Blood on My Hands

It gave her a purpose and a reason to get out of bed in the morning, even if caring for her husband was, in its own way, a prison sentence.

Chapter 18
    Sunday 6:46 P.M.
    IN THE FCC library I quickly sign off Facebook and stare at the dark computer screen. Can they trace my log-in back to this computer? I doubt it. But just to be safe, I’d better get out of here.
    Why did Mia write that she had to meet me face-to-face?
    Outside, it’s getting dark. I head back to the bus stop, but as I round a corner, I see a plain gray sedan with two people inside parked beside the sidewalk. I freeze, then quickly back around the corner of a building. I’ve seen enough unmarked police cars to know. A wretched thought: Did Tallon call them?
    I double back the way I came and walk half a dozen blocks to the next bus stop, then watch carefully from across the street until I see the bus coming. At the last moment I dash across the street and board it.
    By the time I get back to Soundview, it’s dark. But before I head to the EMS building, there’s one more stop I must make. Umbrella Point is a rock outcropping at the end of the small park that runs along the water in the part of town known as the Manor. Mounted in the rocks is an umbrella made of wood and shingles. On almost every precipitation-free day when the temperature reaches forty-five and there aren’t gale-force winds, Mom takes Dad down there in his wheelchair to sit by the water and watch the boats.
    Last night, when I spoke to Mom on the phone, I told her to look under the umbrella. Now, in one of the wooden crevices, I leave a note reassuring her that I’m okay, promising that I’ll leave more notes, and pleading with her not to tell anyone.
    It’s late by the time I let myself back into the old EMS building. I’m really not looking forward to another night alone in here. And knowing the name of the boy who may have caused that huge rift between Katherine and Dakota isn’t enough to make me feel encouraged. But it’s all I’ve got.
    Sitting on the cold floor of the dark, abandoned building, I flip open my phone and turn it on. It registers nearly two dozen missed calls, mostly from my mother and Mia, but I’ll run down the battery if I listen to the messages. Instead, I call Slade, who answers almost immediately.
    “Hey.” He sounds solemn. I wish he’d be more excited and happy to hear from me. But I know better than to think that in one night I could undo all the damage I caused. Two steps forward, one step back.
    Even though I’m feeling discouraged, I’m eager to tell him what I learned about Griffen Clemment. “Listen, I found out something—”
    “Hold on, Cal.” He cuts me short. “There’s something you need to know. Dakota’s mother was on TV just now, talking about what a horrible tragedy it is that Katherine was killed and how devastated Dakota is.”
    That strikes me as strange. Why would Congresswoman Jenkins get involved? Could it be that she knows the truth about her daughter and is trying to steer the investigation away from her?
    Slade continues: “They showed that photo of you again. The one with you kneeling over her with the knife in your—”
    He’s still talking, but I’m no longer focused on what he’s saying. The scanner has stopped scanning and is locked on one frequency. “Ten-twenty-nine,” a female voice says urgently. “The old EMS building on Palmer. All patrol vehicles in the vicinity. Code two. Repeat. All vehicles. Ten-twenty-nine. Code two. The old EMS building on Palmer.”
    “Bravo five-eleven. Got it, ten-four,” a male voice replies.
    “Bravo five-sixteen. Ten-four,” radios another male voice.
    Ten-twenty-nine probably means “suspect wanted.” Code two is when they want the police to approach without lights or sirens. They’re coming here.
    Right now.
    Zelda’s house was closer to a mansion than anything else in town. It was a huge old three-story brick colonial with a pool and a tennis court. One afternoon last July, Katherine and Dakota were sunning themselves on the lounges, and Zelda and I were in the pool, floating on inflatable rafts with beverage holders and shades so you could keep your face from getting too much sun.
    “Want to have a contest?” Zelda asked. “Who can hold her breath longer?”
    “Okay,” I said.
    We slid off the rafts and into the cool clear water. Zelda turned to Dakota. “Time us?”
    Dakota reached for her phone and flipped it open. “Uh … ready, set,