Circle of Blood (Forensic Mystery)

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.”
    Inside, there was a tremor, but like a magician perfecting the slight of hand she would not let him see it. “Can I take a look at the file?” she asked. “That one, right there.” A manila folder lay open on his desk and she could see it had her mother’s name on it. “I want to see it.”
    “Cammie, this is police business.”
    “ Please . Justin, no one’ll know.”
    Slowly, he turned the folder her way and pushed it toward her across his desk. She could feel him watch her as she scanned the pages, one after the other until she saw what she was looking for. Closing her eyes briefly, she committed the number to memory: 928- 555-6823.
    “Hannah is my friend, too,” he told her as he pulled the folder back. Slowly, he closed it and set his hands on top, folded, as if in prayer. “I’ve called in Dr. Kearney and he’s going to do an evaluation. I got her to take her meds. She made me a list of books she’d like and I’m going to the library to pick them up. We’re doing the best we can.”
    “But you still arrested her,” Cameryn stated, rising to her feet. Then, shrugging on her coat, she walked to the door, past the sheriff’s gun rack and his filing cabinet and his belt full of bullets curled on top. Her hand was on the doorknob when she heard Justin call out, “I could have lost my job.”
    Cameryn turned to look at him, at his tousled hair and blue-green eyes and the way he was pleading with her to forgive him. “I get that, Justin. I really do. It’s just—it’s worse to lose a mother.”
    She was barely inside her car before she fished out a pen and wrote the phone number onto her palm in ink. 928-555-6823. The sun struggled to break over the mountains as she sat, shivering, in the frosted light. The parking lot was already beginning to fill up with county workers. In an effort to be discreet, she had parked beneath a stand of bare aspens, hoping the sheriff wouldn’t recognize her car. Branches shifted in the winter breeze, creating an intricate, dancing pattern on the dashboard of her car. For a moment she watched the shadows, thinking.
    There was no one to help her mother. Not the sheriff or Justin or her father or her mammaw—she, Cameryn, was the only one Hannah could count on. The wallet, the ring—it didn’t mean anything. Her mother stayed locked away, yet innocent, as only Cameryn believed. But belief was not enough. It was action she needed.
    One tenuous thread remained for her to follow, a silver strand of chance that might connect the Gilbert family to Esther. Maybe. If God was with her.
    With her BlackBerry freshly recharged, she crossed herself. First, she entered *67 in order to block her number in case the Childs home had caller ID. Then she punched in the digits, holding her breath, waiting.
    “Hello?” a gruff man’s voice answered.
    “This is Amy Green from the sheriff’s office,” Cameryn began, stealing the name of her father’s friend in Ouray. Craning her neck to make sure she was still alone, she said, “I have a question concerning Esther Childs. First, let me begin by saying I’m really sorry for your loss. Are you the father?”
    “I am. We’re trying to cope the best we can. What’s your