his fingers through his hair. He smoothed down his tie. He had so many tells that they could never play cards together, not even Go Fish.
“Babe, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”
There was a quick knock before the door opened. Charlie held out hope that it was her father, but an older black woman wearing a navy pantsuit and white blouse walked into the room. Her short black hair was tuffeted with white. She had a large, banged-up-looking purse on her arm that was almost as big as the one that Charlie carried to work. A laminated ID hung on a lanyard around her neck, but Charlie couldn’t read it.
The woman said, “I’m special agent in charge Delia Wofford with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. You’re Charlotte Quinn?” She reached out to shake Charlie’s hand, but changed her mind when she saw the dried blood. “Have you been photographed?”
Charlie nodded.
“For godsakes.” She opened her purse and pulled out a packet of Wet Wipes. “Use as many as you need. I can get more.”
Jonah was back with another chair. Delia pointed to the head of the table, indicating that’s where she wanted to sit. She asked Jonah, “Are you the jerk who wouldn’t let this woman clean herself up?”
Jonah didn’t know what to do with the question. He had probably never had to answer to any woman besides his mother, and that had been a long time ago.
“Close the door behind you.” Delia waved Jonah off as she sat down. “Ms. Quinn, we’ll get through this as quickly as possible. Do you mind if I record this?”
Charlie shook her head. “Knock yourself out.”
She tapped some buttons on her phone to activate the recorder, then unpacked her bag, tossing notepads and books and papers onto the table.
The concussion made it impossible for Charlie to read anything in front of her, so she opened up the pack of Wet Wipes and got to work. She scrubbed between her fingers first, dislodging specks of black that floated like ashes from a roaring fire. The blood had seared itself into the pores. Her hands looked like an old woman’s. She was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. She wanted to go home. She wanted a hot bath. She wanted to think about what had happened today, to examine all the pieces, then gather them up, put them in a box and place it high on a shelf so that she never had to deal with it again.
“Ms. Quinn?” Delia Wofford was offering her a bottle of water.
Charlie almost snatched it out of the woman’s hand. She hadn’t realized she was thirsty until that moment. Half of the water was gone before the logical part of her brain reminded her that it wasn’t a good idea to drink so quickly on a sour stomach.
“Sorry.” Charlie put her hand to her mouth to cover the noxious belch.
The agent had obviously endured worse. “Ready?”
“You’re recording this?”
“Yes.”
Charlie peeled another wipe out of the packet. “First, I want some information about Kelly Wilson.”
Delia Wofford had enough years under her belt to not look as annoyed as she must have felt. “She’s been examined by a doctor. She’s under constant surveillance.”
That’s not what Charlie had meant, and the agent knew it. “There are nine factors you have to consider before ascertaining whether or not a juvenile’s statement is—”
“Ms. Quinn,” Delia interrupted. “Let’s stop worrying about Kelly Wilson and start worrying about you. I’m sure you don’t want to spend a second longer here than you absolutely have to.”
Charlie would’ve rolled her eyes if not for the fear of making herself dizzy. “She’s sixteen. She’s not old enough to—”
“Eighteen.”
Charlie stopped cleaning her hands. She stared at Ben, not Delia Wofford, because they had both agreed very early on in their marriage that a lie by omission was still a lie.
Ben stared back. His expression told her nothing.
Delia said, “According to her birth certificate, Kelly Wilson turned eighteen two days ago.”
“You’ve—” Charlie had to look away from Ben because their broken marriage took a back seat to a death warrant. “You’ve seen her birth certificate?”
Delia shuffled through a stack of folders until she found what she was looking for. She put a sheet of paper in front of Charlie. All Charlie could make out was a round, official-looking seal.
Delia said, “The school records back it up, but we were faxed this official copy from the Georgia Department of Health an hour ago.” Her finger pointed to what must have been Kelly’s birth date.