Blood on My Hands

by Todd Strasser

  After a while, Mom says that she has to go home and take care of Dad, and that she’ll come back tomorrow if I’m still here. I ask her to bring some clean clothes. In the afternoon I am driven back to the police station and taken to the interrogation room, where I am joined by Gail and the two men. Once again they ask me questions about Katherine, about what I did the night she was killed, and about what had happened between us in the weeks leading up to that night.

  The questioning lasts several hours, and then the camera is turned off. The men leave and Gail and I are alone.

  “How much longer are they going to keep asking the same questions?” I ask.

  “Until they decide whether you’re telling the truth,” Gail explains. “Since yesterday, I’ve been able to learn a little more about the case, and I have to tell you honestly, Callie, it’s a very difficult situation. They have a lot of evidence against you.”

  I feel my spirits sink. It sounds like she’s paving the way to a plea bargain. Only there’s something I still don’t understand. “Then why do they keep questioning me? Why don’t they just …?”

  “Arrest you and charge you with the murder?” It sounds horrible when she says it out loud. “I’m not one hundred percent sure, Callie. Part of the reason, I suspect, is that there were no witnesses. So most of the evidence the police have is circumstantial. The other part may be that you’ve stuck to your story consistently, and no matter how many times they ask, you give them the same answers. And, in a trial, that could be enough to raise reasonable doubt.”

  “Then why don’t they let me go?”

  “I assume it’s because they’re still trying to build a case,” Gail says. “Under the law they can hold you for up to seventy-two hours. And I think they’re determined to do that, because you’ve demonstrated such a talent for avoiding capture. They’re afraid if they let you go, they may never see you again.”

  There’s an irony, I can’t help thinking.

  Gail clears her throat in an awkward way, and I sense there’s something else on her mind. “Listen, Callie, there’s something … I need to toss out to you just because … well, because I want to be completely honest with you. Based on the evidence they’ve shown me, I think we should at least consider the possibility that they may still charge and arrest you in Katherine’s murder. It would be foolish for us not to consider the possibility and start preparing for it.”

  Why am I not surprised to hear her say this? “Prepare for it how?” I ask, because I know that’s what she expects.

  “By considering the option of claiming it was self-defense.”

  Huh? It takes a moment for me to grasp what she’s saying. Claiming self-defense means admitting I killed Katherine. It’s saying that she attacked me and I fought back, and in the process she died. “So, it’s like a plea bargain, right?”

  “Well …” She hesitates. “Not exactly. You’re not pleading guilty to anything.”

  “Except killing her,” I point out.

  “In self-defense.”

  “But that’s not what happened,” I answer.

  It’s difficult to read Gail’s expression. I wonder if lawyers are taught to hide what they’re thinking. She leans forward, her gold hoop earrings swinging gently. “Callie, as a public defender it’s my job to represent you in the best way I know possible. Given the amount of evidence they have—the photo, the fingerprints on the knife—it may be difficult for a jury to believe you had nothing to do with the murder. However, I believe, based on your history with Katherine, specifically what happened in school, that we can make an argument that she attacked you and you defended yourself.”

  I’m stunned. She’s saying I can go free … by admitting I killed Katherine. By doing the exact opposite of what I know I should do. It’s crazy. “What about Dakota? What about Griffen Clemment and the threatening texts?”

  “His parents have hired a defense attorney. Griffen isn’t talking.”

  “Doesn’t it mean he’s hiding something?” I ask.

  “Not necessarily. He could be completely innocent, and his parents are just being careful. From what I hear, they can afford it. But it doesn’t matter. The police have got the record of the text messages he received. But we haven’t been able to link the phone they were sent from to Dakota Jenkins.”

  “But who else would have sent them? They have to have come from her.”

  Gail shrugs. “The law doesn’t work that way. We need real evidence linking Dakota to the phone that sent those texts and we don’t have it.”

  “Then what about the knife that should be missing from the set at the Jenkinses’ home?”

  Gail looks down at the table and then back at me. “I spoke to Congresswoman Jenkins. She checked the set of knives you talked about. They’re all there. She’s not missing any.”

  “That can’t be! She’s lying! She knows what Dakota did and she’s trying to protect her. All they had to do was go out and buy a replacement knife. I’m telling you she—”

  Gail raises her hand, gesturing for me to stop. “Callie, what made you think the knife came from Dakota’s house?”

