I shiver and my guts twist. Maybe they found Violet’s body. Maybe they located my salvaged Jeep. I stare at my arm, where the half-moon indents were before they healed—angry voices, blood on white carpet, a hunched figure in the window.
My mind reels, and I feel suddenly sick because the truth is—I know exactly what happened to Violet Sandoval. Yeah, my memory came back the night Justin scared me and I ran outside with my dad’s rifle. It happened when I saw my reflection in the glass—it all came rushing back, and now I wish it hadn’t. In fact, I’d leap into the jaws of another fucking bear if it would make me forget.
The question is—do these agents know what I know?
40
September 14
Days Violet has been missing: 43
Time: 4:14 p.m.
The special agents return with a thick manila folder and a recording device. A third agent follows and stands against the wall.
Hatch sits across from me and places the folder squarely in front of him. He considers me for a full minute, and I stare right back. He knows I remember, I can see it in his eyes, and he hopes to trip me up. But from the day we started the wildfire, my goal has been to survive, and that hasn’t changed. Knowing full well I’m walking into battle, I swallow my fear, find the flat, calm center of my soul, and surprise the agents by speaking first. “You said you had some questions?”
Hatch’s boyish grin flickers across his face. “Ms. Warner, you asked me once to call you Hannah. Is that still your preference?”
“Sure, that’s fine.” It’s always felt good to cooperate with authority, a little too good. I shift in my seat and remind myself we’re on opposite sides. He is my enemy.
“Hannah, you’re not under arrest, but we have a few more questions about your whereabouts on the night of August second, the evening your friend Violet Sandoval went missing. I must warn you that you have the right to remain silent, and anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and if you can’t afford an attorney, one will be provided. Do you understand what I’ve said?”
Before I can remind him of my amnesia diagnosis, Hatch raises one manicured finger and adds, “I know you have a medical condition, but this new evidence might help you remember. It might help us find Violet.”
My legs stop bouncing. So they haven’t found her body, which means they still don’t know what happened to her, which means they’re still fishing.
Hatch nods to a telephone mounted to the wall. “You can call your father if you want, but he won’t be allowed in the room. He’s an investigating officer in this case, and he cannot be present during the questioning of his adult daughter. Do you understand your rights?”
I cross my arms. “I didn’t ask for my dad.”
Hatch peers harder at me. “Would you like professional representation, Hannah?” He fusses with a cluster of photos, and I glimpse images of my bedroom, my house, and even my dog.
I sit up straighter, curious. “No, I’m good. I want to help.”
He and Patel exchange a glance, and Hatch settles back into his chair. From her place against the wall, the third agent shifts her feet. All three are armed, and the room is quiet and sterile. I pour myself a glass of water to interrupt the silence.
Hatch finally opens his manila folder. “Hannah, during our last interview, on August fourteenth, you failed to provide an alibi for the evening Violet disappeared.” He produces a photo of a dented car. The tires and some other parts are missing, but I recognize the general shape and color of my Jeep. What the hell? I thought it was gone. My knee bobs and I force it still. Don’t react, Hannah.
Hatch continues. “After the interview, we issued a search warrant for your vehicle. It took us some time to track down the Jeep, and much more time to analyze the fluids and hairs inside.”
Oh, crap.
Patel pushes the search warrant toward me with a terse smile. I glance at it and nod to indicate I accept it. After my Jeep was salvaged and towed away, I never thought I’d see it again.
Hatch hands me a sheet of paper full of numbers and strange diagrams. “Our forensic experts identified DNA belonging to a ursus americanus—”
“A what?”
“A black bear,” he explains. “DNA belonging to a black bear. They also found the remains of beef stew, and human blood belonging to Violet Sandoval.”
His lips part into a smile, as if he believes this proves something, and I wonder if he understands anything about living in the woods. “So?”
Hatch tilts his head.
