Page 76 of The Inmate
I nod again. “One of my best friends growing up had cerebral palsy, so this race is in Amelia’s honor.”
Maria takes back the microphone and is asking me another question, but my attention is again drawn away by something in the crowd. It’s not Melinda Hoffman this time though—I wish it were. Two of the spectators step aside to allow a large man with black eyes to come to the forefront of the crowd.
It’s Santoro.
Maria has pushed the microphone back in my face, and I realize I have no idea what she just asked me. “Um,” I say. “Sorry, I…”
How embarrassing. Thankfully, none of this is live. When this video gets edited, she can cut out the part where I wasn’t listening to her question.
“It looks like things are getting started soon,” Maria observes. “I’ll let you get to it then. But thank you for what you’ve done.”
“Yes…”
Santoro is moving forward, coming closer to me. What’s going on? He doesn’t want to grill me again right before the 5K, does he? This is acharity event. Doesn’t the man have anyrespect?
“Caleb!” I crane my neck, searching for my boyfriend. I spot him a few yards away. “Caleb, can I talk to you?”
Maybe Caleb can deal with this detective till we’re done here. I’ve got way too much to do. The race is starting in less than fifteen minutes, so I don’t have time to answer the same questions over and over. They even searched my house. What more do they want from me, for God’s sake?
When I turn my head back to look, Santoro is right in front of me. Less than a foot away. His eyes look like endless pools of darkness. Instinctively, I take a step back.
“Detective, this isn’t a good time—”
“Natalie Farrell.” His voice is flat. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Dawn Schiff.”
What?
I feel like I can’t breathe. Those damn cameras are still pointed at me. Not to mention that half the crowd has gotten out their phones and is filming me. That bastard Santoro did this on purpose. He chose the most public moment possible to arrest me. He wants to humiliate me, even though I’ve done nothing wrong.
Maybe he’s the one who planted that ceramic turtle in my laundry.
“You’re joking me,” I sputter. “How could you… I didn’t do anything! What is this based on?”
But Santoro isn’t offering an explanation. And this is not a joke. He takes out his handcuffs, and before I know it, he’s snapping them on my wrist. The cold metal bites into my skin, and my legs turn to liquid beneath me. I’m vaguely aware of the fact that he’s reading me my rights.
Caleb has sprinted over. I catch his eye, and he looks completely horrified. “Natalie!” I hear him yell.
“Caleb,” I gasp. The crowd is growing louder and dozens of cameras are trained on me. “That address I showed you. You’ve got to go there for me. Please!”
“Natalie…”
“Please!” I manage.
Santoro jerks me by the arm. He’s leading me to a police car to bring me back to the station and toss me in jail. There’s nothing I can do to stop this anymore. I don’t know why, but somebody has framed me, and they have done a really good job.
My life, as I knew it, is officially over.
PartII
ChapterForty-Five
DAWN
One of thescariest animals in the world is the soft-shelled turtle.
They don’t look that scary. They don’t even have the traditional turtle shell. They look a bit like a pancake with a head and legs sticking out. But don’t be fooled—they can be deadly. They hide in the sand, not moving an inch, waiting patiently for their prey. Ready to strike with their razor-sharp beak.
That’s what it takes to catch your prey. Patience.
