First Girl Gone(105)

“It’ll wash off,” Charlie said.

From where she was situated, Charlie could see the steel skeleton of the Ferris wheel against the moonlit sky. In a way, it felt like she was keeping an eye on both scenes. Todd had been apprehended at the park without issue, still right where Charlie had left him. According to Zoe, he’d said nothing as they cuffed him and hauled him off. Just stared at the ground.

And now a different set of police surely gathered evidence and filmed and flashed their cameras among the warped mirrors of the funhouse as well.

A kind of closure seemed to accompany actually being at the scene. Observing while the police sifted through what was left. When they were done, when all the evidence was sorted and logged and bagged and taken away, only then would it feel over—or at least as over as it ever could feel.

For now, the scene still swarmed with life. Crime scene techs worked every inch, inside and out. Scrutinizing. Analyzing. Recording.

And memories flared now and again. Little movies of the night’s events playing in Charlie’s head.

Waking in the car, the pale green light of the dash lighting Todd’s profile.

The flashlight spinning around them in the hall of mirrors. All those reflections of the two shadows becoming one in the strobe effect.

The blood slowly seeping out of the crease in Todd’s forehead where she’d bashed him. Thick red rising up from within.

And finally, the image of Charlie lifting the gun up over her head, her face and chest already spattered with his blood. Seeing herself. Stopping short.

Todd Ritter. Part of her still couldn’t believe it was him.

Charlie had a gut feeling—a possible explanation for the crimes, for Todd’s motive—but she didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, not even in the privacy of her own head. She’d wait and see what he had to say for himself in the ensuing interrogation.

“You know I’m proud of you, don’t you, Charlie?”

It was Allie. Charlie didn’t say anything. Terrified she was imagining it, or that a reply might break the spell.

“You did good. Saved Kara. Brought Todd Ritter to justice. Best anyone could do, I think.”

Charlie’s eyelids fluttered.

“It’s like Uncle Frank says, people need the truth,” Allie said. “You may not be able to undo the worst of what happens in life. But what happened to Amber Spadafore, what happened to me. It leaves a wound on the world.”

Tears came to Charlie’s eyes then, blurring the twirling police lights. Bars of red and blue shone in her eyes. Strange jewels created where the light refracted through the lens of water.

“That’s why we need people like you. Someone to come along to patch things up as best you can, you know? Stop the bleeding. Society needs that to keep functioning. Someone to set things right.”

All of the shapes and colors shifted like a kaleidoscope when Charlie blinked.

“I know it’s not an easy job. And I know it hurts sometimes. Because you can’t bring back the dead.”

She paused.

“But you can still try your best. You can fight for the victims. Stand up and make sure that justice is served. And you did a damn good job of that, I’d say.”

“Thanks,” Charlie said. She wiped at the corner of her eye and sniffed.

“Kicking Will in the balls was a nice touch, too,” Allie said. “I mean, that was hilarious.”





Chapter Ninety-Three





Charlie and Zoe watched the interrogation through two-way glass.

Todd Ritter looked smaller in the orange county jail jumpsuit. There was a blank expression etched into the folds around his eyes as he hunched over the table.

Cuffs bound him at the wrists and ankles with chains looping through both, shackling him to the floor and interrogation table alike.

He sat motionless next to his lawyer. Completely still. He stared at nothing. Eyes piercing empty space. Glossy.

Everyone was waiting for the detective to show up. He was late. Probably wanted to let Todd stew a while. Keep him waiting. Uncomfortable.

“You really did a number on him,” Zoe said, a note of pride in her voice.

“I kind of expected him to look worse, to be honest,” Charlie said.

Gauze held a swatch of bandage to the center of his forehead. Charlie couldn’t see even the faintest hint of blood showing through the white. Probably stitched up under there. Starting to heal already.

The other wounds, those lower on his face, had scabbed over. Dark splotches marring his complexion along his cheekbones and chin. Nothing serious.

Staring at the man she now knew to be responsible for abducting Kara Dawkins and murdering Amber Spadafore, part of Charlie wanted to believe she’d found Allie’s killer as well. But the sheriff’s department had ruled out that possibility—Todd Ritter had been in grad school in Texas at the time of Allie’s murder. Once and for all, she had to admit that this case was in no way linked to her sister’s.

Something stirred finally in the interrogation room, the door swinging open. The murmur of voices in the observation room went quiet.

“Here we go,” Zoe whispered, standing up straighter.

The detective sauntered in. Slapped a manila folder on the table. The edges of some of the photos leaked out of the side. A ploy, Charlie thought. An implied threat, leaving them mostly to the imagination for now.