"No." The denial was instant, reflexive. "I told you. I didn't go back out there."
"Mia," Callahan said. Her name, just that, but the way she said it made my skin crawl. "We have Leah's blood on your dress. We have your DNA under her fingernails. We have scratches on your arms in a pattern the medical examiner says is consistent with defensive wounds. We have a missing camera last seen in your possession, and we have your sleeping bag empty around 12:30 a.m."
As she listed each item, she tapped a fingertip lightly on the folder, as if stacking bricks to create an impenetrable wall. A case against my child. "Taken together, that paints a different picture than the one you've given us."
Camille gave a hard smile. "The missing camera proves less than nothing. If you're so sure you have a case, charge Mia right now."
I recoiled. Mia gaped at Camille in horror. She was shaking harder now, tiny tremors running through her shoulders, her neck, her hands.
The air in the room crackled as if electrified. For half a beat, no one moved. King watched Mia intently. Callahan sat back. A subtle shift in her body language sent a jolt of terror through me. She'd decided Mia was guilty. I could see it in her face, her posture, and those sharp eyes.
"No?" Camille said. "I didn't think so. We're done here."
Chairs scraped as everyone stood. My legs felt unsteady. Callahan walked us to the door. Her gaze flicked to me, intent and assessing.
Camille turned to the detectives. "If you are contemplating any change in my client's status?—"
"The prosecutor will review the evidence," King said. "But this is an active investigation. It's moving quickly."
"In other words," Callahan said with the slightest smirk, "don't leave town."
Chapter Twenty-Six
The new keys the locksmith pressed into my palm looked wrong in my hand. Too clean. Too bright. The locksmith had arrived just as we returned from the precinct, shell-shocked and devastated.
I shut the door behind him. And locked it.
Apollo bounded in from the kitchen, then stopped short. His tail went up, stiff. He paced a tight circle near the base of the stairs, his nose working. He whined in the back of his throat, a high, anxious sound. He looked back at me, ears pricked, then up toward the second floor. His whole body was tense.
"What's wrong, buddy?"
He paced restlessly, circling me, then Mia, then back to me. He whined again.
Mia stood in the foyer, dazed. Her eyes were unfocused, like she was still in that interrogation room we'd left only thirty minutes ago, still trapped beneath the glaring fluorescent lights, staring at the glossy photos of Leah's broken nails.
Apollo trotted to her and urgently shoved his nose into her hand. She didn't react. He tried again, nudging her thigh, his tail wagging harder, not playful but almost frantic.
He'd picked up on the tension in the room. As if he could senseMia's palpable distress and was trying as best he could to offer comfort.
"They said she was alive." Mia's words were toneless. A recitation. "They said she was alive for hours."
She stared past me, past the stairs, at the far wall. Her pupils were huge, eating the green of her irises. Her skin had taken on a gray pallor.
The strain of everything overwhelmed me. My chest was tight, a headache beating dully against the front of my skull. The sorrow reared up and threatened to pull me under and suffocate me.
For Mia, it was even worse. I could see it in her face, how she was drowning right in front of me, and I didn’t know how to save her.
"Mia." I tightened my grip on the keys, the metal biting into my palm. "Come sit down. Let's talk."
"If I'd just gone back out…" The sentence frayed. She blinked once, twice, her face contorting. Then she bolted. She staggered up the stairs and into the bathroom.
My body moved before my brain. I followed the sound of her feet. Apollo scrambled after us, whining anxiously.
As I reached the top of the stairs, the bathroom door slammed. The lock snicked.
I hurried down the hall and placed my hand on the door. "Mia, open up. Please."
Nothing.