I uncross my arms and lean forward. “My blood is in there too. Do you know how many times I’ve cut myself fishing and hunting? And Luke’s, from that time he fell out of the tree and cracked his head open, and Mo’s. She gets bloody noses every winter. Violet’s probably the most careful, but she sliced her foot open on a rock last year and I drove her home.”
I’m lying, of course—no one’s allowed in my Jeep if they’re bleeding—but the words ring true to Hatch.
Disappointed with my answer, he moves on. “Hannah, we were able to extract your Jeep’s GPS tracker. On the evening of the second, you drove directly from your house to Ms. Sandoval’s home. An hour later, you drove to the Gap Lake trailhead overflow lot. Your vehicle remained there for approximately seventy minutes, and then you drove home. Upon arriving home, the black bear attacked you. Your father found you hiding in your bear-proof trash container at twelve-oh-one a.m.” He thrusts a map at me, depicting each of my stops and the timing.
My head begins to throb. I forgot about the GPS. I blink at the agents, my mind whirring. “How do you know I was in the Jeep?”
Patel’s eyes slash toward Hatch, and he swallows hard. Hatch ignores him. “We don’t know, Hannah. That’s why we’re asking.”
I nod and suppress a smile.
Hatch steeples his fingers, something I’ve noticed he does when he’s thinking. “Is it possible Drummer borrowed your car?” he asks.
“I told you, I don’t remember anything. I don’t see how I can help.”
Special Agent Hatch gives a small shake of his head. “He’s not trying to find Violet; he just wants to arrest someone. His gaze sweeps my face; his hooded eyes flicker. Hatch has more to show me, a lot more. He hands me another paper. “After finding Violet’s blood in your vehicle, we wrote a warrant to search your home and cell phone records.”
I lean back as my guts coil and thrash. Sweat instantly collects on my scalp. “That seems excessive. Does my father know about this?”
“He’s been informed,” says Hatch. He then produces a round of photos—more images of my wrecked Jeep, including close-ups of the blood spatter, photos of the bear’s dead body, images of the Gap Fire, and photos of Gap Lake. Each one strikes me like a punch, and I force deep, slow breaths.
Hatch walks around the table carrying his chair and sits beside me, leaning close, eye to eye. “We’re trying to help you remember, Hannah.”
No, you aren’t, I think. You’re trying to make me confess.
Then he introduces a series of photos in rapid succession, lining them up in front of me. Heat rushes to my cheeks as I observe images of my personal diaries and hundreds of photos of Drummer. “You’ve been obsessed with Violet’s boyfriend for years, haven’t you?”
“No.” I wipe my face, try to compose myself. Drummer is not an obsession. I love him.
“Were you stalking Drummer that night, Hannah?”
“No,” I bluster. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“You weren’t implicated in the Gap Fire, but you had a compelling motive to make Violet disappear, didn’t you?”
My body braces. I shake my head.
Hatch continues. “You were jealous, weren’t you, Hannah?”
“N-no,” I stammer.
“You applied to Sta
nford University and got rejected. But she was accepted, wasn’t she?”
I feel my cheeks color. I can’t believe they contacted Stanford about my rejected application.
Hatch’s smile turns cruel. “Violet could afford private college while you planned to sell your car to pay for a public university.”
My anger flares. “So?”
He doesn’t flinch. “Violet was beautiful and an accomplished equestrian. She was valedictorian of her class, and she had the one thing you always wanted: she had Drummer.”
I leap from my chair, suddenly furious that he’s using Drummer’s nickname, as if he knows him. “So what? Is that a crime? Do you think I killed Violet?”
Patel breathes faster too as Hatch slides his dark eyes to mine, a twisted smirk playing on his lips. The room goes deathly quiet as he produces a see-through evidence bag. Inside is a Tiffany necklace with a circular pendant inscribed with the letter V. “Look at this, Hannah.”
