“Tess, you came!”
The orange jumpsuit they put him in made his tan complexion look faded and wan. The circles underneath his bloodshot eyes were so dark, they were nearly black. He looked like he hadn’t had a wink of sleep since his arrest.
Taking care not to get too close to him, Tess edged closer to the cell. She stopped with more than a foot separating them. “Why did you do it?”
Her whisper hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. Mason recoiled, folding over as he shoved away from the cell bars before staggering back. Shock made his features go slack, replaced by utter despair only seconds later.
“You believe them.” His tone was empty. “You think I could have done any of this.”
She wouldn’t let his wounded expression sway her from her what she came here to do. “Deputy Walsh, I—”
“Mason. Tess, I’m still Mason. Don’t do this,” he begged. “Please.”
It really was like that first night all over again. He’d insisted she call him by his name rather than his title even after he brought her down to the station. This time, though, she didn’t indulge him.
This time she wasn’t the one behind bars.
“Deputy Walsh,” she repeated. She wouldn’t make this personal. She couldn’t let herself. “What else am I supposed to do?”
He raised his voice. “Believe me instead! You’ve gotta know that I didn’t do this. I would never hurt Caitlin!”
“You handed that gun over yourself, you told them it was yours. The bullets matched.” Tess paused, taking a second to compose herself. It didn’t work. When she spoke again, her voice wavered. “The rope matched, too.”
“It’s imposs—”
“You strangled my husband.”
“Tess, I never—”
“They found the rope. Detective Rodriguez showed me the photo. Did you know that I remember every single detail about what he looked like dead? It was burned into my mind so bad, I’ve been branded with the memory. I’ll never forget. You could show me a hundred different ropes and I would know it again if I saw it.” Her chin wobbled. “You had that rope in your garage, Deputy.”
“It wasn’t mine. I don’t know how—”
She never rose her voice. “You gave them your gun. You had to know they would figure it out. Did you want to get caught? Tell me. What reason did you have to hurt them?”
“I didn’t! You have to believe me!” In desperation, he yanked the bars again, rattling them. “I’m innocent!”
Spit flew from his mouth. Despite the distance she imposed, the spit hit her dead in the face. Tess took a hurried step away from him. Wiping her cheek, her nose, she shook her head, wrung her hands. And she wondered, if it were possible, would she take back any of her actions that led them to this point? What would she change?
Since she knew the answer to that question, Tess glanced up. She met his gaze straight.
“You have no idea how much I wish that was true, but it can’t be. I’m sorry, Mason.” The name slipped out. His eyes lit up. She took another step away from him. “So, so sorry. But not as sorry as you’re going to be.”
With those parting words, she nodded at the deputy waiting to escort her back through the jailhouse.
Mason shouting her name was the last thing she heard before the first corridor separated them.
23
Caitlin De Angelis’s wake was held on Monday. She was buried on Tuesday. By Wednesday, Tess was ready to grab her luggage and walk out of Hamlet if she had to.
She was willing to climb the mountain, leap over the gulch, hitchhike as far as she could go, buy a new damn car with Jack’s life insurance. Anything.
As if answering her prayers, the intercom rang early that afternoon.
“Yes?”
A rush of static, then Maria’s apologetic voice. “Tessa, sweetie?” Her voice sounded as throaty as normal, yet tinged with sleep. She must have just woken up. “Someone’s here to see you. They’re waiting at the front door for you. Do you want me to send him to your room?”