Tumbledown (28 page)

“Apparently not,” Kendall said so quietly that Sarah barely caught the words. She hadn’t managed to discern their meaning before Kendall spoke again. “Your lawyer’s arranged a meeting with you at three this afternoon, the administrator is dealing with a request to transfer you back across to Ruby, and your partner is on the phone.”

Sarah pulled her T-shirt back down. “What the hell is going on?”

The expression on Kendall’s face suggested she knew more than she was saying. “Don’t look so worried,” she said. “Come and take your phone call. I think you’re better hearing this from Alex.”

*

By the time Kendall had escorted her into a private air-conditioned office and indicated the phone with its red call waiting light flashing, Sarah was almost in tears. Despite Kendall’s reassurance, the abrupt break from jail protocol, together with the unfamiliar surroundings and unexpected disruption, had convinced her that something terrible had occurred, and that Kendall was doing her utmost to soften the blow. Sarah snatched up the receiver, spoke before Kendall had pressed the button to connect the call, and had to start over again.

“Hello? Alex?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

Sarah sat down suddenly, tipping the chair back so hard that Kendall had to put a hand out to right it. “Bloody hell, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Did they not tell you that?”

“They haven’t told me much of anything, just that Bridie’s coming in and that I might be transferred and that you were on the phone and—”

“Sarah,” Alex cut across her rambling, “take a breath.”

“I’m breathing just fine.” She gripped the edge of the desk. “Actually, I feel a bit squiffy,” she conceded, and heard Alex chuckle.

“You’re sitting down, right?”

“Do I need to be sitting down for this?” she asked, scared once again.

“Might not be a bad idea.” Alex hesitated, obviously nervous, before continuing in a rush. “Emerson and I found where Caleb Deakin stayed. Sarah, I think we have enough to get you out of there.”

Sarah closed her eyes as lights danced in them. “What did you find?”

“Clothing from that night and the knife handle that they hadn’t quite managed to burn. Comparable tire treads, hair, semen on the bed sheets, and prints throughout the cottage. The labs are working on it all now, and Quinn’s going to get you moved back up here in the meantime.”

“Will I get bail, then?”

“You won’t need bail.” Alex spoke more slowly, ensuring that Sarah understood. “Once the lab work is back, it should be enough to make them drop the charge against you.”

“Really?”

“Cross my heart.” There was such certainty in Alex’s answer that Sarah finally allowed herself to believe what had happened.

“I’ll be able to come home.” She said it aloud, just to make absolutely sure.

“You’ll be able to come home,” Alex said. “Sweetheart, I’ve already put the kettle on for you.”

*

It was stuffy in the bedroom, but Alex pulled the blankets up to her chin and shivered until the sheets warmed up. She felt as if she’d worked a winter night shift: chilled to the bone and trying too hard to wind down into sleep. The cottage was silent, the animals all taking her lead and dozing with her on various parts of the bed. She had drawn thick drapes against the sunlight and foregone coffee for hours, and still her brain refused to let her rest.

Quinn would have read her statement by now. She wondered whether he had been shocked by her allegation that a local was aiding Caleb Deakin, or whether he had already drawn that conclusion himself. His demeanor earlier had been that of a man facing up to a potentially career-ending mistake, not that of one complicit in the crime. So if Quinn wasn’t involved, who was?

She kicked the blankets lower, making Tilly snuffle, which in turn startled Flossie. They both settled again before she did. Staring at the ceiling, she tried to picture each of the individuals on Emerson’s list of search volunteers, mentally cataloging them into “possible,” “maybe,” “unlikely,” and “don’t be stupid.” She would need to speak to Quinn about bringing each of them in for questioning…

An unexpected yawn interrupted her thoughts and made her jaw ache. She rubbed her chin and turned over, seeking a cool spot on the pillow.
Castillo
would need to speak to Quinn, she corrected herself. In terms of the investigation, her involvement was probably over. After Sarah’s release, the FBI would no doubt assume control of the case. They would have the resources and manpower necessary to end this, and she and Sarah could hide somewhere safe until Deakin and his accomplice were in custody.

