by C. J. Lyons
I curled up on my bunk, face to the wall, and covered my eyes with my hands, pushing so hard my vision went red, trying to force away the sight of all that blood. The sounds of gunshots kept screaming through my head as the whole night played itself backwards, forwards, inside out, over and over again.
Finally, it was lights out. I sobbed as quietly as I could, but it wasn’t long before I felt Sylva crawl into the bunk behind me, curling her arms and legs around me, holding me tight until I felt her heart beating against my spine.
“Let it all out,” she whispered. “You’re safe here with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not while I’m around.”
Words of comfort offered to a scared girl. Sylva had no idea what that promise would eventually cost her. Or that she’d pay the price with her own blood.
Chapter Nineteen
Not that Megan would ever tell Lucy, but she was kind of excited to go back to work at Beacon Falls. Sure, she’d grumbled as Lucy ditched her to leave for Tennessee, and of course she let Valencia treat her to a sumptuous breakfast, but then she dashed upstairs to her office and plunged back into the case.
She spent the morning finishing building her timelines. There were still holes and gaps in logic that made her wonder how either side could have expected to win their case in court.
“If someone’s innocent until proven guilty,” she asked Valencia over lunch, “then how could they arrest Cherish? Best I can tell, it boils down to her word against Jack Kutler’s.”
“It’s very rare that there is absolute proof of anyone’s guilt or innocence. I suspect, with Cherish’s grandmother being sick, they arrested her because they were worried about her running away.”
“Guess she proved them right.” Megan sipped at the chilled soup Valencia had served in a pretty cocktail glass. Lucy never made meals like this, not even when she’d been home recuperating from her leg injury. Then the fridge had been stocked with mail-order protein shakes and supplements to help her heal faster. If it wasn’t for Megan’s dad actually going to do real shopping, it would probably be months before they had any fresh fruit or vegetables. “What’s this called again?”
“Gazpacho. If you have a garden, you can make it yourself. I’ll give you the recipe.”
“My mom used to garden. She loved it; spent all day out there sometimes.” A sigh escaped Megan. “That was last year.”
“Your mother suffered a lot of upheaval this year. Your entire family, in fact.” Valencia patted Megan’s hand, and Megan didn’t even flinch or pull away from the touch—not like she did when Lucy tried to do the same thing. Sometimes her mom just made her feel so…prickly.
“Cherish Walker’s grandmother died right after they arrested her. She never got to say goodbye or go to the funeral or anything.”
Valencia nodded, waiting. Megan liked that about her. She was never in any rush.
“But none of the records say what happened to Cherish’s mother. If I was a kid, running away from the cops, I’d go find my mom—wouldn’t you? But there’s almost nothing about her in the files.”
“You think you can find Cherish’s mother?”
Megan hesitated. If she were having this discussion with Lucy, this would be where things got tricky. Especially as she was meant to be grounded from electronics. But this was work, right? “I think maybe I already have. Last night, I had an idea, so I went online and looked around. Then this morning—well, I think maybe it’s her.”
Instead of a barrage of accusations and protests over her extracurricular online sleuthing and the risks posed by using her own computer, Valencia simply nodded again. “I see. And how exactly—”
This was the hard part. “I pretended to be someone else. It’s called catfishing—you set up a fake profile, then use it to connect with other people.” Valencia looked blank. “On social media? Like SnapChat and Twitter and Facebook?”
“Who did you pretend to be, Megan?”
No way was Megan telling her that—not and risk it getting back to Lucy. “That’s not the point. The point is, I figured I’d try Facebook since that’s what old people use, and Cherish’s mom would be like forty or more, right? And I found someone with her name and birthday.”
Valencia pushed back her chair. “I think it’s time to get Wash involved. Did he teach you how to do this? This catfish thing?”
“No, I already knew.”
Valencia gave her a look that reminded Megan of Lucy and then led the way upstairs to where Wash was eating at his desk. “We were waiting for you downstairs on the patio. It’s a lovely day outside.”
Wash didn’t look up as he set down his sandwich. “Did Lucy call you about this girl? Sylva Wright? I’m trying—” Valencia’s shadow fell over his screen, and he blinked and glanced up as if he hadn’t realized he’d been talking to actual people. “Sorry, what?”
“Megan tells me she’s been practicing a form of social engineering known as catfishing. Did you know anything about that?”
He frowned. “No. But it’s a great idea—” Then he spied Valencia’s frown. “Isn’t it?”
“She thinks she found Cherish’s mother.”
“Really? Because she’d dropped off the radar even before Cherish was arrested. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was in witness protection or something. But obviously not, if you found her.” He sounded uncertain. “Except—”
“Why didn’t anyone else?” Valencia put in. “My thoughts exactly.” She gestured for Megan to join Wash. “Megan, can you show Wash? Let him retrace your steps, maybe dig a little deeper.”
She left them to work, and Megan pulled up a chair beside Wash. He shifted his keyboard to her, and she signed into the fake profile she’d built up.
“Who’s Grant Tyson?”
“No one. Just a guy from soccer camp.”
“The one who got you in trouble at the party?”
