Page 146 of We Are All Guilty Here

“Paisley Walker.” Emmy held the girl’s face between her hands. She made her voice firm, commanding. “Paisley, I know you can hear me. You need to look at me right now.”

The girl did not respond. Emmy was torn between staying and leaving to get her phone. She was saved the decision by the distant wail of sirens. She had terrified Cole by not answering his call. Every cop in the county was probably barreling down the road.

“Paisley!” Emmy shouted. “Do you hear those sirens? We’re gonna get you back home to your mama and daddy, but I need you to open your eyes and look at me, baby. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

The girl still did not respond. Emmy was about to try again when she saw movement behind the eyelids, like two marbles sliding under a silk cloth.

“That’s right,” Emmy said. “Look at me, sweetheart. Show me those beautiful eyes.”

At first, all that Paisley could manage was a narrow slit. Her pupils were giant black circles in a sea of red. Emmy turned the flashlight toward her own face. Leaned in closer so that the girl could see her.

“Paisley,” she said. “I’m Sheriff Emmy Clifton. You’re safe. I’m here to help you, okay?”

The girl’s eyes closed, then slowly opened again. Her lips peeled apart. Her breath smelled stale and sickly.

She whispered, “The … the man …”

“He’s dead,” Emmy told her. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“I …” Her voice trailed off. She closed her eyes. But she didn’t stop talking. “I was on my bike and … and he hit me and I … I fell down … and I was … I was so scared and … and …”

“And what, baby?” Emmy wiped the tears that leaked from her eyes. “You can tell me all about it. I’m not going anywhere.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Emmy sat beside Cole in the viewing room inside the sheriff’s station. The only light was from the two monitors, but Emmy didn’t focus on the images. She looked down at her right hand. The memory of Paisley Walker’s pulse lingered in her fingertips. The girl had been flown to the children’s trauma center in Atlanta. She was severely dehydrated, on the brink of death, when Emmy had found her. There was no telling whether she would regain the use of her feet and hands.

But she was alive. She was breathing. She was talking. She was with Elijah and Carol, and she was safe.

Everyone was acting like Emmy was a hero, but there was no hero in this story. All that Emmy could think about was Hannah’s words the night that Madison and Cheyenne had gone missing. They’d both still been holding onto the tiniest sliver of hope that Madison would be found alive. Hannah had asked the most obvious question—

How the hell is she ever going to recover from it?

Twelve years hadn’t brought Emmy any closer to an answer, but if being a Clifton had taught her anything, it was that some things were easier to endure than to examine.

She clasped together her hands, trying to get the tapping sensation to go away. Emmy was rewarded with a horrific pain in her left wrist. She couldn’t breathe through it. The ribs in front of her heart were bruised. Virgil had fired one shot from the Ruger before he’d started to fall. K-5, center mass. The .22 had punched Emmy’s armored vest like a compressed bolt. She hadn’t felt it at the time, but now, every breath was a misery.

Cole rested his hand on her arm. She knew he was worried, but there was no way Emmy was going to lie in a hospital bed while Walton Huntsinger was interrogated.

“I’m fine, baby.”

She looked past him to the monitor that showed Walton slumped at the table. Jude and Seth Alexander were sitting across from him. Seth looked exhausted. His tie was pulled down. He was hunched over a notepad he’d rested on his crossed leg. He wasn’t transcribing the interview. He was noting inconsistencies. His pen had scribbled furiously at the beginning. Now, he only made a stray mark here and there.

In contrast, Jude looked invigorated. Nothing Walton had said managed to rattle her. As Walton had walked them through the disgusting details of his sickness, she had remained completely impassive, at times seemingly bored. He might as well have been telling her about the price of cotton futures. He’d had no idea she was setting a trap until it was too late.

Emmy wasn’t too proud to admit that her sister had given a master class in interrogation. Seven long, brutal hours had passed since Walton had been arrested, but Jude had carefully broken him down piece by piece until finally, eventually Walton had given in.

The sound of Seth flipping a page on the notepad shushed from the Bluetooth speaker.

“Okay.” Jude’s tone was crisp and professional. “Continue.”

Walton looked at Seth’s notepad. The last bit of his good guy facade had fallen away. Only the child rapist and murderer remained. “I guess it was around ten days before the Fourth. Cheyenne told me to meet her at my office at midnight. I thought we were going to have some fun, but Cheyenne showed me the video.”

“How did she show it to you?”

“On the Nokia N93i. It was the good kind with the video camera you could hide in your pocket. Virgil didn’t even know she had it. I told you she was sneaky. He’d given her an iPhone burner, but he checked it all the time to make sure there was nothing that could lead back to us.” Walton shrugged. “She was such a damn good liar.”

Jude stayed on point. “What did you do when Cheyenne showed you the video?”

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