Page 8 of Nothing Left

This process was handled by two grim-faced male guards of about forty years old. It was clear that smiling, or even politeness, was not in their scope of behavior at all. They spoke to each other in terse Spanish and barely addressed the task force at all.

Juliette knew that prisons were no vacation town, but even so, the harshness of the maximum security wing was notable, and she felt desperately sorry for Heather Andrew, having to endure this environment if she was innocent.

"Wait here!" the closest guard told them. Leaving them alone, he slammed the door.

Juliette and Wyatt exchanged a glance that spoke volumes. Juliette wasn't going to speak against her Spanish prison hosts, but it was clear that in this particular prison, the treatment of felons was uncompromisingly grim.

As for Sierra, she'd taken refuge in her phone and was standing with her back to the wall, head bowed, intently texting. Juliette hoped she was getting some insider information on the scene, or the circumstances, or what the neighbors had heard that could help them.

After a couple of minutes of chilly wait, the door on the other side of the grille was banged open.

A young woman was escorted in by a female warden, broad-faced and narrow-eyed, who looked just as angry with the world as her male counterparts.

Immediately, Juliette moved forward to the chair, perching on its edge, readying herself for this important interview. There was only one chair on their side, and in this situation, she knew without even asking Wyatt that he would want her to communicate, as a less threatening female presence, with this scared young woman.

"Sit!" the warden commanded Heather, and she slumped down on her chair.

Juliette took her first good look at her.

Heather’s face was sheet white. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her hands were shaking badly. She was wearing a long-sleeved orange shirt, oversized and undoubtedly prison-issue.

Juliette was worried by her demeanor. The blankness of her eyes and that thousand-yard stare was something she'd seen before, and it didn't bode well.

"Heather?" she asked quietly. The presence of the guard, who was standing literally at Heather's shoulder and showing no sign of moving, didn't help. It added an extra layer of intimidation which Juliette knew it would be hopeless to complain about.

They were all convinced that they had a dangerous killer in custody. And unless Juliette could prove them wrong, it was clear that Heather wasn't getting out of here anytime soon. Nor was she going to receive any preferential treatment, and Juliette knew that a battle lay ahead to make sure this woman was, at least, safe.

"Y-yes, I’m Heather," she answered Juliette after a pause that was way too long, and Juliette suspected she'd been fighting not to break down in tears.

"I'm FBI agent Juliette Hart," she said. "My team and I are here because you've been arrested. We're the FBI overseas task force, and we are going to try our best to find out what happened last night and to make sure that the right person is convicted of the crime."

Heather looked up at Juliette with a mix of fear and desperation in her eyes.

"I'm so scared," she said, breathing rapidly. "I know I didn't do it. Why would I do it? But I - I don't know how to prove I didn’t. What if I can't?" Tears filled her eyes. "I'm being treated like this mass murderer by the other women in the jail. They're threatening that they'll hurt me, that they'll get back at me for what I did, that I’m just a murderous animal. And I didn't do it! I wouldn't!"

"Tell me what happened, as far as you can remember. It's fine if it's piecemeal, but try to talk me through the whole evening in sequence if you can," Juliette encouraged her, knowing that this might take some time.

She discreetly put her phone's recorder on and positioned it where it would pick up on what Heather said.

For a while, the only sound the recorder was tracking was the sound of violent sobbing. Faced with recounting the reality of that awful night, the young woman had broken down. Juliette wished that she could step in and give her a good, long hug. Heather was terrified and emotional and most probably still feeling the crippling effects of the partying from last night. She was really not in a state to be coherent, but Juliette had to get this version out of her.

She glanced at the guard standing behind her. For the first time, Juliette noted a trace of sympathy on the woman's face. At least she did have a heart, and it wasn't made of stone. She was softening, feeling empathetic toward this heartbroken sobbing.

"We'd planned on partying because it was Samantha's birthday," Heather said. The mention of her roommate's name, as Juliette had anticipated, caused another flood of tears. "It was Samantha's party night, and she wanted to go out to a club, so we did that."

"And how long had you and Samantha been living together?" Juliette asked.

"I've been in Spain for a year. It's a two-year course. I'd recently come back from - from vacation back home. And she joined me six months ago."

The mention of home also caused a blip in the radar, and Juliette had to wait patiently for a while.

"So, you went out to a club to have some fun? Did you go on your own? Just the two of you?"

"No, we went with a few friends."

"Where did you go?"

"Macarena Uno. It's a fun club that's not far away. We - we were there a few hours."

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