Was it wrong that the edge in his voice made her smile? As if he were volunteering to be her own private Superman. If he only knew the truth. Her smile faded. “No. That wasn’t Grant.” She navigated to the page where she’d found a posting by a woman who could be Cherish’s mother. Then she stopped. “Wait. Did you say Sylva Wright?”
“Yeah. Your mom just texted me to see what I could find on her. So far all I have is that she sings and plays with a Zydeco band in New Orleans, and right now they’re in Asheville, playing at some big busker’s festival.”
“Because she posted on Cherish’s mom’s wall. She said she wanted to meet her. They took things to private chat, so I don’t know any details.” She scrolled down to the post and showed him.
Wash took control of the keyboard once again. “Okay, yeah, not so bad,” he muttered, as his fingers typed. Within a minute, a chat transcript flashed up on the screen. “People always forget about the accessibility features.” He bounced his wheelchair for emphasis. “They work both ways, you know?”
She had no idea what he was talking about but couldn’t help but match his grin. “So this says Sylva is going to meet Cherish’s mom tomorrow.”
Wash kept typing. “Except…” He gave a low whistle. “Except that is not Cherish Walker’s mother. Your catfishing caught another catfish. See here? The profile has posts shared dating back some years, but in actuality it was only created a few months ago. And look at these likes and shares—all designed to catch the eye of someone like Cherish. Remedies for burn scars. Henna patterns and designs. Photos from Craven County hiking trails and nature overlooks. Catnip to a homesick kid on the run for a decade.”
“So is Sylva really Cherish?”
“No. Her profile is legit—and here’s her band’s website. See there, the singer? That’s Sylva.” He pointed to a tall black woman with flowing braids and a wide smile. It wasn’t clear exactly who she was smiling at, but she was clearly happy.
“Why does this Sylva want to meet Cherish’s mother?”
“More to the point: why is fake Cherish-mom so eager to meet Sylva?”
Chapter Twenty
By the time they met Lucy at the courthouse later that afternoon, TK and Warren had arrived at a bit of a detente. He would answer her questions, but only exactly as she asked. She tried hard not to take his prickly defensiveness personally. He treated her as if she were a defense attorney grilling him on the witness stand, as if they were opponents. It was exhausting, like trying to pry information out of a oyster guarding its pearl. She was relieved to let Lucy take over as Warren walked them through the scene of Cherish’s escape.
Although much smaller than Weirton, Hartfield reminded TK of home—the river winding through the valley; the way the buildings huddled together, built up the side of the mountain, as if seeking shelter; the fact that the most prominent buildings were the churches and the courthouse. Given the evidence of flooding along the riverbanks, it probably wasn’t a coincidence that they were also the buildings perched highest along the mountainside. In fact, it seemed that the road literally stopped at the courthouse, or rather at the three-story parking garage beside it. In front of the courthouse the road circled around an oval of grass with three flagpoles at its center. Beyond the courthouse was a park, complete with bandstand and gazebo along with playing fields that stretched out to the forest, creating an abrupt transition from civilization to wilderness. Above the trees, jagged limestone cliffs jutted out from the mountainside.
“Walk me through everything,” Lucy asked Warren, as they gathered on the courthouse steps. “She arrived in a detention transport van. What was she wearing?”
He didn’t need to refer to his notes. “Regulation reflective DOC transport jumpsuit. Slip on sneakers. Ankle manacles chained to a belt, hands cuffed in front and also secured to the belt.”
“Underneath the jumpsuit?”
Now he hesitated. “It was April. Cold and raining. It’s easier to let a prisoner keep their inmate tops and bottoms on for warmth than to try to bundle them into a raincoat.”
TK glanced up at that. “Somehow that didn’t make it to the official report.”
“What’s it matter? She took it all with her anyway. That’s why it took us so long to get a scent for the dogs—we had to go back and dig her dirty sheets out of the laundry at the detention center. They never were able to get a track.”
“Sure they were even Cherish’s sheets?” Lucy asked. “If someone at the detention center was helping her—”
“Staff all checked out.”
TK noticed he didn’t mention the other inmates. She met Lucy’s gaze, but Lucy was already moving on. “They took her in from the van through the side door, correct?”
Warren nodded and led the way, using the buzzer to attract a guard’s attention. The guard ushered them inside, and Warren continued the tour. “Courtrooms are on the floor above. They would have used this secure elevator.”
The guard used his key to call the elevator down and then again on the interior to select the floor. Then he returned to his post as Warren, TK, and Lucy rode up one flight, the elevator creaking and moaning every inch of the way. The doors opened onto a narrow corridor. TK created a floor plan in her mind: they were now on the opposite side of the building from the public entrance. Solid walnut doors lined the corridor—judge’s chambers and private entrances to courtrooms.
Warren led them down the hall to the short corridor that led to the public side of the building. “Here’s the bathroom she used to change. Her attorney left the clothes for her—after they were searched, of course.”
“The attorney, she bought the clothing for Cherish?”
“From Goodwill. White blouse, women’s medium; blue blazer; pair of black slacks. Set her back all of a buck fifty.”
“Shoes?”
“No reason to bother—not like the jurors would ever see her feet.”
