by Deborah Camp
Levi reached out and shook the officer’s hand. “You’ve been busy.”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Could I talk to you privately, please?”
“Sure.” Levi motioned for Trudy. “Where?”
“I’ve secured a room down the hall.” She motioned to the door. “Please?”
“Do you need to speak me, as well?” Quintara asked.
Lt. Moore gave her a faint smile. “Not right now. Thanks.”
Quintara looked a little crestfallen, so Trudy reached out and patted her shoulder. “Hold down the fort here and we’ll be back in a jiffy.”
The officer took them to a small office, just big enough for a desk, a few chairs, and a filing cabinet. The police officer slid a panel on the door, changing it from “Open” to “Occupied.” They settled in the chairs. Lt. Moore unbuttoned her jacket and held up a small recorder.
“I’m recording our conversation.”
Levi and Trudy nodded.
“Doctors use this room for their medical records dictations.” She looked at them and Trudy felt that she didn’t miss a thing. “We’re charging Sabra Martin with the attempted murder of the sheriff.” Her gaze flicked from Trudy to Levi, quick and assessing. “Did you suspect her?”
Levi nodded. “We had arrived at that conclusion. She appears to be a loner. Someone who feels that she’s gotten a bad rap, that she’s been cheated out of things, and that she is owed better than what she has received.”
“And she had it out for psychics,” Trudy added. “I’d understood that Sabra didn’t believe in clairvoyance. That’s not unusual. A lot of people think it’s a bunch of hooey.” She smiled when the officer looked surprised. “I just didn’t know until recently how much Sabra resented psychics. It stems from her contentious relationship with her mother.”
“We think she murdered Kathryn Rubyott and Glenn O’Connell, but she’s not copping to that yet.”
“What about her mother’s death?” Levi asked. “Have you looked into that? It wasn’t an accident.”
“There’s that, but no proof.”
“She set fire to Joshua Longfeather’s cabin,” Levi said.
“Yes, we’ve spoken with him about that.” The officer’s features tightened. “We lost contact with her that night. She . . . uh . . . evaded us.”
“Gave you the old slip, did she?” Levi asked with a smirk.
Lt. Moore glanced at the recorder, making sure it was working. “She wants to talk to you.”
“To us?” Trudy asked.
“Well, just to you right now. Although, Mr. Wolfe will eventually play into this.”
“What do you mean?” Levi sat forward to rest his elbows on his knees, obviously intrigued. “Why does she want to talk to Trudy?”
“She is interested in Trudy’s alleged ability to be privy to someone’s thoughts and emotions.”
Levi scowled at the word “alleged,” and Trudy reached and took his hand. When he looked at her, she gave a little shake of her head, signaling him to let it pass. It was no biggie. He still looked displeased, but kept quiet.
“In short, she wants a sympathizer, someone who might be able to understand her and why she did what she did. We’re hoping that she’ll confess to you about any other murders she’s committed. That is, if you can make her believe that you do understand her. That you’re in her corner.” She shifted her attention to Levi. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’ll want you to write a book about her. To tell her side of it. She’s obsessed with having her voice heard.”
Levi lounged in the chair, rocking it onto its back legs. “Naturally. She had a famous mother. A mother who was loud and proud and embarrassing to Sabra. She’s been overshadowed her whole life. Now it’s her turn to be noticed.”
“So, will you speak with her? The area you’ll meet her in is wired so that it will be recorded. Guards will be nearby at all times.”
“The meeting will take place at a prison?” Trudy asked.
“In lockup,” the officer clarified. “The jail in Little Rock. We’re transferring her there in the morning. I’ll set up the meeting. It will probably be within a week. Is that okay with you? Are you staying around here or going back to Georgia?”
Trudy turned to Levi, leaving that to him.
“We’ll be in Eureka Springs until Sunday. We’re at the Belladonna Cottage. I have to be back in Atlanta by Monday morning.”
The officer switched off the recorder and held out her hand, shaking Trudy’s, then Levi’s. “Thank you. If this works, you can save everyone a lot of time, money, and frustration. I think she wants to get this off her chest; just not to me or anyone else in law enforcement.”
