Chapter Twelve

A FEW HOURS LATER, CHELSEYis back, winding Coldwell's familiar streets. She parks near a garbage can with black bags piled against it, slams her door, and shakes out her clammy hands. The anticipation is making her dizzy. The questions, too. She confirmed that Ellie was wearing Gabrielle's sweatshirt. Plus more. A station wagon. Dog bites. She knocks on Ellie's door, bouncing lightly on her heels. The day has grown cold.

Kat answers, and Chelsey is hit with the aroma of onion, garlic, and warming spices. She promised Noah she'd be home for dinner tonight. He's making something, he'd told her on the phone, but now she cannot remember what. She'd been too busy wondering about what had happened to Gabrielle Barlowe, whether Ellie had known her.

"Detective Calhoun," Kat says, surprised.

"Hey, Kat." Ellie appears behind her mother like a wraith. There is an emptiness in Ellie's gaze that startles Chelsey. "Hey, Ellie. I know I'd said we'd take some time off the case, but there's been a recent development, and I have a couple of quick questions."

"We're having dinner soon." Kat's brow dips. It is the first time Chelsey has felt like an unwelcome presence at the Blacks'.

"It won't take much time. Promise." She polishes her statement off with a bright disarming smile.

Kat looks back at Ellie, and Ellie jerks her chin up. "It's okay," Ellie says.

"I'm going to finish dinner," Kat says. She floats back to the kitchen. And Ellie curls up in a chair. It squeaks as she rocks back and forth. Chelsey perches on the couch and leaves her jacket on. "How are you, Ellie?"

"What's the new development?" Ellie's voice is raspy.

Chelsey's gaze drifts to her neck, to the white unmarred skin. She has Gabrielle's autopsy report now. Brielle sent it over. She peeked at the photographs while driving, nearly getting into a collision with a semi. Not one of her better moments. Gabrielle had marks all over her neck. Had been choked to death. There was a bald spot on her head, too. From her hair being pulled? Some bleeding in her ears. Nails jagged and broken as if she'd fought. The usual stuff. Then the bite marks. Torn flesh. Chelsey blanched and had to pull over, roll down the window, breathe deep before starting again.

Chelsey looks at Ellie's clasped hands. The nails are even. Neatly filed. She makes a mental note to go back through the photographs of Ellie to check if her nails were broken during the exam. Maybe Ellie hadn't been left for dead. Maybe she'd escaped before he had a chance to try anything? As if sensing Chelsey's thoughts, Ellie tucks her fingers under her thighs.

Chelsey clears her throat. "I was reviewing the evidence from your case. I'm still waiting on forensics, DNA, that sort of thing. But I noticed something on the clothing you were wearing." She stares hard at Ellie, searching for anything, a tell—of discomfort, fear, annoyance.

Ellie stops rocking and pulls her legs up to her chest to hug them. "Yeah?"

"The University of Washington sweatshirt you were wearing had a number, fifty-five." Chelsey senses another body in the room and glances up. Kat is leaning in the doorway, kitchen towel in hand. Chelsey returns her attention to Ellie and catches her flinching. No, not flinching. Spasming. "The clothing came from One of a Kind Custom College Apparel. It was special ordered by Althea Barlowe for her granddaughter." Chelsey gives Ellie a long, measured look. Ellie puts her hands to her ears and begins to rock back and forth.

"Ellie?" Kat says, then focuses on Chelsey, warning in her eyes. "Detective Calhoun."

Chelsey ignores Kat, lasering in on Ellie. Digging. Digging. Digging. "Does the name Gabrielle Barlowe mean anything to you?"

Ellie stands abruptly, pushes past her mother, and darts into the kitchen. Chelsey rises and finds Ellie doubled over the sink, vomiting, while Kat rubs her back. Ellie wretches again. Violent tremors wrack her body. Kat holds a dish towel to Ellie's mouth. She looks up from her trembling daughter and right at Chelsey, radiating hostility. "I think you should go."

Chelsey shakes her head, refusing to cede this ground. "Did you know Gabrielle?" She's caught in an avalanche and cannot claw herself from it. "Please, tell me. Anything." Outside, rain starts, heavy and fast, and the wind picks up, rattling the windows like bones clicking together.

Ellie takes the towel from her mother and wipes her mouth. She grips the edge of the sink. "I don't want to talk to you anymore." She over-enunciates the words. Each one tumbles from her mouth like barbed wire, cutting into Chelsey. "I'm done with this. With you. The whole thing."

Chelsey freezes, realizing that she has lost herself for a moment. And now she's lost Ellie. She tries to regain her composure. "You're declining to participate in the investigation?"

"Yes. Whatever." Ellie heaves. Tears stream down her face. "No more, okay? Just no more."

Chelsey hangs her head.

Kat shuffles to the counter to a bottle of pills and shakes one out. She presses one to Ellie's mouth along with a glass of water and murmurs to her. Then she glances over her shoulder at Chelsey. "You can see yourself out."

Chelsey puts her hands up. "Of course." The words scrape against her throat.

Outside, she lingers in her car, rubbing at a pinch in her chest. Ellie does not want to talk. Ellie does not want to help with the investigation.

Chelsey sighs, unsure what to do now. How to proceed. She fires up the ignition, and a body in the Blacks' window catches her eye. Ellie is there, the curtain pulled back, head tilted. Staring at Chelsey. Watching her.