“Report just came in, Sheriff. Ricky’s prelim was right on the money.”
So the bullet was a .40 caliber, shot through the barrel of a Glock 22. The Glock was standard issue for most law enforcement officers in their state, including the four members of her department. Of course. Because why would anything about this case be easy?
“You sure, Wil?”
“Got the report right here if you want to read it, boss.”
Caitlin let out a rough exhale, causing loose strands of her red hair to flutter around a face pinched with annoyance. “Yeah,” she said after a second, before pushing away from her desk. “I do.”
As she rose from her seat, Sullivan’s soft cries seemed to echo in the close quarters. The sound was like nails scraping down a chalkboard for Caitlin. Looking past her, she caught Wilhelmina’s eye, nodded at Sullivan’s bowed head, and pleaded silently with her.
Willie rolled her heavily made-up eyes, a theatrical gesture that was all the more impressive since she didn’t smudge either her eyeshadow or mascara behind her glasses. Caitlin jerked her head at the weeper, throwing in a pout for good measure. Willie sighed, then nodded.
“Mrs. Sullivan, that’s it for today’s interview,” Caitlin said, raising her voice so that she could drown out the weeping. As far as she was concerned, the sooner she didn’t have to listen to the incessant crying, the better. “You can go—just don’t go far. There’s a good chance we’ll have to revisit this matter again and soon. So long as you stay on at Maria’s place, I’ll know how to get in touch with you. If you need anything before you leave the station house, make sure to ask Willie. That’ll be all for now.”
Then, before she felt compelled to offer the outsider a tissue, she quickly made her escape.
Shaking her head at how quickly the sheriff ran out of the room, Wilhelmina approached Tessa. Her knees creaked as she bent low enough to place her hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “You feeling okay, sugar?”
Her whole body tensed and tightened under the soft touch. Tess sniffled, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand before she rubbed underneath her nose. Weak and shaky from her latest crying jag—plus the revelation that she was as much a suspect as ever in the sheriff’s eyes—made the deputy’s soft question almost laughable.
Did she feel okay? Not even a little.
She was sitting in a police station, once again weighed down with the belief that she was responsible for a crime she couldn’t have possibly committed on her own. Where would she have gotten a gun from? And why would she want to shoot Lucas? It nearly broke her all over again to know he'd been hit. And how was she supposed to have conjured up some accomplice when she'd never even been to Hamlet before?
Things stopped being okay the second the tire went flat. That was her fault, too. She knew deep down that, regardless of her relief and her freedom, she would never stop blaming herself for causing that.
Brushing her hair out of her face, Tessa let out a soft, shaky breath. It didn’t matter if she felt okay. She had to let everyone else think that she was.
If she was an outsider, these people were simply strangers. Enough of them had seen her fall to pieces these last few days, and now she had to go and start crying in front of the sheriff.
She nodded, her throat raw. “I’m just ducky.”
Wilhelmina gave her a quick squeeze. “C’mon, sug. No reason for you to keep hanging around here. Let’s get you back to Ophelia.”
The groan was already slipping out before she had the chance to swallow it. How was she supposed to go back? Deputy Collins had picked her up and driven her over to the station house at Sheriff De Angelis’s request. It wasn’t like she could use someone’s radio and ask him to drive her back. If he wasn’t on patrol, he was off duty and nowhere in his job title did it say chauffeur.
Besides, she was sick and tired of having to rely on someone else for a ride. She hadn’t had a sip to drink since that night at Thirsty’s, nor did she have any desire to return to the bar. There was no good reason why she couldn't drive.
Last night, before she took one of the pills that knocked her out, Tess thought about the strange situation with her missing car. No matter who she tried to ask, no one knew anything about it—or, in the case of Mason, he constantly blew right past it, as if he didn’t want to answer. She was beginning to suspect that they were purposely keeping her car from her because she was a flight risk.
It wasn’t right, though. And it wasn’t fair. She didn’t think that they should be able to keep her car impounded without at least telling her why.
It struck her then that she’d never tried to ask Willie. Though she was as much a deputy as Mason and Collins, she told Tess in conversation that she was the one responsible for most of the paperwork. If anyone knew what happened to Tess’s car, it would have to be her.
Trotting along after the older woman like a puppy, she said softly, “Um, Wilhelmina—”
“Just Willie, sugar. I know that name of mine is a mouthful, so just Willie is fine.”
“Willie,” Tess conceded. Wilhelmina might have told her the same thing right after she found Jack and Mason shepherded her back to the station house. It was another fuzzy memory lost to the haze. “It’s something I’ve been meaning to ask. You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to my car, would you?”
“Car?” Pencil-thin eyebrows winged up over the wide swath of blue eyeshadow. “What do you mean?”
“My car. Well, my… my husband’s, I guess. We drove into Hamlet in it. I could drive myself back to Ophelia if someone would tell me where to find it.”
Either she was an amazing actress or Willie really didn’t know the answer to her question. She shook her head, her glasses slipping down her nose. “I don’t have half a clue, sugar, sorry. Mason said he was gonna take care of it himself but, shoot, I’ve got no idea what that boy did with your vehicle.” Her hand slid to her belt, long red fingernails tapping the plastic side of her radio. “You want me to give him a buzz? I can find out for you.”
Tess could still see the fury in his gaze, hear the demand in his voice. She quickly shook her head. “No. No, that’s okay. He might be busy.”