Blood on My Hands (9 page)

“I’m sure he’s on Facebook,” Tallon whispers back.

We start to cross the living room. I can feel Jasmine’s eyes on me. We get to the door, but instead of going through it, I hesitate and say, “I would have tried Facebook, but I forgot his last name.”

“Clemment,” Tallon whispers urgently, as if she wants me to leave, now!

“Right. Thanks.” I go out the door and down the steps as fast as I can without appearing to run.

By the time I reach the sidewalk, I’ve already decided that I
can’t go back to the bus stop. If Tallon calls the police, I’ll be too easy to spot there. Besides, I have to get to a computer. FCC has a library, so I head toward campus. Fortunately it’s Sunday and not many people are around.

I find the library. At a computer inside I settle down, sign into Facebook, and search Griffen Clemment. A page comes up with a photo of a guy with longish straight blond hair. He’s wearing a white oxford shirt and plaid shorts and standing on the deck of a sailboat, looking as if he’s posing in an ad. The message beside the picture states,
Griffen Clemment only shares some of his profile information with everyone. If you know Griffen,
send him a message
or
add him as a friend
.

Under
Groups
it states
Meadows School
.

Bingo!
That’s a private school nearby.

Suddenly a chat box opens on the screen and I am staring at a photo of Mia. In the chat box she types,
Callie?

I freeze, realizing I’ve just made a mistake. Now that I’ve signed on, every Facebook friend I have who is also online right now knows it.

Mia:
Is this U? OMG! WRU?

Cal:
Not imprtnt
.

Mia:
The police R looking 4 U
.

Cal:
I no
.

Mia:
Why R U hiding?

Cal:
Didnt do it
.

Mia:
We have 2 meet f2f
.

Before I can answer, the screen starts to populate with chat boxes from other kids I know. The news that Callie Carson is online is spreading fast. I have to get off.

I hate the way people toss around the phrase “dysfunctional family” and make jokes out of it. I remember one about someone putting the “fun” in “dysfunctional.” I don’t mean to be a downer but it’s not funny. Not if you really live in one.

When Dad and Sebastian went at it, Mom couldn’t, or wouldn’t, leave. Maybe she believed that if she stayed, it would stop things from really getting out of control. Or maybe it was to be around in case someone got hurt and needed care. Or maybe it was simply that this was her family and she was part of it.

Everyone who knew us knew that it was slowly destroying her. Even before the night Sebastian assaulted Dad with the two-by-four, Mom had begun to come apart. There were days when she couldn’t get out of bed and days when she could only sit, zombielike, in front of the TV. The house became filthy. Meals weren’t prepared.

In a bizarre way, the last fight between Sebastian and Dad was both the end and the beginning. It was the end of the war in our family, and the end of Mom’s hopes. But it was the beginning of her new role as caretaker. 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, go!”

Zelda and I both ducked under the surface. Unlike the town pool’s, this water didn’t burn your eyes. We stayed down, holding the chrome bars to keep from floating up, our lips pressed together and our hair swirling around us. I could feel my heart thumping and my lungs beginning to hurt. At almost the same moment, Zelda and I let some air out of our mouths and grinned at each other as the silver bubbles raced to the surface.

My lungs began to burn. I imaged Zelda’s did, too. I fought the urge to let go and shoot to the surface. If Zelda could stay down that long, so could I. But the discomfort continued to increase, until finally I had to pull myself to the surface for air.

“A minute and twelve seconds,” Dakota announced. Meanwhile, in the lounge beside her, Katherine had her phone pressed to her ear.

And Zelda was still beneath the surface.

“A minute and twenty seconds,” Dakota said.

Ten seconds later, she said, “Thirty.”

“Hold on,” Katherine said to whomever she was speaking to. She leaned forward curiously on her lounge to look down at Zelda.

“A minute forty,” Dakota announced.

Several seconds later, Zelda splashed to the surface.

“A minute and forty-seven seconds,” Dakota said.

Zelda grinned triumphantly.

“That’s amazing,” I said.