She closed her eyes, her head sinking into the soft down of the pillow. Her hands curled into fists, her fingernails nipping at the flesh of her palm, because she was missing something obvious and she needed to wake up and work the answer out. One of the cats curled up in the crook of her legs. She reached a hand out to stroke its head, and the satisfied hum of purring was the last thing she knew.

*

Caleb’s cell rang as Leah lifted the cornbread from the oven. She pressed a finger to the top of the bread, testing its readiness, careful not to show that she was listening in on the call. Caleb didn’t bother leaving the kitchen, so she was able to watch his expression alter by degrees: irritation changing to interest, before segueing into a barely-contained excitement.

“Fucking perfect. No, if you’re sure that’ll work, use it.” He walked to the window and peered out onto the dirt road and mounds of putrid trash. “You’ll need to do it quick before anyone realizes it’s missing.”

Leah turned the bread out onto a cooling rack. It smelled like Sunday afternoons at home, stolen time with her mom while the men watched the game.

“Yeah, yeah, I know it.” Caleb’s voice broke through her reverie. He paced across the kitchen, his eagerness making the trailer sway and undulate. “Be dark by then. That won’t hurt none.”

She looked at the clock on the oven, calculating the remaining hours of daylight: only five. The rising steam made her face damp and hot as she wiped the counter and tried to glean more details of Caleb’s plan. He had already used his free hand to hoist his duffel bag onto the table and was checking its contents, making the odd noise of agreement as he listened to his contact. The one-sided conversation made it impossible for her to work out what was going to happen, but it was obviously imminent.

“Naw, man, you won’t need luck.” Weapons clacked together as he stacked them side by side. “Let me know when it’s done.” He ended the call, slapped a magazine into a 9 mm pistol, and screwed a silencer onto its muzzle.

“Pack everything.” He grinned at her. “We got places to go, baby.”

*

“You’ll miss the Kool-Aid.” Camille spoke through a mouthful of candy.

Sarah threw a Milk Dud at her head. “I won’t miss the bloody Kool-Aid,” she said. The drink accompanied every meal at the jail and it was always grape flavor. It tasted like disinfectant combined with evil. “If I never drink the stuff again, it’ll be too soon.”

She hadn’t told a soul about the developments in her case or her likely transfer, but the cellblock rumor mill was alive with gossip, and Camille had found out all the details. She had bought Sarah the box of Milk Duds to celebrate and was now busily eating her way through them.

“Be home with your girl before you know it.” Camille’s voice was muffled by caramel, but the thought made Sarah smile.

“Thanks, Camille. I won’t miss the Kool-Aid, but I’ll miss you.”

“You be sure and write me, then.”

“I will, I promise.” Sarah shook the candy box, heard the lone rattle of the last Milk Dud, and offered it to Camille. “You’ll probably be stuck with me for a few days yet, anyway.”

“Maybe, or they’ll maybe get you back across to Ruby in time for visiting tomorrow.”

“That’d be nice.” A flutter outside the window caught her eye as a scruffy-looking bird perched on the ledge and began to preen. “Hey, Albert’s back.” She ducked her head to the bunk below. “I think he lost a few more feathers, poor little bugger.” She made space for Camille to climb alongside her.

The bird cocked its head when Camille touched the glass, but it stayed where it was.

“I’ll keep you updated on his progress,” Camille said. She pressed her hands to the mattress as if evaluating what little spring it possessed. “I might move up here when you’re gone. Even that view’s better than my solid brick wall.”

Sarah pointed to the far corner of the yard where a hint of pink was just beginning to color the concrete. “Best view on the block, this,” she said seriously. “Look, it even comes with its own sunset.”

Showing uncharacteristic chivalry, Caleb offered his hand to Leah to help her negotiate the rusted metal steps leading down from the trailer. As she stepped onto the ground, he tipped his cap at her.

“How do I look?”

He had left the car engine running and the headlights cast enough light for her to see him wink. “You look good,” she said, and touched her fingers to his cheek when he kissed her.

In truth, she barely recognized him. His hair was long and straggly beneath his cap and he hadn’t shaved since the murder. She hated it, not because it made him unattractive—he had never been particularly handsome—but because the change in his appearance meant he was less likely to be identified and apprehended. He revved the engine, prompting her to take her seat in the car. She wanted to ask where they were heading and what he was going to do, but she didn’t dare risk ruining his good mood. Even more than that, she was afraid to learn the answer.