“Is she meeting with Alan and Rhema now? Maybe she’ll talk to them,” Trudy said.
The officer looked at Levi and they exchanged shrugs. Levi squeezed Trudy’s hand.
“I doubt that she’ll tell them about her grisly deeds,” he said. “She’s Daddy’s little girl and she’ll want to remain so in his eyes. She might tell him some lies that he’ll believe, but that’s far from a confession.”
“I think you’re right,” Lt. Moore said. “When we started peppering her with questions, she shut down and shut us out. After an hour or so, she said she wanted an attorney and she wanted to talk to Trudy Wolfe.”
Trudy shook her head, baffled. “I have to say, I didn’t see this coming.”
Levi smirked and winked at Lt. Moore. “And she calls herself a psychic.” He chuckled and barely dodged Trudy’s elbow to his ribs.
Chapter 19
She had to admit it. She was nervous.
Trudy could feel a quivering deep in her core and her hands were cold and trembled slightly as she signed her name in book of jail “visitors.” She’d made it through the metal detector and now an officer handed her a lanyard. Trudy slipped it over her head to let it hang against her thudding heart. Metal, barred doors rumbled open and clanged shut behind her and each “bang,” “clatter,” and “thud” made her jump inside.
She’d been driven to the jail by Dixie Beech. Levi and Quintara had sat in the back seat with her. Levi had held her cold hands and given her some words of wisdom. He’d done this before – met prisoners and listened to their accounts of their lives, their loves, their disappointments, the details of their murders and other sordid crimes against humanity. While she’d heard a confession or two, this was the first time she’d been singled out by an accused murderer to come to prison for a chat. Hopefully, a full confession.
They’d all wished her luck as she’d resolutely left the confines of the car and made her way into the building. Now, up ahead, she recognized the figures of Lt. Gloria Moore and Lt. Lance Winfield. It had been three days since she’d seen them.
“Good morning, Ms. Tucker,” Lt. Winfield greeted her as he shook her cold, clammy hand. “We appreciate your cooperation with this.”
“Certainly. I’m happy to do whatever I can.” She shook Lt. Moore’s hand, which was also cool, but not clammy. “Good to see you again. How’s Sabra doing?”
“As well as can be expected, I suppose. She’s met with her attorney a couple of times already. She had a bail hearing and the judge deemed her a flight risk and denied bail. Her arraignment is Monday morning and it’s expected she will enter a not guilty plea.”
“I’d say she is definitely a flight risk since she had flown the coop when she was caught,” Trudy pointed out. She ran her damp palms down the sides of her flower-printed skirt and plucked nervously at the front of her blue chambray shirt. “Do you have any last-minute instructions for me?”
“Just let her talk. The more she says, the better. Don’t be judgmental. Don’t argue with her or get her riled up about anything. We don’t want her clamming up. It’s her show, so let her run it.”
“Okay.” She weighed this advice with Levi’s and it didn’t completely jibe. Levi had said that she should listen carefully, noting any discrepancies or outright lies, and calling her out on them. He’d
said to feel her out, see if anger would loosen her tongue. If it did, that was the way to go. If it had the opposite effect, to back off, placate her, and get her back on an even keel. Following the officers to an elevator, she decided she would go with Levi’s advice. The elevator stopped and opened to a wide corridor flanked by offices. The officers opened a closed door and ushered her in.
The room consisted of four beige walls, a gray metal table, and two gray metal chairs. Iron rings were bolted to the table top and table legs, giving evidence that this wasn’t the average, run-of-the-mill conference area. Trudy sat in one of the chairs and assured the officers that she was ready, didn’t need a glass of water or anything else. Her blood zinged through her veins and her heart knocked against her sternum. The air-conditioner hummed along with florescent lights overhead and Trudy could hear the tick-ticking of her wristwatch as if it were amplified.
Faint sounds filtered into the room. The clang of metal. Voices. Then the door swung open and Sabra shuffled inside, dressed in an orange jumpsuit with the initials of the detention center scrawled on the back of it and down one leg. She wore white socks and orange rubber slippers. She also wore handcuffs and leg irons and a mutinous expression. Trudy stood, not even aware of moving, her thoughts momentarily stuck on the clunky, medieval looking iron shackles around Sabra’s thin ankles.