“My dad and I have contests all the time,” Zelda said breathlessly, her wet hair plastered to her head. “I always beat him, too.”

“I’ll call you back,” Katherine said into her phone, and snapped it shut.

“What’s the longest you’ve stayed under?”

“A little over two minutes,” Zelda answered.

Katherine pointed at her phone. “Know who that was? Mia. She wanted to know what we were doing.”

“What did you tell her?” Dakota asked.

Katherine smiled and flipped open the phone. “I think I’m going to invite her over.”

Chapter
19

Sunday 8:32
P.M.

IN THE EMS building the seconds are ticking past.
Get out of here!
I tell myself, then go through the door and dash away into the dark. As I head into the woods beyond the parking lot, my first thought is to run as far and as fast as I can, but maybe that’s a mistake. Maybe I should crouch down behind a tree and wait and watch.

There’s just enough moonlight for me to make out the two police cruisers that roll quietly into the parking lot with their lights off. A police officer from each unit gets out, and they silently gesture to each other in the dark. One goes around behind the building, as if to catch anyone who may try to escape out the back. The other tiptoes quietly toward the front door. In the dark I can tell that each is carrying things in his hands, but I can’t tell what. Flashlights?

Guns?

The thought sends a shiver through me. How can it be that the police believe I’m so dangerous that they need to
have their weapons out? It seems unreal. I’m just a teenager … and a girl, for God’s sake. But they think I’m a killer. And if I’ve killed once, there’s nothing to stop me from killing again, right?

One of the police officers is at the door now. His flashlight goes on and he looks through the window as he reaches for the doorknob. The door doesn’t open. I must have locked it accidentally when I ran out. He goes back to the cruiser, opens the trunk, and returns with a crowbar.

But before he gets back to the door, the whole scene is suddenly illuminated by headlights. It’s another car. The officer with the crowbar shields his eyes from the glare as the car stops and someone jumps out. I can’t tell for certain, but I think it’s a woman.

“You are interfering with an ongoing police investigation!” the officer announces loudly. “Get out of here! Now!”

The woman hesitates and takes a step back toward her car, but now another car pulls in. The officer with the crowbar curses as a person gets out of the second car and raises something to his face. A flash goes off.

The police officer repeats what he told the woman. “You’re interfering with a police investigation!” By now I’ve realized what’s happening. I’m not the only person who’s been listening to a police scanner. News reporters have them, too.

As if the officer with the crowbar has just realized the same thing, he turns back to the building and begins prying open the door before more unwanted visitors arrive. The photographer quickly moves in, snapping flash after flash.

For a moment I can’t help feeling amazed that they’re doing all this on my account. Then I remember that it’s not about me; it’s about Katherine. The door pops open and the officer enters. The lights go on, and from my spot in the woods, I can see the dark silhouette of the officer cautiously moving around inside as if he’s looking for me.

He disappears from view, then returns a little bit later. Even from a distance I can tell by his movements that he’s more relaxed now, as if he knows that the place is empty. The other officer joins him. One of them picks up something brown, and when they shine a flashlight into it, I realize it’s the paper bag with my hair. Next one of them holds up something darker. I have a feeling they’re my bloodstained jeans. Now both officers leave the EMS building. While one puts the bag and the jeans into his cruiser, the other sweeps his flashlight across the woods. Now the first one joins him. Together they swing their flashlights around, illuminating tree trunks and brush.

They separate and move toward the trees, flashlights bright.

And one of them is coming straight toward me.

Katherine told Zelda to stay in the pool while the rest of us went into the kitchen. The plan called for Dakota to stay near the window. When Dakota tugged on her right earlobe, Zelda was to float facedown in the pool as if she’d drowned.

We were eating chips and fruit when Mia arrived, breathless and obviously thrilled to be invited. She looked around Zelda’s kitchen with wide eyes and I realized that, like me, she was here for the first time. “Where’s Zelda?”

“Oh, still out in the pool, I guess,” Katherine replied nonchalantly, and gestured toward the door. “Go out and say hi.”