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“You felt you had that right, huh? Just to go into her room like that?”
At the time anger had given him that right. “Fidelity and I were old friends. When I was searching for her, I thought it was odd that her necklace was just lying on the steps. I was certain she was home, so I picked up the necklace and went upstairs to find her. She was lying in a pool of blood.”
“And when the law found you, you had her necklace in one hand and the knife that killed her in the other.”
“I found the knife on the floor beside her. I picked it up. I guess I hadn’t seen enough bad movies to know better.”
“Says here it was your knife.”
“Mine was the only one unaccounted for. Mr. Claymore had half a dozen made as Christmas presents that year, with Claymore Park’s logo on the handle. They were special knives, with blades for trimming and picking hoofs, a thinning comb and a leather awl.”
“And at least one sharp cutting blade.”
Christian saw no need to answer that.
The warden looked up from the file. “You had a good lawyer, and the jury still voted to convict you. They thought you were guilty, son. So do I.”
“Most of the world agrees with you, Warden.”
“And how many of them are going to agree when Zandoff’s confession makes the headlines?”
Again Christian wondered if the jewelry had been found. “I don’t know what you mean.”
The warden rested his chin on his fingertips. “I’m talking about people not trusting you, Christian.”
Christian knew Sampsen had dropped the “Mr. Carver” on purpose. The warden had progressed to the point in the conversation when he wanted Christian to believe the two of them had overcome some hurdle, that they had become friends.
“May I speak frankly, sir?”
“You know that’s what I want.”
“Trust seems a poor second to freedom.”
“Well, I guess I can understand that.” The warden sat back in his chair. “There’s not a man at Ludwell who’d want to stay, if he didn’t have to. None except some old lifers, who’d be scared to go anywhere else. But it’s like this. Some of my men, the best of the bunch, have thought about what they did to get in here and come to terms with it. I’ve had men confess to me, like I was their priest, men who screamed and yelled they were innocent right up until they walked through these doors.”
Christian wondered what the warden had done to these so-called men. “I guess they needed to get it off their chests.”
“I respect them for it, too. A man who can confess his sins is a man on his way to cleaning up his life.”
Christian could almost hear the strains of “Rock of Ages” in the background. “If the cops find Fidelity’s jewelry buried where Zandoff says he buried it, why would anyone continue to suspect me?”
“Because you were right there, Johnny on the spot with the murder weapon. You had the girl’s blood on your hands, and you had the motive. Maybe you and Zandoff did it together.”
Christian sat back. That scenario was so far-fetched, he wondered why the warden was bothering. But he supposed it was a taste of what he would face if he was released from prison. For all he’d done and all he’d confessed, Karl Zandoff was still a mystery man. He would leave more questions than answers after his execution. One of those questions would be the circumstances behind Fidelity’s death.
The warden must have read something in his expression. “Me, I’m wondering why this Zandoff never went back and dug up the jewelry himself. Supposed to be some valuable pieces.”
“Fidelity’s jewelry was unique, very individual. It would have been impossible to sell off without detection.”
“Report says you killed her because you were furious with her. There was talk maybe you were in love with her and she wasn’t interested.”
“I didn’t kill Fidelity, and I was in love with her best friend. If I ever met Zandoff, ever even glimpsed the man, I don’t remember him.” There was nothing else to say.
“Well, I’m powerfully disappointed in you, son. I thought maybe, just maybe, we might take care of this right here and now. You see, you might get out for a while, but I’m betting you’ll be back before long. That little girl’s parents are important people. You don’t think they’re going to sit back and let you walk the streets of their town, knowing you might still be guilty. Me, I think it would be better to get it all out in the open now. Let Zandoff take credit for his share and you take credit for yours. You might get your sentence reduced. You could finish it with your head held high.”
Christian couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice. “Let’s see. Sentence reduced. Total freedom. Which has the most appeal?”
Warden Sampsen shook his head. “You’ve got a good record here. You’ve done good work with our guide dog program. I’m giving you the chance to do the right thing.”
“Warden, the right thing is to let me out of here.”
The warden picked up the report and thumped the edges against his desk to straighten them. Then he turned the stack and closed the folder over it. “I’ll give you some friendly advice, Mr. Carver. If some scumsucker in our legal system decides to let you out of here, don’t ever go back to Ridge’s Race. I’m already getting calls. Nobody wants you there. At best, you’re a reminder of something they’d rather forget. Go somewhere—anywhere—else. The farther away the better. But just so you know, you’ll never be able to go far enough. Because if the law finds a reason to catch back up with you, we will.”
Sampsen looked up and smiled. “We surely will.”
10
Jake passed the bread basket to Maisy. “There was some sort of commotion today over at South Land, or maybe it was Claymore Park. When I went to the hardware store, I saw half a dozen sheriff’s department cars on the dirt road that runs between them.”
The family was enjoying a late-night supper. Julia was halfway through a plate of lasagna, some portion of which had landed on her napkin. A long day had passed as she had struggled to reorient herself to the house that had once been home.
“What do you suppose that’s about?” Maisy said, from the other end of the table. “I hope nobody’s been hurt.”
“If some kind of crime was committed, it’ll be used as another argument against development,” Jake said. “If it wasn’t, somebody will point out how important it is to keep the county rural and safe.”
