Pretty Girls Dancing(73)
“It’s okay, Mom. I’m okay.”
“I’ve brought your meds.” Claire set her purse down on the floor and twisted off the top to the small bottle she still held. “I know you haven’t been taking them. You need one now.”
“No, the worst is over.” Janie was turned in her chair to face her, her gaze focused on Claire’s face. Recognizing the coping strategy for what it was, Claire nearly wept. Janie could speak if she successfully blocked out the others in the room. Focused on her mother. Pretended there were no strangers present. It meant she was still struggling to keep the debilitating waves of nerves in check.
“Baby.” Claire’s voice trembled as she reached up with her free hand to brush back her daughter’s long, dark hair. “Why won’t you just make it easier on yourself?”
In answer, Janie captured her hand in one of hers. With the other, she reached into her pocket and took something out. Set it on the table before her. Clicked a switch.
“You need to be strong.” Janie’s whisper was nearly lost as voices filled the room.
“Yeah, yeah, the punk look is totally popular right now.”
Claire frowned in confusion. “Who’s the man talking?”
“Shh.” The admonishment came from Sergeant Rossi. Glancing his way, she saw his brows furrow. He and Deputy Krantz appeared to be listening intently.
“So how does this deal work? I mean, how do I make money off this gig? Can I get paid for these pictures?”
Janie’s hand tightened on hers. A terrible wave of déjà vu swept over Claire. “Oh, Janie, no.” Her voice trembled, and for a moment, she thought she’d be sick, right there where she knelt next to her daughter’s chair. It was like being frozen in place on the tracks as a runaway locomotive hurtled toward her. She could do nothing to prevent it. There was no way to stop the inescapable collision of the past and present.
“How ’bout you, sweetheart? You interested in pictures, too?”
“She probably will be when she sees mine. You took photos of her sister a long time ago. That’s how we knew about you.”
Claire pressed the hand that still held the prescription bottle to her lips, but couldn’t prevent a tiny moan from escaping. Oh, Janie. An inner wail echoed in her brain. What have you done?
“Oh, yeah? Who’s your sister?”
“Kelsey Willard.”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember. You don’t look much like her.”
Janie switched off the recorder. The contrasting silence in the room was deafening. Gaze still locked with Claire’s, she said, “You told the investigators back when Kelsey went missing. You’d heard something about a man photographing young girls. But it never led anywhere. At least, not that you ever heard.”
Claire stared at her, recognizing the lies she’d told her daughter only days earlier. Now they were a lifeline, an offer of rescue from her own sea of dishonesty. “I don’t know if they followed up. But we never heard anything more about it.” The words were for the deputies’ benefit. How humbling that her seventeen-year-old daughter had found a way to free Claire’s secret after all these years. How humiliating that she’d had to do so at all, and in a way that left her mother blameless. Claire had an overwhelming urge to reach into the bottle she still held and swallow a couple of the pills inside. The one she’d taken after the call from this office had done little to quiet the apprehension that was spiking and careening inside her right now.
“Is there more on that recording?”
Janie switched it on again, but the words tumbled over Claire with no meaning. The old fear she’d lived with since she’d made that fateful decision to destroy the photos was a fanged beast, and it was devouring her now. What could the police have learned from the pictures themselves that they couldn’t have discovered from the lie she’d given them? Nothing. She still believed that. But she was well versed in the art of self-delusion. She knew she couldn’t rely on her own rationalizations for the truth.
“Who is he?” Her words sounded rusty. “Who’s the man on the tape?”
“His name is Herb Newman, ma’am. He’s a janitor at West Bend High School.”
A distant ping of recognition sounded, but Claire’s thoughts were too scattered to pursue it.
“Alyvia heard a rumor from someone at a party she attended a few weeks ago. About Newman taking pictures of Kelsey.” The tightness with which Janie was squeezing Claire’s hand had her wincing a little. “We wanted to find out for ourselves. Hear him admit it. I figured if I had proof, the police would have more to go on this time. They could question him about his contact with Kelsey. Maybe he’d never been questioned before.”
This close to her daughter, looking into her eyes, Claire knew the girl was lying. Her expression was too determined, a glint of warning alight in her gaze. Despite the disability that still took its toll, Janie had an indomitable will. Hadn’t Dr. Drake said as much many times over the years?
Slowly Claire rose, using the edge of the table to support herself. She looked at Rossi. “What will you do with that man? You can’t let him go free. Not without discovering—”
“We’re still holding him, ma’am.” If Claire hadn’t found the sergeant intimidating before, his expression now was positively forbidding. “You can be sure we’ll take all steps to learn what he knows. We’ll also turn the information over to the BCI.”