Page 46 of Catching Camila

Camila

Thursday 8:55 p.m.

Camila stared at the door. Her heart was in her throat. Did he just say—

“Open up. It’s the police,” the voice urged.

Camila’s wide eyes found Mama’s. “What did you do?” she whispered.

Mama shook her head, terror filling her face. “Nothing. Oh God, Camila.” She crossed her chest, clasped her hands and began mumbling a prayer in Spanish.

Camila strode to the door, her whole body trembling. This was it. This was where they would lose everything. The police would come in and find the shoplifted items… O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us.

“Just a moment, officer.” Her voice rattled like a twig in a hurricane. Pull it together, she thought. She clenched her hands, swallowed the fear, and turned the doorknob. She slid into the little crack between the door and the jamb and peered out.

One uniformed police officer stood on her stoop. Another waited at the base of the steps. They were both relatively young and trim, though one had a belly that rounded over his belt. The cop on her stoop met her eyes and nodded.

“Hello, miss. Are you the owner of this residence?” His voice was not unkind, but she couldn’t tell if he was just putting on a good face before he dragged her away.

Camila shook her head. “No, officer. It’s my mother’s, but she’s at work.” She prayed Mama would keep her mouth shut.

The officer glanced back at his partner and then up at Camila. “Miss, we’re going house to house in this area to determine if anyone's seen a suspect in a crime.” He held up a sheet of paper. Camila stared at it.

John. The sketch on the paper was clearly meant to be John with the strong jaw, sad eyes, and short hair. The ears and nose were all wrong, but the rest of him was there. Camila gulped and tried to sound casual though her insides tumbled like a washing machine. “I…I’ve never seen that person before. Is he the…the killer?”

She just lied to a police officer. Pray for us who have recourse to thee.

The officer dropped his paper and leveled his gaze. Camila tried to breathe, tried to think. Her stomach was on spin cycle, her head following.

“He’s wanted as a suspect in a murder investigation. I’m sure you’ve heard of what’s been happening around here.”

Camila nodded. Breathed. Tried to smile.

“Well, if you see anyone you think matches this description, please call the police. And keep your doors and windows locked. Don’t venture out alone. Don’t go in secluded areas.”

“Are you sure?” she blurted.

“Miss?” he looked at her questioningly.

“Are you sure they were murders? I heard that it was probably an animal attack.”

The cop looked down at the sketch of John. “I cannot discuss the particulars of this case with you, but we are sure you should call us if you see this individual.”

It felt like a punch in the stomach. Camila leaned against the door for support.

He narrowed his eyes. “When is your mother going to be home tonight?”

Camila tried to look normal. She was pretty sure she was failing. “My mom usually gets home around nine.”

“Good.” He nodded, sticking a thumb in his belt. “We could wait, but—”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m an adult,” she said. “I’m sure you have more houses to hit.”

The officer nodded. He looked tired. His partner leaned his hip against her stoop and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, if you’re alright.”

“I’m fine. Thank you. Goodnight.” Camila clicked the door shut and turned the lock. Then she pressed her back to the door and tried to breathe.

“Camila,” Mama said from her place at the table, “what they want?”

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