me alone here."
So I didn't. Not then. Not until much later, when she was back home, where she wanted to die because the thought of being back in a room like the one I'm in now...
Now it was my turn. I was alone here. It didn't scare me too much. I thought about that, about where my life had taken me. Who would be here for me in a crisis? Who could I expect to be at my bedside when I woke up in a hospital? The first names that popped into my head: Greta and Bob. When I cut my hand last year slicing open a bagel, Bob had driven me, Greta had taken care of Cara. They were family-the only family I had left. And now they were gone.
I remembered the last time I was hospitalized. When I was twelve years old I came down with rheumatic fever. It was pretty rare then, even rarer now. I spent ten days in the hospital. I remember Camille visiting. Sometimes she brought her annoying friends because she knew that would distract me. We played Boggle a lot. Boys loved Camille. She used to bring the cassette tapes they made for her-groups like Steely Dan and Supertramp and the Doobie Brothers. Camille told me what groups were great, what groups were lame, and I followed her taste as though it were biblical.
Did she suffer out in those woods?
That was what I'd always wondered. What did Wayne Steubens do to her? Did he tie her up and terrify her, like he did with Margot Green? Did she struggle and suffer defensive wounds like Doug Billingham? Did he bury her alive, like those victims in Indiana or Virginia? How much pain had Camille been in? How terrifying were her last moments?
And now... the new question: Had Camille somehow gotten out of those woods alive?
I turned my thoughts to Lucy. I thought about what she must be going through, watching her beloved father blow his head off, wondering about the whys and how's of it all. I wanted to reach her, say some thing, try somehow to comfort her a little.
There was a knock on my door.
Come in.
I expected it to be a nurse. It wasn't. It was Muse. I smiled at her. I expected her to smile back. She didn't. Her face couldn't have been more closed.
"Don't look so glum," I said. "I'm fine."
Muse moved closer to the bed. Her expression didn't change.
"I said-"
"I already talked to the doctor. He said you might not even have to stay overnight." "So what's with the face?" Muse grabbed a chair, pulled it next to the bed. "We need to talk."
I had seen Loren Muse make this face before.
It was her game face. It was her I'm-gonna-nail-da-bastard face. It was her try-to-lie-and-I'U-spot-it face. I had seen her direct this look at murderers and rapists and carjackers and gangbangers. Now she was aiming at me.
"What's the matter?"
Her expression didn't soften. "How did it go with Raya Singh?"
"It was pretty much what we thought." I filled her in briefly be cause, really, talking about Raya felt almost beside the point at this stage. "But the big news is, Gil Perez's sister came to see me. She told me Ca-mille was still alive."
I saw something change in her face. She was good, no doubt, but so was I. They say that a true "tell" lasts less than a tenth of a second. But I spotted it. She wasn't necessarily surprised by what I said. But it had jolted her nonetheless.
"What's going on, Muse?"
"I talked to Sheriff Lowell today."
I frowned. "He hasn't retired yet?"
No.
I was going to ask her why she'd reached out to him, but I knew Muse was thorough. It would be natural for her to have contacted the lead from those murders. It also explained, in part, her behavior toward me.
"Let me guess," I said. "He thinks I lied about that night."
Muse did not say yes or no. "It is odd, don't you think? You not staying on guard duty the night of the murder."
"You know why. You read those journals."
"Yes, I did. You sneaked off with your girlfriend. And then you didn't want to get her in trouble." "Right." "But those journals also said that you were covered with blood. Is that true too?"
I looked at her. "What the hell is going on?"
"I'm pretending that you aren't my boss."
I tried to sit up. The stitch in my side hurt like hell.
"Did Lowell say I was a