Blood on My Hands

something you didn’t do?”
    He blinks as if this isn’t what he expected me to say. “Yes.”
    “Then you know how it feels.”
    He gazes at me for a long time with an expression that at first seems astonished and then turns thoughtful. “You had nothing to do with Katherine Remington-Day’s murder?”
    “Nothing whatsoever.”
    “There was no plan? You weren’t in it with someone else? You never discussed it with anyone?”
    “Discussed what? I have no idea what you’re even talking about. It’s like there’s something else going on here that no one will tell me about. What is it?”
    “Did Mia Flom ever tell you she was going to get Katherine?”
    Was that why she came out of the police station with her father and that woman lawyer?
    “She might have said something like that,” I answer. “But … it never sounded like—”
    “Did she ever mention physical threats?”
    “I … I don’t remember.”
    The police chief drums his fingers against the table. “Did you go to Jerry Fairman’s house a few nights ago?”
    I’m so eager to prove my innocence that I almost say I did, but then I catch myself. I don’t know what Jerry has to do with any of this, but he did me a big favor. He did my brother a much, much bigger favor. Whatever he had to do with the trap at the train station, I have to believe he was forced into it. I don’t want to get him into trouble. I stare down at the table mutely.
    Chief Jenkins studies me a moment longer and then nods as if he’s made up his mind about something. “I’ve been in this profession a long time, Callie. I like to think that I’ve gotten pretty good at separating the liars from those who are telling the truth.” Then he picks up his hat, places his hands on the table, and heaves himself up. “That’s all I have to say.”

Chapter 44
    Friday 10:34 P.M.
    ANOTHER NIGHT IN juvie to think about what people said and what they might have meant. A plan? In it with someone else? What was Chief Jenkins talking about? What could Jerry have to do with this? And how could the knife have come from Katherine’s house?
    For the hundredth time I go over it in my head, replaying everything that’s happened. No, that’s not quite true. There’s one memory I always avoid unless someone, like Gail or Chief Jenkins, makes me think about it—that horrible scene of finding Katherine dead.
    But tonight I force myself to go back over it. Her body on the ground. The others coming. Their dark silhouettes. Dakota saying, “You killed her!” The flash of the camera … the blur of faces.
    But wait. The faces aren’t really a blur. They’re kids I know. Kids from school …
     … except the tall one with blond hair—
    And suddenly I know why Griffen Clemment looked familiar. He was there that night, in that crowd.
    Griffen, who said he hadn’t spoken to Katherine or Dakota since the previous spring.
    Did he play a role in Katherine’s death?
    I go over it in my head again and again, but I can’t make sense of it.
    And I fall asleep knowing that there’s still so much I don’t know.
    But something is different when I wake in the morning. I don’t know why or how, but during the night, I’ve made peace with the idea of pleading self-defense. Maybe because I’ve realized how much I don’t know. But what I do know is that Mom and Chief Jenkins want me to do it.
    And what if Slade also wanted me to do it? Would I? For him?
    Yes, I think maybe in that case I would.
    Later a matron appears outside my cell. I’m once again filled with hope that Slade has come to see me. But she says, “Take everything you want, because you’re not coming back.”
    What? I stare at her, confused.
    “You’re out,” she says. “Free to go.”
    I don’t understand, but I’m not about to argue. The matron escorts me down the hall and through the reinforced doors. Gail is sitting in the waiting room, wearing a gray raincoat. She rises and smiles and, seeing the confusion on my face, explains: “The seventy-two hours is up. They haven’t decided to press charges, so you can go.”
    “Ser … iously?” I’m so filled with surprise and disbelief that I can hardly get the word out of my mouth.
    “Well, sort of,” Gail says as we start to walk toward the exit. “As a condition of your release, I had to make two promises. But I don’t think you’ll be bothered by either of them.”
    It’s raining. As we walk to the parking lot, she opens an umbrella. “You have