“Also,” he says, “your fingerprints were on the handle of a knife in her house.”
“I explained that. I picked up a knife to defend myself in case there was an intruder in the house. And it wasn’t like she was stabbed to death.”
Ferguson smiles apologetically. “Also,” he adds, “the police found blood and hair in the trunk of your car. It matched up to what they found in Schiff’s house.”
My mouth falls open. They found Dawn’s blood and hair in my trunk? I can’t even begin to explain that one.
“Not to mention,” he goes on. Oh my God, there’s more? “Your boyfriend’s statement is extremely damaging. That’s going to be a hard one to rip apart.”
“Is it really that bad?” I ask. “I mean, yes, we weren’t together that night.”
“And you lied about it.”
I wince. “Yes, I did. But have you seen that detective? He’s terrifying. And I didn’t make a statement under oath. I just didn’t have an alibi for that night. There are plenty of people who don’t have an alibi for Monday night.”
Ferguson gives me a funny look. “That’s not all your boyfriend said.”
“This completely isn’t fair.” I squeeze my right hand into a fist. “Santoro was harassing Caleb. He found him and forced him to say a bunch of things he probably didn’t mean.”
“No, that’s not what happened at all. Caleb McCullough came to the station voluntarily. He told them he wanted to make a statement, and they recorded it. I saw the transcript.”
I blink at him, wondering if I heard him right. “Caleb asked to make a statement?”
“That’s right.”
“But…” My thoughts won’t stop racing. This doesn’t sound right. “What did he say?”
“It’s, uh… not good.” Ferguson rifles through the pile of papers in front of him until I want to rip them out of his hands. “He said that you pressured him into lying about being together that night. He said that he left your house at around nine-thirty after you asked him to leave. Apparently, you told him you had somewhere to be.”
“What?” I cry. “That’s ridiculous! That’s a complete lie.”
“Well, that’s what he said. He also said that you and Dawn didn’t get along. That you were constantly picking on her. That the two of you hated each other.”
My head is spinning. Caleb said that about me? Why would he say that? He barely knew Dawn, and he wasn’t even around work that much. And even if he did think I was bullying Dawn, why would he say that to the police? That’s a pretty awful thing to say about your girlfriend.
“As you can see,” Ferguson says, “they have a strong case against you. But there is some good news.”
“Like what?” I choke out. At this rate, I’m looking at life in prison.
“Well,” he says, “they don’t have a dead body.”
My head snaps up. “What? I don’t understand. The detective said they found Dawn’s body.” Beaten to death.
“Actually…” He shuffles through the papers in front of him again. “They were having trouble identifying the body because she was beaten so badly and her teeth were destroyed, so dental records couldn’t be used. But DNA testing has now revealed that it was not Dawn Schiff.”
My head is spinning. Another girl about the same age turned up dead right in our neighborhood? It seems like a big coincidence, but I suppose a good number of people are murdered in big cities, and some percentage of them are going to be young women. “So… she might not even be dead?”
He gives me a look. Based on the amount of blood on the floor of her house, plus the blood in my car, and the fact that she has not resurfaced all point to the fact that she is almost certainly dead. And I am still very much the prime suspect.
“Can I be convicted of murder if there’s no body?” I ask.
“It’s harder, but still possible. I think you have a good chance of getting bail.”
That would be great news if I had any chance of being able to afford the bail. “But what about a conviction?” I press him.
He hesitates. “These are some really serious charges, Ms. Farrell. And the DA has a super strong case, like I said. Given the circumstances, your best bet is to confess and take a plea bargain.”
“Confess!” I cry. “But I didn’t do anything!”
Ferguson flashes me a skeptical look. “You know, we have that attorney-client confidentiality thingy. It’s better if you tell me the truth, so I can help you. I’m not allowed to tell anyone, so you should be honest with me.”
“I didn’t,” I insist. “I swear.”
Ferguson frowns. He might be young, but apparently five months of defending criminals have already made him jaded. “Fine,” he says. “But either way, it might be worth taking a plea bargain. Go to prison for a few years, then you’ll be out. If we take a chance and go to trial, especially if the body surfaces, you’ll be looking at life in prison.”
Life in prison.
Life in prison.
Ferguson starts talking about the bail hearing on Monday, but I can barely focus on what he is saying. Life in prison. Those three words keep repeating in my head over and over. If this goes badly, I could be living in a cell until the day I die. Behind bars. That’s even worse than a cubicle.
Life in prison.
I can’t let that happen to me. I can’t.
If it looks like I’m going down for this, if it looks like I might spend the rest of my life in prison, I’m going to end it all. I’ll drive back out to Wollaston Beach, and I’ll throw myself off the pier in the middle of the night at high tide. Nobody will be able to save me.
But I hope it doesn’t come to that. There was a girl in my high school who died by suicide, and it was so incredibly tragic—something I couldn’t stop thinking about for years to come. Except now I get it. I finally understand the hopelessness that girl must have felt when she took her own life. The feeling that it would be better to be swallowed up into the abyss than continue to live life as you know it.
I can’t let that happen to me. I can’t.
Chapter Forty-Nine
DAWN
Turtles have interesting mating habits. The male turtle often follows the female around, sniffing near their cloacal opening before starting a courtship ritual. While the male and the female are going at it, they twist their tails together as the semen passes from the male to the female. But the female doesn’t have to lay her eggs right away. She can hold on to the sperm for several years before laying her eggs, if she so desires.
Caleb always gets sleepy after we have sex. Do all human men do that? I’m not sure. Caleb is the only man I’ve ever been with. I’m sure he’s the only man I ever will be with. If not for him, I would almost certainly still be a virgin. I wouldn’t have lost it to a turtle, as Natalie helpfully pointed out.
I am watching more videos on his phone, my head propped up with the pillow, and he’s lying next to me, his arm slung across my chest. When he first came here, it seemed like it was urgent that we get out of this motel, but now he says we've already paid up for the rest of the evening, so we don't have to rush. I suppose with Natalie in jail, things are at a standstill.