Dance was frowning slightly and flipping through her notes.
The girl added, “Well, except when it was time to leave. I meant during the party he was hanging by himself mostly.”
Dance said, “On the ride home you did, though.” Tapping the notebook.
“Yeah, talked some. I don’t remember too much. It was all a blur, with the crash and all.”
“I’m sure it was. But I’m going to read you a couple of statements and I’d like you to fill in the details. Tell me if anything jogs your memory about what Travis said on the drive home, before the accident.”
“I guess.”
Dance consulted her notebook. “Okay, here’s the first one: ‘The house was pretty sweet but the driveway freaked me out.’” She looked up. “I was thinking maybe that meant Travis had a fear of heights.”
“Yeah, that’s what he was talking about. The driveway was on this hillside, and we were talking about it. Travis said he’d always had this fear of falling. He looked at the driveway and he said why didn’t they have a guardrail on it.”
“Good. That’s helpful.” Another smile. Caitlin reciprocated. Dance returned to the notes. “And this one? ‘I think boats rule. I’ve always wanted one.’”
“Oh, that? Yeah. We were talking about Fisherman’s Wharf. Travis really thought it’d be cool to sail to Santa Cruz.” She looked away. “I think he wanted to ask me to go with him, but he was too shy.”
Dance smiled. “So he might be hiding out on a boat somewhere.”
“Yeah, that could be it. I think he said something about how neat it would be to stow away on a boat.”
“Good… . Here’s another one. ‘She has more friends than me. I only have one or two I could hang out with.’”
“Yeah, I remember him saying that. I felt sorry for him, that he didn’t have many friends. He talked about it for a while.”
“Did he mention names? Anybody he might be staying with? Think. It’s important.”
The teenager squinted and her hand rubbed her knee. Then sighed. “Nope.”
“That’s okay, Caitlin.”
“I’m sorry.” A faint pout.
Dance kept the smile on her face. She was steeling herself for what was coming next. It would be difficult — for the girl, for her mother, for Dance herself. But there was no choice.
She leaned forward. “Caitlin, you’re not being honest with me.”
The girl blinked. “What?”
Virginia Gardner muttered, “You can’t say that to my daughter.”
“Travis didn’t tell me any of those things,” Dance said, her voice neutral. “I made them up.”
“You lied!” the mother snapped.
No, she hadn’t, not technically. She’d crafted her words carefully and never said they were actual statements from Travis Brigham.
The girl had gone pale.
The mother grumbled, “What is this, some kind of trap?”
Yes, that was exactly what it was. Dance had a theory and she needed to prove it true or false. Lives were at stake.
Dance ignored the mother and said to Caitlin, “But you were playing along as if Travis had said all of those things to you in the car.”
“I… I was just trying to be helpful. I felt bad I didn’t know more.”
“No, Caitlin. You thought you might very well have talked with him about them in the car. But you couldn’t remember because you were intoxicated.”
“No!”
“I’m going to ask you to leave now,” the girl’s mother blurted.
“I’m not through,” Dance growled, shutting up Virginia Gardner.
The agent assessed: with her science background — and her survival skills in this household — Caitlin had a thinking and sensing personality type, according to the Myers-Briggs index. She struck Dance as probably more introverted than extraverted. And, though her liar’s personality would fluctuate, she was at the moment an adaptor.
Lying for self-preservation.
If Dance had had more time she might have drawn the truth out slowly and in more depth. But with the Myers-Briggs typing and Caitlin’s personality of adaptor, Dance assessed she could push and not have to coddle, the way she had with Tammy Foster.
“You were drinking at the party.”
“I—”
“Caitlin, people saw you.”
“I had a few drinks, sure.”
“Before coming here I talked to several students who were there. They said that you, Vanessa and Trish drank almost a fifth of tequila after you saw Mike with Brianna.”
“Well… okay, so what?”
“You’re seventeen,” her mother raged, “that’s what!”
Dance said evenly, “I’ve called an accident reconstruction service, Caitlin. They’re going to look over your car at the police impound lot. They measure things like seat and rearview mirror adjustment. They can tell the height of the driver.”
The girl was completely still, though her jaw trembled.
“Caitlin, it’s time to tell the truth. A lot depends on it. Other people’s lives are at stake.”
“What truth?” her mother whispered.
Dance kept her eyes on the girl. “Caitlin was driving the car that night. Not Travis.”
“No!” Virginia Gardner wailed.
“Weren’t you, Caitlin?”
The teenager said nothing for a minute. Then her head dropped, her chest collapsed. Dance read pain and defeat through her body. Her kinesic message was: Yes.
Her voice breaking, Caitlin said, “Mike left with that little slut hanging on him and her hand down the back of his jeans! I knew they went back to his place to fuck. I was going to drive there… I was going to…”
“All right,” her mother ordered, “that’s enough.”
“Be quiet!” the girl yelled to her mother and started to sob. She turned to Dance. “Yes, I was driving!” The guilt had finally detonated within her.
Dance continued, “After the accident Travis pulled you into the passenger seat and he got in the driver’s. He pretended he was driving. He did that to save you.”
She thought back to the initial interview with Travis.