Development was a hot topic in western Loudoun County. The picturesque country life they all enjoyed was constantly threatened by developers who wanted to break up the area’s farms and estates and build mini-estates or, worse, town houses. There was fear that an entire way of life would vanish into suburban sprawl.
“You didn’t hear anything when you were in town?” Julia used her index finger to scoop a bite of lasagna onto her fork.
“Kay Granville thought she glimpsed men digging a line along the fence,” he said.
“That seems odd, doesn’t it? If it was a water or power line that malfunctioned, they wouldn’t send the sheriff, would they?”
“They might if everyone else was tied up and it was important enough.”
“I could call the Sutherlands,” Maisy said. “They expect me to call for odd reasons.”
Julia’s hand paused on the way to her mouth. “We’ll find out soon enough. Flo and Frank have probably already fielded half a dozen calls.”
“If something’s wrong, we should know. So we can help.”
“If something’s wrong, we’ll know soon enough,” Jake said. “Bad news travels fast.”
“How come?” Callie wiggled in the chair beside her mother and bumped Julia’s arm. “Mrs. Quinn told us about the way sound travels in science class. How does sound know if news is good or bad?”
“It’s just an expression,” Julia lowered her fork and started scooping food on it again. “It means people like to tell each other bad news.”
Callie’s silverware clattered against her plate. “I know some bad news.”
“The dinner table’s probably not the best place for that,” Julia said.
“Well, it was only bad news a long time ago. A bad man lived around here and he killed a girl.”
Everyone fell silent. Julia realized she was holding her breath. She forced herself to speak. “This really isn’t the right time to discuss that.”
“How come?”
Maisy rescued Julia. “Because mealtime is a time for good thoughts.”
“Are sheriff’s cars good thoughts?”
“I shouldn’t have brought that up,” Jake said. “My fault.”
“Oh.” Callie was silent a moment.
Julia tried to think of a change of subject as she struggled not to show her distress.
“Too bad,” Callie said. “’Cause I know why they’re digging.”
The child’s words fell into empty space. The only sound in the room was the ticking of a Garfield the cat clock over the sink. Julia could envision the cat’s tail swishing back and forth, back and forth.
“I think you’d like to tell us why, wouldn’t you?” Maisy said at last.
Julia set down her fork. “Maisy—”
“Because when the bad man killed somebody, he buried her jewelry!” Callie said triumphantly. “And now he’s told them where.”
Even the clock seemed to stop ticking.
“How do you know this?” Maisy said.
Julia was stunned that her mother could ask the question as if it hardly mattered. Maisy was a better actress than Julia had guessed.
“Tiffany told me,” Callie said.
“How does Tiffany know?” Julia felt for her water glass. Tiffany was Callie’s best friend. Her mother Samantha trained horses at Claymore Park.
“Tiff said her mommy and a friend were talking about it.”
“Well, now we know,” Jake said. He didn’t quite manage nonchalance.
“Tiff said the bad man’s already in prison.”
“Callie, I think it’s time we moved on to another subject.” Julia was almost desperate.
“But if he’s in prison, there’s nothing wrong, is there? He did something wrong, now he’s helping. That’s good news, isn’t it?”
Julia could feel tears welling, tears that would be much too hard to explain to her daughter. For nine years she had believed in Christian Carver’s innocence. Now his daughter was discussing his confession as offhandedly as if she was discussing a friend’s birthday party.
Callie lowered her voice. “But Tiffany says he’s going to die soon. Even though he’s helping. I don’t think that’s fair, do you?”
“Enough!”
“Julia…” Maisy’s warning was clear. “Callie, this is a sad story, and really not appropriate for the table. We can talk about it after dinner, okay?”
“I still don’t think it’s fair,” Callie muttered. “Those men in Florida are mean.”
“Florida?” Maisy said.
“Maisy, we can’t tell Callie not to talk about this at the dinner table, then keep the conversation going.” Jake was firm.
Julia had lost all appetite. “Callie, are you finished eating?”
“Yes,” Callie said sullenly. “I don’t like it when everybody yells at me.”
“Nobody yelled at you except me,” Julia said. “And I’m sorry. Let’s go in the other room and finish this conversation, okay? We can let Maisy and Jake eat in peace.”
“That’s not necessary,” Maisy began.
“No, Julia’s right,” Jake said. “She and Callie can talk in the living room. When we’re done, we’ll dish up pie for everybody. Your favorite,” he told Callie. “Lemon meringue.”
“Okay?” Julia said.
“I guess.” Callie’s chair scraped the floor. “But I want a big piece.”
“You know it,” Jake said.
Julia slid her chair back and gripped the table edge. She edged herself between her chair and Callie’s before she relinquished it. Then she slid her chair back in place and turned. She allowed Callie to lead her through the doorway.
In the living room, she paused to get her bearings. “The sofa’s over there?” She pointed.
“Uh-huh.”
“Let’s sit there.”
Once they were settled, Julia put her arm over her daughter’s shoulders. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
Callie was obviously still pouting. “I was just telling you what Tiffany told me.”
Julia didn’t know exactly what to say. “I know you were. And we started the conversation, didn’t we?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Callie, the girl who died a long time ago was my best friend. Her name was Fidelity. She was Flo and Frank Sutherland’s daughter.”
“Really?” Callie sounded more fascinated than shocked.
Julia played with her daughter’s pigtail. “That’s why it’s hard for me to hear about this.”
