No, that’s not right. That’s not fucking right.
The judge shuffles some papers on his desk and opens his mouth to address Sharrock. The world is moving on and Mirrie is being left behind once more, naked and discarded like a piece of trash on a hillside.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ryah
I look at Cale in confusion. Sharrock confessed. He told the police everything, didn’t he? He’s been cooperating over these murders, so why suddenly change his mind?
Cale shoots to his feet, gripping the railing and glaring down into the court. Right at Bernard Sharrock. He draws the eyes of everyone, even the judge.
Everyone except Bernard Sharrock, who stares blearily ahead as if detached from everything going on around him. I tug Cale’s sleeve and whisper his name, but he doesn’t seem to notice I’m there.
“Look at me,” Cale shouts.
I hold my breath. Bernard Sharrock blinks a few times but doesn’t turn his head. On Cale’s other side, Mrs. Hearn’s hand is fluttering on his sleeve. There are tears sliding down her cheeks. Cale doesn’t see. His attention is focused squarely on the man in the dock. I don’t think he even knows where he is anymore. The judge opens his mout
h to order Cale to sit down.
“I said fucking look at me.”
The judge speaks. “You must sit down or remove yourself, unless you wish to be held in contempt of court.”
Cale doesn’t budge. He’s got the same expression in his eyes that he had the night he threw Tanno out of the circus. Totally implacable and filled with rage. There are ushers approaching the public gallery from either end. If he resists them, or worse, punches them, he’s going to be arrested.
I take his hand. “Cale, please. It’s not worth getting into trouble. Let’s just go.”
Bernard Sharrock turns his head and looks at Cale. The two men stare into each other’s eyes, one ferocious, the other watery and deadpan. Sharrock doesn’t seem puzzled by who Cale is. Maybe he knows, or maybe he just doesn’t care.
Two ushers step forward, but Cale shakes them off, already heading for the door. “That’s all I wanted. I’m going.”
I exchange a tense look with Mr. and Mrs. Hearn, and then hurry after Cale. He’s striding down the hall. I have to jog to catch up to him and I touch his arm. His hand closes around mine ferociously, but he can’t look at me. He focuses on the front door, his only objective getting us out of here. I keep step with him as we walk through the double doors, and then out into the fresh air.
Cale takes a deep, gasping breath and doubles over. For a second I wonder if he’s going to be sick, but he pushes up again a moment later, and his expression is blazing. “He did it. He fucking did it. I could see it in his eyes when he looked at me.”
“I’m so sorry, Cale,” I whisper.
He paces up and down, shaking his head, his eyes feverish. “What difference does it make to him? He’s going down for three murders. He’s an old man and he’s going to die in prison. Why change his mind about one charge at the last second?”
I reach out to him. Instantly, he wraps his arms around me and presses his face into my hair, holding me so tight I can barely breathe. I hold him back as hard as I can. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing for more strength that I can give to him, to keep him from shattering from grief.
He speaks without lifting his head. “Let’s go home. I just want to go home.”
“We’ll go,” I promise, threading my fingers through his hair. “We’ll go.”
Over his shoulder, I see Mr. and Mrs. Hearn coming down the steps toward us. Both of them look shaken and upset.
I step back, letting the family hug each other. Though Mr. and Mrs. Hearn are gray-faced and red-eyed, they seem more worried about their son than anything else. While Cale and Mr. Hearn speak, Mrs. Hearn takes me aside.
I start talking first. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hearn. I wanted you all to get closure so badly.”
She dabs at her nose with a handkerchief. “It is what it is. I don’t pretend to understand what goes on in the mind of a man like that. George and I, we’ve been able to put Mirrie to rest, but Cale never has.”
Maybe Sharrock likes this little piece of power over a grieving family, or maybe four murders is too much. There’s no evidence connecting him to Mirrie. Why accept guilt for something they can’t pin on him?
Mrs. Hearn clutches my hand tightly. “You’ll stay with him, won’t you? He needs a friend right now.”
I grip her hand back just as hard. “I’m not going anywhere without him.”