Bane (Sinners of Saint #4)(99)

My father had once told me that Alexander Pushkin was born into Russian nobility and died in a duel with his brother-in-law, a French aristocrat, who’d tried to seduce his wife. I remembered thinking people had really crazy lives back then, but I didn’t think that anymore. As I sat inside my Rover, outside the Todos Santos Police Station, strangling the steering wheel with my hands, I realized that his life had been no odder than mine.

Because we all had crazy stories.

I’d been raped twice.

Born to a mother who’d never really loved me.

Taunted and ridiculed in high school, manipulated by my own therapist.

All those things were true, but while they had happened, so had other things. Great things. I was blessed in so many ways:

Finding Gail.

Finding a job.

Finding literature, and words, and sentences that inspired me to be better, both to other people and to myself.

Finding Bane.

I threw the door to my vehicle open and walked into the station on autopilot, slinging my backpack across my shoulder. I couldn’t believe I was doing it. It hadn’t changed one bit since the time I provided a statement more than two years ago.

A sleepy receptionist with big dark curls and kind eyes looked over from the reception counter, scanning me. “How can I help you, sweetheart?”

“I need to amend a statement I gave two and a half years ago.”

I told her my name.

She gave me a second glance, this time thorough and curious, and told me to wait. I watched her turn around and hurry over to her shoulder bag hanging from her office chair, taking out her personal phone and dialing up a number. My palms began to sweat, and I regretted showing up here. What if Emery, Nolan, and Henry’s parents had paid someone to keep me silent? What if I’d just walked into a lawsuit waiting to happen? Did I even have enough evidence?

Maybe she was calling Mr. Wallace right now. I couldn’t face him. He was one of the most formidable men I’d ever met.

Two minutes later, the woman in the uniform was beside me again. “Coffee?” She smiled breezily.

I wiped my palms over my pants. My jaw was hurting because I was trying to keep myself from screaming.

“I’m fine,” I clipped. “What’s going on?”

The lady looked down, her gaze resting on the ample chest covered by her khaki dress shirt. “I called Detective Madison Villegas. She said she was expecting you.”

“She was?”

“Yes. Two years ago.”

Villegas. The woman who’d cried when I gave my statement.

The woman who’d desperately tried to get a word with me, alone, but Darren, Pam, and the two lawyers they’d brought along with them had never allowed her to. They’d said my reputation would be tarnished, and therefore, so would my life. That I wouldn’t be able to recover. That Emery’s dad was going to destroy our family. They’d said that no one was going to believe me, because it was their word against mine, and they were the golden rich kids, and I was some girl from Anaheim who’d made a stupid mistake and regretted it.

They’d said so many things that broke my heart that day.

I swallowed. “She knew I’d be back?”

The woman nodded, resting her hand on top of mine. “You’re doing the right thing, Miss Carter.”

A few minutes later, I was sitting in Detective Villegas’ office. She was a petite woman with delicate bone structure and a fresh, short, chocolate bob. Her movements were quick and efficient, but her eyes and mouth were full of crinkles and soul.

“Tell me everything from the start,” she said. I did. I circled back to what had happened when I was twelve and continued until the moment I’d heard the ambulance picking me up after the guys raped me. I told her about the way Mayra covered up for Darren, and about Pam turning a blind eye to all of this. And Darren’s letter, I told her about it, too. Then I produced the plastic bag and slid it across her desk.

Her eyes bulged. “The evidence.”

“Where did you think it was?”

Detective Villegas shook her head. “They said it disappeared somewhere in the hospital when you were admitted. It was my first clue something was fishy.”

I gave her the original copy of his letter to me—I had a few more stacked in my backpack and saved in my cloud—along with all the evidence from school. All the pictures I’d taken when I’d visited All Saints High.

Villegas looked attentive, sympathetic, but most of all, focused. “And you said they’re now in college, studying on the East Coast.” She scribbled something in her notepad, not looking up at me. I shook my head.

“They are here on vacation. There’s a party tonight.”

She looked up. Smiled. I smiled back. We shared something that was much more than words. I’d like to believe it was the realization that something bigger than us, justice, was about to take over the lives of those who’d ruined mine. I asked her what I should expect, and she said that I needed someone to lean on, because the ride was about to get bumpy. I could only think of one man I wanted there, and I hoped that he wanted to be there with me.

Before I left Villegas’ office, I asked her how she knew I was going to come back and tell her the truth.

She shrugged and took a sip of her Starbucks. “I knew you weren’t telling the truth. Your parents were covering for them.”