  “It was a special brand,” I explain. “I … The only time I’ve ever seen it was in Dakota’s kitchen. I can’t remember the name now, but it had two little stick-figure men against a red square background.”

  Gail purses her lips sympathetically. “The brand is called Henckels, and to be honest, Callie, it’s not that special. Lots of people have them.”

  Chapter 41

  Friday 9:47 A.M.

  THERE’S A CHANCE I can go free.

  All I have to do is pretend I killed Katherine.

  I spent another night in juvie, despondent and miserable. Gail says that if I don’t agree to the self-defense idea, it’s possible that I could spend the next ten or fifteen years in prison. But how do you pretend you killed someone?

  I’m taken to the visitors’ room again. Only this time my mother is waiting there with Gail. Mom’s hair is brushed and she’s even wearing a little makeup. She’s got a smile on her face, but I know her well enough to suspect it’s forced.

  “What’s going on?” I ask suspiciously as soon as I sit down. Mom and Gail share a pensive glance. Now I know for certain they’re up to something.

  “Honey, Gail told me about her idea,” Mom says.

  A sense of betrayal hurtles through me. It may not be rational, but I’m furious at Gail, who has obviously brought my mother here to try to persuade me to agree to claim self-defense.

  “But I didn’t kill her!” I cry. “You can’t—”

  Gail raises her hand to quiet me. “Callie, you have to put it in perspective.”

  “You want me to put it in perspective?” I shoot back angrily, and turn to Mom. “She’s using you. She wants me to pretend I killed Katherine because it’s way too much work to try to prove I’m innocent. Just like when that jerk who defended Sebastian wanted him to plead to attempted manslaughter. Is that what you want, Mom? Do you want the world to think that your son attempted murder and your daughter killed someone in self-defense?”

  “Yes,” Mom replies calmly.

  After the article came out in the school newspaper, I found myself in the same position as Dakota, spending lunchtime in the library rather than face Katherine. The first day I went to the library, Dakota was sitting at the computer table. I sat on a couch near the fiction section and we didn’t speak.

  But the next day I decided I wanted to talk and started toward her. As soon as Dakota realized what I was doing, she got up and walked toward the back of the library, where the tall stacks of books were.

  It didn’t take a nuclear physicist to figure out that she didn’t want to be seen talking to me.

  She went down one aisle of bookshelves and I went down the next. We stood facing each other with the shelves between us and pretended to be looking at books.

  “Nice article,” Dakota whispered sarcastically, as if she knew that was why I was in the library and not the cafete
ria.

  “Thanks,” I answered, emphasizing it with a groan.

  “I can’t believe the way you singled out Katherine.”

  “First of all, I didn’t write it alone,” I said, and explained that I’d written it with Mia and that it was supposed to have both our names on it. “She asked me to help her. I was just trying to be supportive. And second, it wasn’t meant to be about Katherine. We were writing about a trend.”

  Through the shelves, Dakota gave me a “get real” look. “The thing about how it used to be that kids had to be good at something, but now all you need is to be born rich? Jodie acts and does ads. Zelda’s the captain of the girls’ volleyball team. Everyone knows I’m going to run for president of the student council. The only one who did nothing except be born rich, who never runs for an office where she has to be elected, and who isn’t involved with sports is Katherine.”

  “It still wasn’t supposed to single her out,” I insisted.

  “Maybe not, but that’s exactly what it did,” Dakota said, then leaned closer and dropped her voice even more. “Just between you and me? I’m glad you did it.”

  The way she said “you” made me think she meant that it was something she’d wanted to do, too. “Why?”

  “Because now the rumors she’s spreading are about you, not me.”

  “What rumors?”

  Dakota smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. “About the night before school started? About you and two guys at once.”

  “That’s—” I started to react, but the outrage passed quickly. “That’s lame. Everyone’ll know she’s just trying to get back at me.”

  “Maybe.” Dakota shrugged.

  Since we were speaking confidentially, I decided to bring up the reason I’d wanted to talk to her. “What happened between you two?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You can’t stand her being more popular than you?” I asked, pressing her.

  Dakota lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, please, that’s so seventh grade.”