“So the full inventory would be socks and underwear, sneakers, khaki top and pants, orange jumpsuit, and a blouse, blazer, and pair of slacks?” Lucy asked.
“And a cotton tee. Why?”
“You didn’t find any of it?”
“No. Like I said, she bundled it all up and took it with her.”
“No one noticed a girl carrying a bundle that included a bright orange jumpsuit?” TK asked.
He shrugged. “The Staties thought she maybe tossed the bundle out the window and retrieved it afterward.”
“Why would she waste time doing that?”
“I thought the window was locked,” Lucy added.
TK glanced around the inside of the bathroom. It held a single stall along with a sink, mirror, paper dispenser, trashcan, and nothing else. She crossed over to the window and tried it. It had no lock; instead, it couldn’t open at all, the pane of frosted glass secured by a metal frame to the outer wall.
“It’s a new window, different from the one back then,” Warren explained. “And yes, the window was locked. Before and after she escaped. She didn’t go out that way.”
“But she could have thrown something out the window,” TK said.
“Maybe,” Warren allowed.
TK frowned. “She’d be taking a risk that no one saw—not to mention wasting time to retrieve it. Seems like a lot to chance just to have a spare pair of clothes.”
“Not if it slowed down the K9 team,” Lucy pointed out. “They were the best bet to track her, and between the rain and the delay and having a questionable scent sample, they were sidelined.”
“What does that window open onto?” TK asked, peering through the frosted glass. “Is that the parking garage?”
“Yes. We locked it down immediately. No cars were stolen, and no one left without their vehicle being searched.”
Lucy said nothing, just twisted her mouth in a half smile. “TK, do you have the photos from that date?”
TK pulled her tablet out of her messenger bag and scrolled through to find the photos of the bathroom. “Everything looks the same,” she told Lucy. “Except the window, of course.”
Lucy glanced through them, paused on one, and then nodded. She moved past Warren, ignoring his scowl, to lead the way back out to the corridor. “And the guard was turned this way, back down toward the judges’ chambers and the rear hallway?”
“Right. There was a disturbance in Judge Miller’s courtroom and it spilled out into the hall. Domestic. The bailiffs were having a hell of a time separating the parties.”
“Giving Cherish her chance.” Lucy started down the hall in the opposite direction, toward the public area where Cherish would have blended in with her new clothing. Then she stopped and looked back. “If you think Cherish threw the clothing out the window before she left the restroom, then she was already planning her escape. How did she know the guard would be distracted? That the coast would be clear for the few moments she needed, exactly when she needed?”
Warren stopped short, almost tripping over his own feet as he stutter-stepped. He recovered quickly, but not fast enough to hide the look of dismay on his face. “She just got lucky is all,” he finally muttered.
“Smarter to be lucky than lucky to be smart,” TK said in a low tone that earned her a glare from the SWAT lieutenant. “At least that’s what my mom always said.”
Lucy said nothing. She kept leading the way, following Cherish’s path out of the building, with Warren and TK trailing behind. She stopped inside the main doors in the space before a visitor would reach the metal detectors. “What are these?” She gestured to the large pottery urns that sat along each side of the entrance. “Umbrella stands?”
“They’re not allowed inside the courtrooms—potential weapons. If people want to check them at the desk instead, they can, but most everyone just leaves them here—or they don’t bring them in at all.”
“It was raining that day, right?” Lucy continued out the doors, but this time miming grabbing an umbrella from the stands and opening it just as she crossed the threshold. “That explains why she wasn’t caught on the security cameras,” she said, glancing up. “An umbrella would have hidden her from the waist up.”
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br /> “I’ll have Wash review the CCTV and pay attention to the shoes,” TK said, pulling out her phone. “White slip on sneakers should be fairly obvious, now that he knows to look for them.”
“If the camera angles catch the feet,” Lucy said. She turned to her right, heading for the parking garage beside the courthouse. “She’d be exposed for what, fifteen, twenty yards at most?” They reached the corner of the garage. The sidewalk continued to the official entrance, but the wall was only waist high. Lucy easily swung a leg over and instantly vanished behind it.
TK and Warren followed. “I told you, we locked this place down right away. The attendant said no cars went in or out at least ten minutes before she ran.”
“Cameras?” TK asked.
“She wasn’t spotted on any of them.” He nodded to ceiling where the security camera sat behind a wire cage. “But it’s easy enough to figure out the blind spots.”
Lucy ignored him, continuing to cling to the shadows the wall provided until she came to a stop a few feet down. “There’s the bathroom window.” She pointed up. Because the courthouse was at the top of the hill and the first floor of the garage angled in below ground, the second floor bathroom window would have opened just above the top floor of the three-story garage.
“Too far to jump but maybe close enough to throw something,” TK said, judging the angles and distances. “But where could she go from the garage roof? She’d be exposed, with no way out.”
“Exactly what I’ve been telling you,” Warren said, as they trudged up the interior stairwell.
They emerged onto the roof. The backside of the garage was dug into the mountain’s rock wall.
“See? Nowhere to go. It had to be by car.” Warren sounded gleeful, but Lucy’s smile only widened.