window had been carved from the stone, giving the mayor a bird’s-eye view of the town. But this morning, Cameryn didn’t notice any of that. It was who the building contained that mattered to her. Hannah had been cuffed and taken away to the one-room jail, and even though Cameryn pleaded to stay with her mother, Justin refused.

  “Cammie, you’re not allowed to come with me,” he’d said as Hannah stood rigidly to one side. Justin’s face had flushed with agitation. “God knows I hate to do this, but I have to take her in.”

  Cameryn grabbed his sleeve, wrenching it in her hand. “You can’t! ”

  “I have no choice. She had the decedent’s property. She’s got a motive and she’s been off her meds.”

  “Justin, no!”

  “There’s an eyewitness who’s placed Hannah with the vic just moments before she was shot. And now I know she was with Esther after she died.”

  “But there was an explanation. She told you why—”

  Justin shook his head. “She’s also a flight risk. If I don’t take her in I could lose my job. Let me do this and then we’ll sort it all out.”

  To that, Cameryn had cried, “Of course you have a choice.” But Justin didn’t seem to hear.

  Now, as she walked down the polished wooden hallway, the heels of her boots reverberating in the empty hall, she rehearsed her strategy. Although she was angry with Justin, it was important not to let emotion show. Like it or not, she needed him. She took a breath and shook herself, trying to focus, trying to be strong. With her knuckle she rapped on the glass pane stenciled with a golden star and the words SHERIFF’S OFFICE in black letters.

  Justin opened the door, not all the way, just a few inches. He looked rumpled, tired. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself.”

  “Our office doesn’t officially open for twenty minutes.”

  “Len opened the courthouse early and I followed him inside,” she said. “I told him I was meeting you. Were you here all night?”

  “I had to be,” he answered. “It’s against the law to leave a prisoner unattended. I semi-slept in the chair.”

  “Can I come in?”

  Justin sighed. “You can’t see her, Cammie. She’s in a holding cell. No visitors.”

  “That’s okay.” Cameryn wedged her foot between the door and the door frame. “I want to talk to you.”

  He studied her a moment. The stubble on his chin had grown, his hair was tousled, and his lids were hooded from lack of sleep. Reluctant, he opened the door and allowed her inside. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

  “I’m taking a day off.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he croaked. “You’re cutting school?”

  “Yeah. I am.”

  “You never cut school.”

  "Right.” Cameryn felt a pang of guilt. In all her years of education, she’d never once skipped school. But there was a first time for everything. Her mother needed her.

  “You’re already in trouble with the sheriff, Cammie. Guess you’re going all the way. Have a seat.” The room was so crowded with filing cabinets and plants and Sheriff Jacobs’s big wooden desk, there was room only for two folding chairs for visitors. To the left, beside a painted radiator, was Justin’s chair, half the size of Jacobs’s. Everything for Justin seemed miniaturized—stacks of papers towered on a surface barely wide enough for his computer. He grabbed one of the folding chairs and placed it across from his desk, pointing for Cameryn to sit.

  His own chair squeaked as he leaned forward. “So what’s up?”

  “You seem tense,” she began.

  “Well, you called me just about every name in the book last night. Maybe my ‘tenseness’”—he made quotation marks with his fingers—“has something to do with that.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sorry. I was just upset.”

  “Obviously.” Justin picked up a pen and hit the black plastic cap onto a clear spot on his desk, flipped it, then hit the pen again. “How did your pop and your grandma handle the news?”

  “They said I should wait and see where your investigation leads before I panic. My dad’s really mad at me for withholding evidence. Really mad. But he
said he understood why I did it. My mammaw went to church and said a rosary. She thinks I’m going to have a long stay in Purgatory if I don’t get my act together.”

  Justin put down his pen and knit his fingers together. He leaned forward and spoke softly. “We’re holding her for seventy-two hours and she’s back on her meds, which is a very good thing. The district attorney will review the facts of the case. He’ll make the decision on whether to file charges or not.”

  “Yeah, I know how it works.”

  “I had to take her in, Cammie. I wish you’d understand.”

  “I do,” she lied. Today she’d worn her hair in a ponytail and had on a blue Fort Lewis sweatshirt, along with her heavy winter parka. Unzipping her coat, she slipped it off and asked, choosing the words carefully, “But there are other leads, aren’t there? Like my theory about polygamy?”

  He pulled back again. The wheels screeched against the tile. “What about it?”

  “Are you going to research it or not?”

  “There is nothing to research. The Childs family is from Arizona. Their hometown sheriff says they’re not polygamists and the entire family was there the day Esther was killed. The sheriff personally saw them.”

  “But—but—” Cameryn stammered, “the ring . . .”

  “Our vic could have picked it up anywhere.”

  She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “We saw polygamists.”

  “There are polygamists all over,” Justin said, his voice rising.

  “Well, what about the name Gilbert, the name I found written in the backpack? I looked it up on the Internet, and there’s a Gilbert two doors down from the Loaf ‘N Jug, where that phone tip came from. Don’t you think that’s strange? That’s a lead.”

  “Which I checked out yesterday. The woman’s name is Ruth Gilbert. She didn’t make the phone call and she didn’t know a thing about Esther. It’s a dead end.”

  Cameryn tried to keep the panic from her voice. “But the backpack had the name Gilbert printed on it—”

  “And Ruth said she gave a load to Goodwill. Esther could have picked it up there. It doesn’t prove anything. Cameryn, I know how hard this is for you, but you’ve got to let us handle it from here. We’re the law. You’re the slice-and-dice.”