She chewed her bottom lip until she tasted blood.
“Are you all going to hell for the killings you’ve done?” Cameron asked, using his district attorney voice.
“Not Witt.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s good, and he had to do it to save me. He couldn’t let me die. It’s not in his nature.”
“And Angela?”
“No.” She didn’t wait for him to ask why. “Because her father, the one who should have protected her, committed terrible crimes against her and made her do unforgivable things. Because Lance would have done the same to her.” Because Angela hadn’t needed a flashback. The memory of those closed fists and the torments that might lay inside them had lived inside her until the moment she died. Just as the memory of what she’d done when she was thirteen never died, never ceased, never eased. Like Max’s memories that lay buried inside her, buried but clawing their way up through the dirt.
“Good people do bad things.” Cameron paused for a heartbeat. “But they are still good people.”
She sucked in air. “Yes, they are.”
“Even you?”
One small drop of moisture leaked from the corner of her eye.
“Yes. Even me.”
“Then trust him to forgive you, too.”
*
Every thought has a time and place. The next morning was not the time to think about Witt or about asking forgiveness. It was about completing the circle Bud Traynor had started.
Max pulled in behind Baxter Newton’s Z4 parked in Julia La Russa’s overwhelming driveway. She hesitated. Giving back the video in front of Julia’s father hadn’t been her intention. It was Julia’s right to discuss it with him, or not as she chose. Sometimes, things were better left unsaid, even if both parties knew the real score.
Max’s choice was taken from her as the door opened before she’d even walked two steps from her car. Julia stood on the porch.
“We’ve been expecting you.” Julia waved her up the stairs.
How? Had Traynor called to say he’d given his disks up to Max? She tucked the two jewel cases beneath her arm and went to meet Julia.
The woman touched her elbow, as if to help her in, to show her she was welcome. Or perhaps to touch the last person who had seen Angela alive.
“I’m assuming you’ve heard,” Max began.
“Yes.” Julia didn’t need her to finish. She was no longer puffy-eyed or disoriented. She was the Julia Max had met that first day, her emotions tucked neatly beneath perfectly coifed hair, a benign smile, black slacks, and a peach blouse.
A peach blouse, not a mourning color. Julia caught her glance and read her thoughts. “Too much has happened to keep up appearances.”
Max wondered if that had a double meaning.
Julia showed her into the same huge sunroom in which Max met Baxter the day Bud brought her here. They crossed the long expanse of wood and carpet to where Baxter poured tea. His eyes widened slightly at the disks Max held beneath her arm. It was not a look of questioning; it was one of knowledge and consideration.
As she’d thought, the tape was what Bud Traynor had held over Baxter’s head, and Julia’s father now wondered what Max planned to do with it.
“Please sit.” Julia spoke. Baxter indicated the chair Max should take.
She saw their resemblance to each other now. It was in the eyes, mirroring each other, not only in color, but also in the same tense looks flashing between them. Beneath the gracious tones, the furtive glances kept Max on her toes.
She wasn’t here to accuse or castigate. Turning to Julia, she admitted one of her lies. “I didn’t tell the police Angela said you were there that night.”
That night. They all knew what night. Julia stirred sugar into her tea. Baxter handed her the creamer. A tabby cat lay in the sun at Baxter’s feet, its paws twitching as if it dreamed.
“Thank you for that,” Julia murmured. “But your gesture didn’t matter in the end.”
Baxter continued where Julia left off. “Apparently there was a witness who saw Julia come and go.” He paused. “And saw Angela leave after my daughter.”
A witness. It could only be Hammerhead, coming forward after Angela died. Or perhaps Witt had told the police about the goings-on at the Embassy, and they’d put two and two together.
“I believe this witness confirmed that Angela had blood on her clothes and person.” Julia had such a civilized way of putting things, but her expressive brown eyes couldn’t hide a touch of moisture, a taste of pain.
Max offered the only comfort she had. “She loved you, Julia, very much, despite everything.” There, it was out, the dreaded secret. Max was sure neither had spoken of it aloud before.
What had been a light mist in Julia’s eyes now became a single tear. With his gaze, Baxter tracked its progress down Julia’s cheek.
Max’s admissions went on. “It was me that thought you killed Lance. Angela insisted you wouldn’t.”