“They’ll place the suspect in there in a few minutes,” Burnett said. “You can see him, but he can’t see you. And there are air vents so you two should be able to get his trace.”
Should be able to, Della thought.
“I’ll be right back.” Burnett walked out. The sound of the door clicking shut played on one of her last nerves. Or maybe it was her last.
“You okay?” Chase asked, as if reading her every emotion.
She nodded and tried to stop what felt like chatter in her head. Inhaling, she tested the air, hoping her sense of smell was back. Nothing. She couldn’t even pick up Chase.
A sound came from the other side of the glass. An agent, the female agent, led a boy into the room and pointed to the chair. Not just a boy, she reminded herself, but Billy Jennings, the suspect. Very possibly the person who’d viciously killed Lorraine and her boyfriend.
Della inhaled again, hoping to catch a scent. Still nothing. Her gut knotted.
She looked at Billy’s face. She recalled trying to pick out a killer earlier, but not in a million years would she have picked him out. Sure, he had short dark hair, but he looked younger than her, and clean-cut enough to belong in a high-school band—a trumpet player, or maybe the clarinet.
He exuded innocence. His cheeks were even rosy like some portrait of a straight-A model kid. The kind of kid who’d never even tasted beer, much less blood.
She felt Chase staring at her and knew the question he was about to pose.
She’d already decided she wouldn’t lie. She couldn’t. She might not tell Burnett that her sense of smell was on the fritz, but she wouldn’t condemn anyone without proof.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She looked back at Billy. He looked scared, really scared. She remembered how it felt a week out from being turned. Her life as she’d known it had been yanked from her. She hated herself, hated what she’d become.
Innocent. Innocent. Innocent. The word played over and over in her head.
In spite of being cold, the room suddenly felt stuffy, as if the gray walls were closing in on her. Blood rushed to her ears and she started getting dizzy. She had to get out of there.
She swung around, yanked open the door, and walked down the hall until she saw a door leading outside. She didn’t breathe until she cleared it—until she stood in the parking lot, the moon and stars flickering down on her from above.
“Hey.” Chase came up behind her. “Calm down.” He put his hands on her shoulders. His touch was cold, but comforting. She almost wanted to fall against him. Then she remembered their kiss. “It’s going to be okay.”
“No, it’s not.” She shook her head. “I can’t … I can’t do this. My … I don’t know if that’s him. I’m not that sure.” Then it hit: She didn’t have to be sure. She swung around and looked at Chase. “You got his trace, too. Is it him? Is he the one who killed that couple?”
He paused, then slowly nodded his head. “Yeah.” But even in the darkness she noted his left brow twitched.
Della shook her head. “You’re lying. You don’t know for sure.”
“I may not be a hundred percent sure, but I’m sure enough.”
Innocent. Innocent. Innocent. The word started playing in her head again.
“No, if you aren’t sure, then you can’t put that on the kid.”
“Della, stop and think.” He took her by the shoulders. “Listen to me, okay?” Only when she looked up did he start talking. “I know it’s hard to be sure, but he fits the description and MO of the person the FRU thinks did this. Before they condemn the kid, they’ll get the DNA, so if we’re wrong, he won’t go down.”
“He might not go down, but until it comes back, he’s going to be accused of murder. And he’ll think he did it, because he won’t be able to remember.” She felt emotion tighten in her chest as she recalled being brought to this very place and being tested to see if she’d killed someone when she’d been turned. Never had she felt more like a monster than that day.
Was that how Billy was feeling now?
“This isn’t right,” she said, trying to control the shakiness of her voice. “We can’t accuse him if we’re not certain he did it.”
“What’s not right is if they let him go and then find out he’s guilty and he’s gone. And he will be gone. Do you think if he walks out of here, he won’t skip out? He will. He’d be nuts not to get the hell out of Dodge, guilty or otherwise. He won’t want the FRU on his ass. The gang won’t take him back now that the FRU are looking at him for something. It would bring the FRU down on their butts. And, statistically, when a fresh turn kills, the odds of them doing it again are twice as great as those who don’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. It’s been proven. Trust me on this.”
“How? Who has it been proven by? Why do you claim to know so damn much?”
“It doesn’t matter.” His jaw muscle clenched as if he’d said something he shouldn’t have.
It did matter. Everything mattered. Lorraine and John mattered. Billy Jennings mattered.
Chase took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him again. “Della, I really believe it was his trace. Trust me.”
She shook her head. “But you’re not a hundred percent sure.”
“Is anyone a hundred percent sure?” He exhaled pure frustration. “Look, if he’s innocent, all this will cost him is another day in jail. That might not be easy, but if he’s guilty, it will cost someone their life. Do you want to be responsible for him killing again? Hasn’t he hurt enough people?”
Della’s mind went back to the vision of Lorraine and John, throats gaping open. Did she owe her loyalty to the dead, or to a scared kid who might not be guilty of anything other than being turned?
Innocent. Innocent. Innocent.
“I can’t be sure,” Della told Burnett ten minutes later. All three of them sat at a table back in the adjoining room. Della stared at the two of them, trying not to look at Billy.
Burnett didn’t look happy. Neither did Chase. But why was he so upset?
Burnett leaned on his elbows and came forward on the table. “I thought you got his trace?”
“I thought I did, too. But something isn’t right. I … I’m sorry, I can’t be sure.” She kept her eyes cut away from the two-way mirror.