It took less than ten minutes for Amara to recap her plan for Mr. Beckerstreet. Talk to Haley again. Explain to her that the SAPD and Cannonball Water Park were posting notices on their websites and on social media asking anyone who was at the park on the day of Zachary Coleman’s death to review any video or photos they might have taken. Police had someone they wanted to speak with. The notice would include two large pictures of Haley, one in her disguise and one not.
There would be proof. No question. Wannabe detectives would scour the background of every picture they’d taken. At least one would give them what they wanted. Evidence the girl had been with the boy near the time of his death. Maybe even ones showing her handing him the water bottle. Better yet, images that showed her at Day’s End Cove with him.
The DA would have enough to pursue murder charges, but Haley had an option. Confess to the killing prior to that, give all the details, and in return the prosecution would reduce the charge from capital murder to first-degree. The death penalty would be off the table. She’d spend a long time in prison but could be eligible for parole somewhere down the road. She would have until twenty-four hours after her bond hearing to decide. By then, she’d have a lawyer one way or another.
Beckerstreet signed off on the plan. Make sure the conversation was recorded. Mirandize her again prior to the discussion. Keep him in the loop. And don’t do anything to jeopardize the rest of the case.
Just over an hour later, she sat across from Haley in the same interrogation room they’d used earlier that day. “Don’t say another word,” Amara said after reading the girl her rights. “Not unless it’s to explicitly indicate you’re waiving your right to have an attorney present. I’m not going to ask you any questions, but I do want you to be aware of what’s about to happen.”
She recapped the plan for the teen, who responded with a smirk and shrug.
That smug look would disappear soon enough in prison. The tough-girl routine wouldn’t last a day. “Final thing I’ll tell you and then you can return to your cell. We have the preliminary tox report.” She placed her hands on her knees, afraid she’d slip one behind her back to cross her fingers. “Be another week or so before we get the details, but we do know Zachary’s death was no accident. That part of the story is over.”
Haley sat in stony silence.
“That’s what my boss was most worried about. Oh, he knew you killed Zachary, but it’s the jury who matters. We could prove you had the motive to do it. Opportunity too. But proving his death was actually murder? That was the hard part. Kudos to you. Wanna know a secret? How this whole thing got started?”
The girl’s shrug had lost most of its intensity.
“His fingers and toes weren’t wrinkled.” Amara turned her palms up. “Dr. Pritchard caught it. He’s the medical examiner. Isn’t that the weirdest thing? That’s how we knew someone killed him. You’re in the water that long, your toes ought to be wrinkled.” Amara stood. “I suppose this will be the last time I talk to you. Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to make new friends.”
“Wait.”
“Uh-uh. No talking, remember? When you get your lawyer, if you want to speak after that, fine.”
“What about Dexter?”
Her dog? “I suppose he’ll be taken to a shelter. Check with your attorney if you want something else done.”
“Will you take him?”
Uh, that’s a hard no. Even if Larry wasn’t in the picture, the dog wasn’t coming anywhere near her home. “Haley, I don’t have room for Dexter or time to take care of him.”
A tap on the door interrupted the conversation. “Give me a second.” She peeked into the hallway. A man stood there holding a piece of paper.
“Just got this back,” he said. “Figured you’d want it immediately.”
The document contained ten fingerprints, Haley’s according to the form. But not Haley Bricker. Amara’s blood chilled. The prints matched a girl who’d run away from home four years ago at age seventeen. Haley Bricker was actually Haley Bronson, twenty-one years old, and from New Rochelle, New York.
Everything was a lie. Her ID, school records, all fake.
“Can I keep this?” she asked.
“Yep,” the man said. He smiled. “Have fun in there.”
“Thanks.” She moved back into the interrogation room and remained standing. “Changed my mind. I do want to ask you some questions. You remember your rights?”
“Yeah, and I’m still not talking. Come on, do the decent thing. Take care of Dexter for me.”
“We’ll talk about that later. After you get an attorney. Right now I’ve got to go do a bunch of paperwork on your case. Thought I was done, but that was before I found out you were really”—she read off the paper—“Haley Bronson from New Rochelle, New York. Nice job on your accent, by the way.”
The girl chuckled. “Took you long enough.”
“I’ll have someone return you to your cell.”
“Take him and I’ll talk.”
“What?”
“Dexter. Take him and I’ll talk.”
Seriously? Liam said she didn’t care about anything except her dog. Maybe he was right. “I can’t make deals. You’ve stated you don’t want to talk unless your lawyer is present.”
The girl waved her hand. “Forget all that. I don’t need an attorney for this.” She stared into the corner camera. “I know my rights and I’m agreeing to talk.”
Amara returned to her seat. “You understand that at any point in this conversation you can stop speaking?”
“Yes. So you’ll take care of Dexter?”
A line.
Starsky had said that we all draw our own lines. That wherever she drew hers, she shouldn’t cross it. Ever.
She could lie about the dog. Say she would take him despite the fact there was no chance that would happen. Perfectly legal.
But it felt wrong. The girl had one thing left. Dexter. She wanted to know her dog would be taken care of. That even though she might be in prison, somewhere out there Dexter was having a good life. Haley would never know otherwise, if Amara lied. Dexter might be living in a shelter, or worse, but the girl could dream of her dog. Know that he was safe.
The line. Amara would know the truth. That she’d lied about the one thing in the world that mattered to Haley Bronson.
She reached for the girl’s hands and held them in her own.
“Yes, Haley. I’ll take care of Dexter.”