Page 90 of Justice for Samara

“Hurts, but I’m okay. Where’s Michael?”

“We’ll get to that in a minute. But right now, you remember Amos, and we’re here to ask you some questions and try to piece everything together, okay?” She nodded. “So let’s start at the beginning. Michael and I left and I told you to stay at the office with the door locked, but Michael told you that you could take the extra cruiser and go to his mom’s, right?” She nodded. “What happened after that?”

The next few minutes were nothing but Samara recalling everything she could. At one point, Carter asked, “Wait. You heard him shoot someone?”

“Yes, sir. I heard it.”

Amos glanced at him. “Where were you?”

“I don’t know. I was in the trunk.”

Amos gave Carter a knowing look, and he understood. She’d heard Stadler kill Jessica Fleming, the woman on MartinsburgRoad. They’d been on the way to the intended fourth victim when he stopped on the side of the road and everything went to hell. “So can you tell us what you remember after he shot you?”

“Not a lot. I remember seeing the barn and the house. I remember trying to get to the house and hearing him shoot toward me. I remember lying on the porch and Michael looking down into my face, and the farmer being there. But it’s all disjointed and fuzzy, and it’s hard to know what order things happened in. And the next thing I remember was waking up here after surgery and trying to figure out what was…” She stopped abruptly. “Where’s Michael? Why isn’t he here?”

Amos couldn’t have stopped Carter if he’d wanted to. “Because your parents have kept him from coming to see you. They don’t want him here.”

“That’s not their call. That’s mine,” she answered.

“As long as you’re on pain medication, they’re allowed to make decisions for you by law.”

“I want to see Michael. I want to know that he’s okay.”

“He’s okay.” Carter patted her hand. “He’s perfectly fine, except he’s a mess because he’s worried about you and they’ve blocked him from seeing you.”

“No. I need to talk to them. I want to… Where are they? They have to… Carter, please.” She was getting worked up and that wasn’t what they wanted.

“We’re going to let you get some rest, okay? SheriffWertz is talking to them now. Maybe he’s made some headway. But you’ve got to rest so you can get back to being yourself. Just rest, honey. We’ll talk again soon.” Carter patted her hand again and watched as she relaxed a bit.

They stepped out the door and into the hallway to find Brian arguing with Samara’s parents. “I realize that’s your right under law, but is that really what’s best? If she wants to see him, don’t you think it could help her heal by seeing him?”

“No. Just no. Did you get what you need?” Bruce spat in Amos’ direction.

“Yes, sir. I did. And we’ll leave you folks now. Thank you for your time.”

“Thank you? You forced us to let you see her!” Debra bellowed.

Carter started to say something, but the look Amos gave him stopped him cold. Without another word, they made their way with Brian to the elevator, and when the doors closed, Brian was the first to speak. “I’m sorry. I did everything I could to get them to let you bring DeputyEdwards to see her, but they wouldn’t bend. Can’t she call him?”

“Her phone was on the front seat of the cruiser with her tool belt and bag. She doesn’t have her phone, and I doubt she’s got his number memorized.” Carter rubbed a hand across his forehead. “This is maddening. I can’t believe in this day and age?”

“I know what you’re going to say, but if that were your daughter, you don’t know what you’d do,” Amos pointed out.

They rode the rest of the way down in silence. Carter was frustrated beyond belief. And worse yet, he had to tell Michael what had been said.

That was one task he wasn’t looking forward to. But he had one more ace in the hole. And it was time to play it.

CHAPTER 12

“Did you find it?”

“Yes, ma’am, sure did.” Carter read the telephone number aloud. “It says that’s her mother’s number. DebraFutrell.”

“Thank you, son. I appreciate it. I’ll see what I can do.” She hung up and sighed.Get yourself in the right headspace, Marjorie, she told herself before she picked up her phone again and punched in the numbers.

It rang once and a voice said, “Hello?”

“Hello. Is this DebraFutrell?”

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