“You could have left.”
“That’s so easy for you to say.” Venom leaches into her voice. “You got out. You found your life. I stayed and they were killing me. I hated them for it.”
Sirens wail in the distance. Somewhere in the periphery of my consciousness I hear T.J. moving around. His boots grinding broken glass against the floor. The hiss and chatter of his radio.
I glance over my shoulder to find him looking at me expectantly. I don’t know what he sees in my eyes, but I’m compelled to say, “I’m okay.”
“I know you are,” he replies.
He’s barely gotten the words out when a Holmes County Sheriff’s deputy’s voice comes over the radio to report that he’s found David Borntrager unharmed.
Casting a final look at Mattie, I walk away.
CHAPTER 25
The next hours pass in a flurry of activity of which I don’t seem to be a part of because I’m not participating. I’m not in shock, but as I answer a barrage of questions from T.J. and two deputies from the Holmes County Sheriff’s department, I feel as if I’m operating from inside an airtight jar. I hear my voice, I see their responses, hear their words. But somehow we’re not quite connecting.
Within minutes of T.J.’s initial call, Glock and a young social worker with Children Services were sent to the Borntrager farm. A second deputy was dispatched to the quarry where my vehicle sits in sixty feet of water. I’m standing on the sidewalk in front of the clinic with a blanket over my shoulders when Mattie is taken into custody. Time slows to a crawl when her eyes meet mine. I don’t know what she sees on my face, but she can’t seem to stop looking at me. I’d wanted a few minutes alone with her. I want to know how much she knew. When she knew it. I need to know if she’s as guilty as Armitage. But I let the moment pass and then she’s gone.
I was given an obligatory physical exam by an EMT at the scene. I balked, of course, but because of my ordeal in the water, the injury to my hand, and the injection administered earlier by Armitage, I was taken by ambulance to the ER at Pomerene Hospital, where a young resident took two vials of blood, removed a four-inch sliver of wood from my hand, and spent an hour bandaging, prodding, and making jokes that weren’t quite funny. I appreciated the attempt at humor nonetheless.
Sheriff Mike Rasmussen showed up shortly after my arrival and stuck by me like a two-year-old to his mommy. I don’t know if he was there in a law enforcement capacity or if he was there to support me. It didn’t matter; I was glad for the company. Once I was given a clean bill of health, he whisked me to his cruiser and did a decent job of making small talk during the drive to the Sheriff’s Department in Millersburg. Once there, I was given coffee, offered a cigarette—which I accepted despite the fact that the office is a smoke-free environment. I was taken into the largest and most comfortable interview room and spent the next hour going over every detail, from the moment I found the pin in the gravel behind the clinic to when T.J. arrived on scene. I answered every question posed, laughed when appropriate, and basically played the role to which I’d been cast. By the time we’re finished, I’m exhausted and numb and want badly to go home, shower, and fall into bed.
I don’t know who called Tomasetti, but he’s waiting for me when I walk out of the sheriff’s office. My stride falters when I spot him, leaning against the Tahoe, his cell phone against his ear. He watches me approach, mutters something into the phone, and hangs up, all the while his eyes never leaving me.
I greet him with, “Who are you talking to at two o’clock in the morning?”
“My mom.”
The sound that escapes me sounds nothing like the laugh I intended. His mother passed away some ten years ago. I suspect he was getting a quick update from Rasmussen.
He rounds the front of the SUV and opens the passenger door for me. “Everything go okay in there?”
“I’m probably off the case.” I slide onto the seat and fasten my belt.
“You’re too close to it. Might be a good thing.”
“I wanted to finish this.”
“Imagine that.” His voice is teasing, but a thread of gravity comes through. “Just so you know, Kate, I’m not going to let you go home and lay into that bottle of vodka.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.”
He gives me a knowing look before slamming the door.
We don’t speak on the drive to my house. He doesn’t bother parking in the alley this time, but I don’t remind him about small towns and gossip. The truth of the matter is, I don’t care. I’m like a zombie as he guides me to the front door and takes my key to open it.