Chapter 42
Wednesday morning
Sabre waited until the deputy closed the interview-room door before she sat down across from Bay.
Bay looked controlled, but only on the surface. Her posture was straight, her chin level, and her eyes alert, but she kept glancing at the door as if expecting someone to appear and reset the world.
Sabre set her folder on the table and sat down. “Before we talk, you must understand we have the same rules. Anything you tell me goes to Mr. Vale.”
Bay looked away.
Sabre updated her first. “We’re in court Friday. It’s a readiness conference before the preliminary hearing. The prosecution wants to move fast. They think they have enough.”
“I told them I killed Todd.”
“And if you keep saying it without context, explanation, or a lawful reason, then you’ve handed them a gift.”
Bay’s jaw tightened. “I’m not changing it.”
“I didn’t ask you to.” Sabre’s voice sharpened. “But I am asking for something usable.”
Bay said nothing.
“Right now,” Sabre continued, “we have no real self-defense claim. No defense-of-another claim. No coercion claim. No alternate suspect. Nothing Mr. Vale can put in front of a judge without getting laughed out of court.”
Bay’s eyes narrowed. “Are you always this cheerful?”
“Only when I’m losing.”
That almost got a smile.
Sabre pressed on. “We also can’t realistically ask for your release.”
Bay stiffened. “Why not?”
“Because judges ask where you’ll live, who will supervise you, whether you’re stable, whether you’ll return to court.” Sabre held her gaze. “You have no verifiable residence, no family contact I can present, and no one stepping forward.”
Bay’s eyes tightened with emotional pain.
“You expected someone to come,” Sabre said quietly.
Bay glanced at the door again before she could stop herself.
Sabre softened her tone. “Whoever usually handles things isn’t handling this one.”
Bay stared at the tabletop.
“We need something for Friday,” Sabre said. “Something true that helps you.”
Silence.
“Did Todd threaten you?”
No answer.
“Did he threaten someone else?”
Bay’s fingers tightened. “He talked too much.”
“Todd?”
Bay nodded.
“What did he know?”
Bay shut down. “Nothing.”
“That answer came too fast,” Sabre said.
“He knew enough to be dangerous.” Bay looked angry with herself for saying it.
“Dangerous to who?”
No response.
“Bay?” Sabre prompted. “How was the other girl involved?”
“He wasn’t supposed to know about her.” The words were barely audible.
Sabre felt her nerves tingle. “There is another girl.”
Bay said nothing.
“Is she safe now?”
Bay whispered, “No one is.”
Sabre sat back. They finally had something. Not enough to solve anything, but enough to frame an argument of defense of another, fear, immediate threat, a hidden vulnerable person.
“I can use part of that, but I’m going to need more real soon.”
Bay looked up fast. “No names.”
“You haven’t given me any.”
“No places.”
“You haven’t given me those either.”
“No paper that says too much.”
That surprised her. “You think someone is reading motions?”
“People look where they’re told.”
That landed hard too. Sabre stood. “Then I’ll be careful.”
Bay’s eyes filled suddenly, though she fought the tears. “You don’t understand,” she said.
“Then help me understand.”
Bay searched Sabre’s face like she was trying to decide whether hope was dangerous.
Sabre moved toward the door.
Behind her, Bay spoke in a small, cracking voice. “Ladybugs always find their way home.”
Sabre froze.