My eyes roll toward the pendant, and the air rushes from my lungs. How in the hell did he find that? It was in my dog’s ashes! I grip my hands together to hide their sudden trembling.
“Do you know who owns this necklace?” he asks.
“It looks like Violet’s,” I respond, my heart bounding like a rabbit. Okay, Hatch, enough with the games, I think. Just fucking arrest me, get it over with.
“Here’s a question,” says Hatch. “How did Violet’s necklace get mixed in with your dog’s ashes?”
He slides a photo of bright-eyed Matilda in front of me, and anger shoots through me like a bullet. How dare he use my dog against me! I lift my head, meet his triumphant gaze, and stare him down. My hair is loose, hanging in my eyes, and my body is coiled like a spring. Hatch flinches away from me. That’s right, I think, now you see me. I decide I have nothing to lose by telling the truth. I take a long breath and sit back down. “I found it in my car.”
“Why did you hide it from the authorities?”
Again, I answer honestly. “I don’t know.”
“Do you believe you’re involved in Violet’s disappearance, Hannah?”
I lean back in my chair. “No.” There’s that word again, the best friend of liars.
He steeples his fingers and studies me for a good long time. The clock on the wall ticks, Patel takes quiet breaths, the agent against the wall clears her throat, and the truth bubbles inside of me. A part of me wants to let it out, to fill the void, make everyone happy, solve the case, but it won’t bring Violet back, so I swallow it.
Hatch is full of swagger as he sits on the table, leaning over me. “Have our photos jogged your memory, Hannah?”
I realize he’s being tactical. He’s jarring my brain with information and images from that night, trying to force me to remember, and he doesn’t give a damn that a psychologist might consider that dangerous. What a bastard. If I hadn’t remembered on my own, I’d be dust right now.
Patel slams another photo onto the table. “Do you recognize this?”
I nod. It’s the glass unicorn I gave Violet for her tenth birthday.
Hatch leans in, eyes blazing, lips tight. “We believe it’s the murder weapon.” He passes me a crime lab report. My throat knots up. They are getting warmer.
Patel studies me. “We reexamined the sheriff department’s evidence collected from the attic and discovered a microscopic fragment of Violet’s scalp and blood on one of the hooves.”
A genuine shiver rolls down my spine. “That’s awful.”
“Any of this ringing a bell?”
I cross my arms, refuse to answer.
Again, Hatch breaks first. “Hannah, do you believe Violet Sandoval is dead?”
I allow real tears to flow, because I miss my friend. “You said murder weapon, so yeah, I guess so.”
A frown curves Hatch’s lips as he turns to me. “Our primary suspects are Nathaniel Drummer and Lucas O’Malley. Would you characterize them as your best friends?”
I don’t like where this is leading. “Yes, I would.”
“Are you romantic with either boy, or both?”
Heat floods my cheeks, but I refuse to drop my eyes. “I’m not.”
“But you’re loyal to them.” I nod once. “Loyal enough to help them hide a body?”
I glare at him, my fury rising.
Hatch shifts and attacks me from a new angle. “Or are you afraid? Is it possible you’re covering for Drummer and Luke out of fear of retaliation? Because we can protect you, if that’s the case.”
Am I afraid of Drummer? Never. Am I afraid of Luke—strong, powerful, angry Luke? Sometimes. I lean forward, tired of these questions. “I don’t remember anything. Why are you asking me?”
Patel sits taller as Hatch adjusts his tie and presses on. “Because we need your help,” he admits, and just like that, the power in the room shifts back to me. “We can’t charge either boy with murder. The evidence is circumstantial, and we don’t have a body. Proving in a courtroom that Drummer or Luke killed Violet would end in defeat. We need more—we need an eyewitness confession.”
I nod. That’s what I thought all along: they’re fishing. They’re not even positive Violet’s dead. My fluttering pulse slows to a steady beat.