Jeesh! This was the real deal. The real, wearing chains, scary-as-hell jail.
She managed to get past the shock of seeing Sabra looking like an extra in Orange Is the New Black, but then the two stern-faced guards sent her mind reeling again. They hooked one of Sabra’s handcuffed wrists to the iron ring on the table top and her shackled ankles to the ones bolted to the table legs. Trudy took her seat again. Nerves rattled like chains inside her and Trudy fought not to let her jitters show on her face.
As for Sabra, she wore an expression that teetered between boredom and irritation. Looking closer, Trudy noted the dark circles and fine wrinkles under her eyes, the tense set of her lips, the dullness of her usually shiny head of umber hair, and the bruises blooming on her wrists. There were other marks there that weren’t new, but Trudy hadn’t noticed them before. Slashing scars, along her wrists and in the soft skin at the crook of her elbows. Trudy held her breath, recognizing those tell-tale signs of someone who used to – perhaps still did – cut themselves. The realization sent a twist of sympathy through her for this mentally tortured soul sitting across from her.
Sabra followed her gaze, smirked, and then flipped her hands over to fully expose her inner wrists and arms. “Yes, that’s right. I used to make myself bleed. It used to help. The bruises, however, I owe to the goons in law enforcement.”
“Why did you cut yourself?”
“Same reason most kids do. I was full of anger, but not angry enough yet to want to actually hurt anyone but myself. When you cut, you don’t feel pain. You feel release.” She sighed and slumped a little in the chair. “It’s like a drug, but free and no prescription needed.”
Trudy looked up from the scars and into Sabra’s dark brown eyes that seemed accusatory. She wondered what she’d done to Sabra, but didn’t ask. Her intuition told her to let Sabra guide the conversation for now.
“If you can get inside my head, then you should already know that about me.” She narrowed her eyes, her gaze never wavering. “But you don’t know anything about me, do you? You’re a phony.”
Trudy didn’t blink. “Karma. I know about that.”
The brown eyes twitched and her pupils flared. “What about it?”
“You tell me. It’s all about settling scores, right?”
She stared long and hard at Trudy for almost a full minute before her pale pink lips curved into a smirking smile. “That’s right. Karma’s a bitch.” She tipped back her head and laughed up at the florescent light. When her gaze fastened on Trudy again, malice was evident. “And I’m that bitch.” She rested her free arm on the table so that she could lean in a little closer to Trudy. “God knows I have plenty of scores to settle, as you put it. A person can take just so much, you know? Instead of hurting myself, I decided it was time to make other people feel the pain.”
Her gaze scoured Trudy’s face until Trudy wanted to squirm. Finally, as if she’d seen what she needed to see, Sabra sat back in the chair with a long sigh. “I want to be heard. For once in my life, I want to be heard. Can you understand that? At all?”
Trudy nodded. “I’m female. So, of course, I can understand it.”
Sabra almost smiled. “Good answer.” She tipped her head to the right. “You’re no dummy. I can see that. I’m not totally convinced that you can do what you say you can do, but there’s no way to prove it, is there?”
“Prove? Maybe not. But I’ve changed several hard-nosed skeptics into believers.”
She scoffed at that. “Being pretty aided in that. Don’t kid yourself.”
Trudy shrugged that aside. “What did Kathryn do to you that was so unforgiveable?”
“Kathryn.” She pronounced the word as if it were a curse. “Did you ever meet her? No? Well, consider yourself fortunate. Kathryn Rubyott was a high-handed, nosy, old biddy. Mother thought she was sooo talented!” Her voice rose an octave with her imitation of Eudora. “But I saw through her. She had a way of saying things as if they were irrefutable. You know? So, people who couldn’t think for themselves believed her. Kathryn never wavered. She looked at someone, squinted a little, and then issued her pronouncement about them. She told my mother – more than once, mind you – that I was dangerous.” She arched a brow in a challenging manner.
Trudy stared at her, wondering what comment was expected. Finally, she opted for pointing out the truth. “She was right about that, wasn’t she?”
