"Detectives," Camille warned.
Callahan opened the manila folder and slid a glossy eight-by-ten photo across the table toward Camille. "We had the dress tested. We're still waiting on DNA, but they did a basic ABO blood typing at the lab."
"Hold on," Camille cut in, tapping the photo with her pen but not looking down at it yet. "Let's not represent preliminary lab work as conclusive science."
"It's blood typing," Callahan said. "The stains on the front of the dress came back A-positive. Leah's blood type."
She turned her eyes to Mia, sharp and bright. "Do you know your blood type, Mia?"
Mia shook her head.
The buzzing in my ears grew louder. Mia's blood type was B-negative. It couldn't be Mia's blood on that dress. She'd lied to the police—again. Camille shot me a warning look to keep my mouth shut. I clenched my jaw and wiped my clammy hands on my thighs.
"It's incredibly premature to suggest whose blood is on that dress," Camille said, her voice edge with steel. "You have a common blood type and a garment that passed through non-secured locations. Chain of custody will be an issue if you try to rely on that."
"It's valid," King said. "We followed procedure."
Mia's breathing had gone shallow. I could see the rapid flutter at the base of her throat. Her gaze remained fixed on the table, as if the scratched metal was suddenly fascinating.
"Mia," King said. "Are you positive it's your blood on that dress? Is there any way Leah's blood might have gotten on your dress Friday night?"
Mia shook her head hard.
He leaned forward, forearms on the table, his voice dipping even softer. "Your friend says your sleeping bag was empty at 12:30 a.m. Aneighbor heard girls' voices by the bluff around 12:15 a.m. There's A-positive blood on your dress, the same type as Leah's. Your camera, with photos from that night, is missing. How do you explain all of that?"
I could taste metal at the back of my mouth. I clenched my teeth so hard that my jaw ached. Mia had lied. She'd lied to the police. I couldn't wrap my head around it.
Trepidation curled in my gut like a snake eating its tail. Why would she lie? Unless she was hiding something. But what? And why?
Mia's lower lip trembled. "I was in my sleeping bag," she whispered. "All night."
King continued, "You look like you're carrying something heavy. And I get that. This is a lot. You lost a friend. People are asking you questions you don't know how to answer without making things worse. Secrets don't get lighter, though. They get heavier."
I watched Mia's face as conflicting emotions flared across her features. Doubt. Fear. Hesitation. Regret. She was fourteen. She still slept with the door cracked open, still got nervous when thunderstorms rolled in, still cried at sad animal commercials. How had we gotten here?
Camille put her hand on Mia's arm. "You don't have to answer questions that make you uncomfortable. In fact, let's stop this right now."
"If we stop," Callahan said, "we'll have to work with what we've got. When the lab reports come back, if they don't match what you told us…" She made a small, almost delicate gesture with her hand. A little explosion.
Camille gave a dismissive grunt. "Detective, while that might scare someone representing themselves pro se, I am hardly that. If you've decided my client is a suspect, continuing this interview will hardly be productive."
King kept his focus on Mia. "Is there anything you want to change about your statement that you stayed in your sleeping bag all night?"
Silence. Mia's eyes glistened. She blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. "No. I wasn't… I didn't… "
"Mia," Camille said, and there was real warning there now.
Mia's head dipped lower.
Apprehension filled me. I twisted Marcus's ring on the chain beneath my shirt, the repetitive motion the only thing keeping me anchored to my chair, to this cold hostile room.
"I didn't want anything bad to happen—" She sucked in a breath and shook her head hard, as if she could dislodge whatever memories haunted her. She pressed her hands to her face, her sleeves covering her fingers. A small half-sob escaped her throat.
I couldn't stand it anymore. The words tore out of me. "Tell the truth, honey. Whatever it is, we can handle it."
Camille shot me a reproachful look as she rose to her feet. "I think we're done here for the moment. I need to consult with my client right now."
"We went out again," Mia blurted. "To the bluff."