*

From dinner until lights-out, the cell doors were unlocked, leaving the inmates free to move around the block, but Sarah and Camille had both chosen to remain on their bunks.

“Wonder if they’ll have a copy of this in the Ruby jail.” Sarah waggled
Pride and Prejudice
over the side of the bed so that Camille could see it. She heard her shift and then tap the cover with her finger.

“Honey, you’ll be able to go into a store and buy your own copy, once you’re a free woman.”

“Yeah.” Sarah hugged the book to her chest, relishing the thought. She had taken so many basic rights for granted until they were stripped away from her. “That would be lovely.”

Her mattress bounced as Camille poked it with her foot.

“Let me know if there’s a happy ending, ’kay?”

“Be nice if the girl got a girl for a change,” Sarah said, “but I think Mr. Darcy would be quite bitter about that.”

Camille laughed and the mattress jumped again. Neither of them reacted to the door opening, but Sarah pushed herself up quickly as Barrett stepped into the cell.

“You’re to come with me, Hayes,” he said. She didn’t move, didn’t immediately obey him, so he walked over to the bunk and took hold of her arm. “Now.” He pulled at her, emphasizing the command, and she shook herself away so that she could climb down from the bed. She didn’t want to go anywhere with him, but it wasn’t as if she had any say in the matter.

“Where you takin’ her?” Camille demanded.

“None of your fucking business.” His fingers twisted around Sarah’s bicep with bruising force.

“You want me to find Kendall?” Camille asked her.

“No.” Whatever the hell was going on, she didn’t want Camille involved. “No, I’ll be all right.” Barrett propelled her into the corridor, and she only kept her balance by grabbing at one of the other cell doors. “Jesus!”

No one tried to stop him as he marched her down the block. Three inmates and another guard all looked the other way or moved aside to allow them to pass. He took her through a security checkpoint into a wing that she didn’t recognize and that appeared deserted. As they tripped a sensor, the overhead lights flicked on but then faded out just as efficiently to leave the corridor behind them dim and shadowed. There were no signs of occupancy in any of the adjoining offices. All their doors were shut, and the end of the corridor was invisible in the gloom. She might be able to run, but where to? She looked up, searching for the cameras that tracked and monitored every corner of the jail. They were there, blinking as they detected motion, but still she knew Barrett could do whatever he wanted to her before anyone could intervene. If he was loyal to Deakin’s cause, he was unlikely to be deterred by the consequences.

She stopped suddenly and jerked her arm from his grip. “Where are we going?” she asked, hating the way her voice shook.

For the briefest of moments, she thought he was going to answer, but he barely managed a snarl of anger before both his hands were back on her, spinning her around and shoving her against the wall. Without easing up, he shifted one forearm to press across her throat.

“Ask me again,” he said. “Ask me again, I fucking dare you.”

She shook her head and he moved his arm a fraction, allowing her to answer.

“No,” she gasped.

“No, what?” He inched his body nearer still, lifting his knee to nudge her thigh as his harsh breath grazed her cheek.

Closing her eyes, she lowered her head in apparent deference and then did the only thing she could think of: she kneed him hard in the groin, feeling the crunch of ligaments and softer tissue smashing back against his pelvic bone. He released her instantly, staggering backward and holding himself between the legs.

“No, you fucking arsehole, I won’t ask you again,” she muttered, too breathless to make herself heard above his shrieking as she ran back the way he had brought her. She knew there would be hell to pay for what she had just done, no matter how satisfying it had been. She had gotten barely twenty yards away when a buzzer sounded at the end of the corridor. A door flew open and Kendall sprinted toward her.

“Hayes, you okay?” She turned Sarah roughly into the light. Then, having reassured herself that her prisoner was relatively unscathed, she went over to Barrett and pulled him upright. “You think the cameras wouldn’t catch that, you piece of shit?”

He seemed on the verge of hitting her, his face flushed with pain and fury, but he backed down when two more guards came through the door.

“Three strikes and you’re out,” Kendall told him. “And I’m guessing that’s gonna count as your third.”