“Not when she said it!” Sabra pounded the table with her unshackled fist, galvanizing the guard standing by the door, who took a step toward them before Trudy shook her head. Sabra seemed not to notice. “The first time she said that to Mother, I was only a kid! Not even a teenager yet. The bitch.” She ground out the last two words and was quiet for almost a minute.
Trudy saw her expression change from anger to something much softer. Remorse? Regret? “Are you thinking about your mother now? I never met her, either.”
“Things would have been okay if she hadn’t been so obsessed with herself and her calling. Even then, though, I loved her.” Her face contorted as if she’d swallowed a bug. “See?” Her gaze lifted to Trudy’s again. “This is what I want from you. Yeah, I think your whole ‘mind meld’ thing is bunk, but I figure you must have superior empathy to make yourself and others actually believe that you can perceive another’s thoughts and feelings.” She glanced around and a harsh laugh tumbled from her. “I’m not going anywhere for a while, so I might as well make the most of my time. They want a full confession from me and then they’ll toss me into a human cesspool and forget about me.” She angled up her chin. “But I won’t be dismissed like that. For once, I want to be listened to and I want people to understand what I was put through. It’s like those kids shooting their teachers and classmates. I totally get it! After they kill a few people, then everyone remembers that they had been displaying rebellious behavior. Like telling anyone who would listen that they were fed up with being walked on, ignored, laughed at, and pushed aside. Before that?” She gave an insolent shrug accompanied by a frown. “Nobody heard them because they weren’t important enough to listen to. They weren’t special enough.”
Trudy kept her expression one of interest, even though she wondered if Sabra could comprehend that she was describing people who were mentally unstable. Yes, they were crying out for help, but no longer by cutting themselves or hating how they looked. Like any murderer, Sabra had crossed over into psychotic territory.
Tracing a scratch on the surface of the metal desk with her fingertip, Sabra fell quiet, then with a quick shake of her head, she focused on Trudy again. “My mother’s death? It wasn’t premeditated. I’d just had enough! You know what she did?
She told me that, not only was I not going to be crowned Homecoming Queen, but that Tyler—.” She paused to take a breath. “Tyler Grissom was the guy I liked then and who, I thought, liked me a whole lot. He was my first sexual partner. Anyway, Mother said he was going to ask Jennifer, a friend of mine, to the prom instead of me.” She rapped her knuckles lightly on the desk. “You know what that does to a young heart? Nobody needs to know these things ahead of time! You get that? It hurts! So, now I knew that I was going to be crushed in a few weeks and I had to wait for it!” She laughed and the sound punished Trudy’s ears. “I suppose I could have killed Jennifer, right? But stupid, callous Tyler would have probably asked someone else to the prom instead of me.” She laughed again, the harsh cackling bouncing off the bare walls. “I had told Mother over and over again to keep her lame predictions to herself. I didn’t want to hear them!”
Trudy looked past her to the guard, who was on the verge of ordering Sabra to settle down. She shook her head at the uniformed woman. Violence was certainly part of the conversation, but Trudy didn’t feel threatened by Sabra. Not yet, anyway.
Sabra flattened her hands on the desk. “Here’s the deal. I’ll talk, you listen. But you and Wolfe have to promise to present my side of this to the world. Wolfe’s books are bestsellers. People gobble them up. If you don’t agree to this, then I’ll make the offer to Chason, and I can guarantee that he’ll accept it.” Her smile was pure vindication. “I know him. He’d sell his first-born for this opportunity. But he doesn’t have your hubby’s worldwide rep and street cred. And he doesn’t have you.” She raised her brows with her shrug. “Like I said, you have empathy, so you should be able to understand what I’ve gone through and why all that happened is what had to happen. It’s karma. What you put out there, comes back to you. Sometimes with teeth and claws.” Her smile became almost feral and her dark eyes glinted with malice.
Not surprised in the least by Sabra’s request, Trudy selected her words carefully. “We will listen and I’ll do my best to understand. Levi will write about your experiences. I’m sure there will be interest in you, so he’ll have many opportunities to talk about you.”