Hatch frowns. “We know your Jeep drove to Gap Lake, where we believe the victim’s body was disposed of, we know she bled in your car, and we know you hid the necklace she was last seen wearing. What we don’t know is who was driving. This case isn’t closed, Hannah, and I believe you’re an accomplice. If you give evidence against the boys and tell us where to find Violet’s body, I can offer you full immunity.”
Full immunity. My lips close. My pulse thrums. What Hatch doesn’t understand, and what Violet never understood, is that monsters don’t rat on monsters.
“Hannah, your father’s a sheriff, and he tells me you’re studying criminal justice at college and that you might go into law enforcement yourself.” Hatch’s eyes harden to steel. “What I don’t understand is why a woman with your background and career goals would hide evidence.”
My hands scrunch into fists. My background is that my father sent my own mother to prison, where she later died.
Hatch spreads all the incriminating photos in front of me, including the photo the journalist took of Gap Lake with red sunlight spilling down its center. “If you want to solve crimes, Hannah, why not begin with this one? I’m going to ask you one last time: Who murdered Violet Sandoval, and where is her body?”
The three agents in the room go quiet. The familiar urge to cooperate pulls at me. Hatch leans forward and waits, his thick brows pulled tight.
I can no longer hear the murmured conversations outside the door or the air-conditioning blowing. I know who killed Violet, but if the agents think I’m going to tell them, they’re fucking crazy.
I meet his gaze. “I don’t know.”
Hatch’s left eye twitches. “That’s your official statement?”
“Yes.”
Patel slams the manila folder shut and curses beneath his breath. Hatch gathers his jacket, moves to the door, and turns to me. “We will never close this case, Hannah. We won’t stop investigating until we prosecute the person or persons responsible for Violet’s disappearance to the fullest extent of the law.” He strides out of the room.
My admiration trails him. I would expect nothing less from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Special Agent Hatch, nothing fucking less.
41
September 14
Days Violet has been missing: 43
Time: 6:00 p.m.
The agents drop me off on campus, and I cannot believe I’m still free. Somehow, like a cat, I’ve landed on my feet, but it’s not just good luck. Even before my memory returned, my instincts were in high gear, protecting the monsters and myself. I made a few mistakes, but not enough to get any of us arreste
d.
As I pass the Student Union building, I catch my reflection in the shaded window and stop cold. I shift and step back to observe my backlit image. The hunched figure in the window was me—was always me. After returning from Target and hearing raccoons rustling outside and then talking to Justin, I caught my reflection in the glass and I remembered everything. But the memories did not bring relief as I’d hoped—they brought terror.
The special agents have it wrong. This is what really happened to Violet Sandoval.
—
Six weeks earlier
At 8:25 p.m., Violet sends a group text to our nonburner phones: tomorrow I’m telling the police everything.
I drop the manure rake I’m holding. My heart stalls.
Luke: WTF! You cant
Mo: what do you mean by everything?
No answer from Violet. No gray dots, nothing. I dial her phone, and the call goes straight to voicemail. I dial Drummer, my hands shaking. He doesn’t answer either.
I pull up the location-sharing app. Shit. He’s already there, in the attic! He went to her house without us. Fucking Drummer. He can’t handle Violet on his own, not about this.
I rush out of the barn to my car and text Luke and Mo on our prepaid cells: meet at the attic. Now.
Luke: 10-4
Mo: I’ll try
I crawl into my Jeep and feel my regular phone slide out of my pocket and shatter on the ground. Shit! I can’t think, can’t breathe.
I slam the Wrangler into gear and spin the tires, throwing rocks into the shrubs as I fishtail onto the main road. My boxy Jeep leans precariously around the bends, but I don’t care. I just drive.
We have to fix this together; we have to change her mind. And if Violet’s so hell-bent on telling the truth, she and Drummer can start by confessing to me, and I don’t mean about the fucking fire!
That was the last thing I remembered, but when the rest came to me, it came all at once, like water from a broken dam….
Lies Like Wildfire Page 25