The Book of Cold Cases(71)

She couldn’t afford to feel bad for anyone right now. Not even herself.

Her refusal to talk galled Detective Black, she knew. He thought that now that the worst had happened—now that Beth was sitting in a jail cell wearing an oversized jumpsuit—she should finally be a proper woman and fold under pressure. Beth sat in her cell and knew that Detective Black was bound to be disappointed in her. Being behind bars, eating crappy food, being called a murdering cunt—these weren’t the worst things that could happen. The worst things had already happened years ago.

She looked up one day to see Black being let through the door of her cell, the uniformed female guard closing the door behind him. Beth had been given no notice he was coming.

He was wearing a dark blue suit. She wondered if his kindergarten-teacher girlfriend had helped him pick it out. He was clean-shaven, his hair neatly combed, though he wore it a little long for a cop. Beth had caught the faintest whiff of aftershave when he’d walked next to her during the arrest, and she knew that if she could lean in and smell his neck, the scent would be pungent and male. Aftershave, Beth thought, was one of the most important scents in any girl’s world. It was the smell of fathers, or uncles, or teachers, or priests, or husbands. Beth’s own father had worn aftershave, but the smell would be different on Detective Black, because sometimes aftershave was the smell of a man who wasn’t, and would never be, yours.

He looked at her for a long moment as she sat on the edge of the cot in her cell, wearing her denim blue jail jumpsuit. It was cold in here, but Beth didn’t cross her arms. She kept her hands at the edge of the bed, beside her hips, holding on as she looked him in the eye.

“Where’s the gun?” he asked her.

“I don’t know,” Beth said. The truth, for once.

“Why were you at the second murder scene?”

“I wasn’t.” So much for the truth, then.

Ransom would have a panic attack if he could hear her right now.

Detective Black scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’re covering for someone,” he said. “You know I know it. You know it’s the only answer that makes sense. The question is who. And why.”

Beth said nothing.

“I’ll find the answer, you know. I’ll find who you’re covering for.”

She’ll kill you if you do. “You won’t.”

“You don’t have much faith in me. I’m very good at my job.”

“If I’m convicted, you won’t have to bother.”

Was she going to be convicted? Ransom was her only hope. She had told him to get her out of this, and she knew he was going to use every trick in his book. He did it because she paid him, so she had no sentimental attachment to Ransom. But still, right now he was all she had.

“You have to tell me,” Detective Black said, still a few moves behind. “Beth, you’re not stupid. You know how serious this is. Everyone, and I mean everyone, believes this was you. I’m the only one who sees what’s really happening. You’re going to be convicted, do you understand? You’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison. I’m the only one who can help you.”

It was a good speech, but Lily had taught Beth well. Everyone wants what they want: That was one of Lily’s lessons. Detective Black wanted to help her, yes. But he also wanted to solve this case. He wanted to be the one to uncover the truth. He wanted justice. He wanted Lily.

No. No one got to have Lily. No one except Beth.

“The Hamlet act is getting old,” Beth told Detective Black. “You’re so torn, aren’t you? You think I didn’t do it, but you also think I’m a lying bitch.”

He looked like she’d suddenly spit on him. “I don’t think that.”

“Yes, you do. I didn’t kill those men, but I could have. I could have shot them while I looked in their faces, watched them die, and felt nothing. That’s what you think, yet you know I didn’t actually do it. It’s driving you crazy, and it’s so boring.”

Black shook his head. There were splotches of red on his cheekbones. “You’re trying to piss me off. But, Beth, I’m trying to help you.”

“No one,” Beth said clearly, slowly, letting the words ring through the cold cell, “no one is trying to help me. No one is coming for me.” Black opened his mouth, but Beth talked over him. She was so sick of people talking over her, of men interrupting her and speaking on her behalf. As if they knew even a fraction of what went on in her mind, as if they knew what it was like to be her, for a day, for an hour. Sometimes she was so angry she wished she’d shot those men herself, which was exactly what Lily understood about her.

“I can help myself,” Beth told him. “I don’t need you. Go home to your kindergarten teacher. Go marry her and make your conventional little life. And don’t ever come back here.”

Now Black had his own flare of anger, rare and welcome, at least to Beth. “You’re being a fucking idiot. I’m the only one who wants to get you out of this—not because you’re paying me a fee, but because I actually want to. If you’re convicted, your life is over.”

“So what? I’m nothing to you. Get out.”

He held steady. “I’m not giving up. If you didn’t do this, then whoever did goes free to do it again. Whoever has that gun. Whoever wrote those notes and shot those men. It’s a woman, isn’t it? You know it is. If she isn’t you, Beth, then she’s going to kill more people until she’s stopped. Are you going to be a part of that?”