  “Then what?” I asked. “Why can’t you be honest with me?”

  After a moment of silence, she said, “Look, Callie, I’m never going to confide in you. You and I are never going to be friends, okay? It’s just not happening.”

  And then she walked away.

  Chapter 42

  Friday 9:57 A.M.

  IN THE VISITORS’ room, Mom’s answer nearly knocks me off my chair. I stare at her in utter disbelief.

  “If it means,” Mom continues, “that I won’t have to visit two children in jail.”

  That’s how she sees it, plain and simple. I slump down, feeling defeated. Talk about getting the wind knocked out of you. This can’t be real. It’s a nightmare, a horror movie.

  Gail leans closer. “Callie, think for a moment. What’s our goal here?”

  “My goal is to prove I didn’t kill Katherine,” I snap. “Your goal is probably to plea bargain this thing in time for lunch.”

  “Callie!” Mom gasps, horrified, and then turns to Gail. “I’m so sorry. She doesn’t mean that.”

  I roll my eyes, letting Gail know I most assuredly do mean it.

  “That’s not my goal,” Gail replies calmly. “My goal is to keep you from going to jail.” She pauses and waits, as if the words need time to sink into my incredibly thick skull. “Claiming self-defense is considerably better than a plea bargain, because it means no jail time. So I understand that it sounds crazy and backwards and upside down, Callie, but it’s your best shot.”

  “But I didn’t kill her!” I ball my hands into fists as tears of frustration well up in my eyes. I can’t stand this! It’s so unfair!

  Mom leans forward and places her hand over mine. “Honey, please. Gail’s told me about the article you wrote and how angry Katherine was. It makes sense that she could have been angry enough to attack you.”

  I stare at her in complete shock. My own mother is telling me to lie. To pretend I killed someone when I didn’t. It’s incomprehensible. Mom turns to Gail. “Let me speak to her alone, okay?”

  Gail gets up and walks to the far side of the visitors’ room. Still holding my hand, Mom leans close. I feel an intensity and urgency from her that I’m not used to. “Listen to me, Callie,” she says in a low, firm voice. “You’re young, and young people tend to see everything in black and white, right and wrong. But as you get older, you’ll see that the lines get blurred, and a lot of what you thought was either black or white is simply gray. You’re a smart girl. You know things change. People change. Their outlooks change. Even if you can’t understand what I’m saying now, I promise that someday you will. You have to believe me on this. A lot of life is about compromising. Usually someone your age doesn’t have to compromise on anything nearly this serious. But you’ve already faced a lot of things someone your age shouldn’t have to face. So maybe you can look at this as just one more of those things.”

  Her grip on my hand is tight. I know she’s seen a lot more of life than I have and knows a lot more than I do. And she loves me and would never suggest I do anything that would be bad for me. So I tell her I’ll think about it.

  And I mean it.

  Before she and Gail go, Mom gives me a paper bag with clean clothes and I ask her to call Slade and tell him where I am. Tell him that if he can come, I’d really like to see him.

  A few days after the article was in the school newspaper, Dr. Ploumis, the school psychologist, called me to her office. I walked in and there was David Sloan. I stopped, confused.

  “Have a seat, Callie,” Dr. Ploumis said.

  I sat down, looking back and forth from the school psychologist to David.

  “Callie, as you know, there’s been a lot of talk about the article you wrote,” Dr. Ploumis began. “And you know that Katherine is extremely upset.”

  “And what about the rumors about me she’s been spreading?” I asked defensively, since it sounded to me like I was the one who was going to be blamed.

  “Yes, I’ve heard about that, too,” said Dr. Ploumis. “And that’s why I asked David to join us. You’re aware that he’s the peer mediation leader for your class.”

  I wasn’t. Of course, I’d heard of peer mediation, but it was something I’d never taken seriously. To me it sounded like just one more extracurricular activity that would look good on a college application.

  “I think that you and Katherine should settle your differences through peer mediation,” Dr. Ploumis said.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” I said. “I mean, nobody really believes those rumors. Everyone knows why Katherine’s spreading them.”

  Dr. Ploumis gave me a funny look. “That’s not really the point, Callie. The point is that you and Katherine have very public issues that have not been resolved. The whole school is aware of them, and that makes it a good example of the kind of thing peer mediation was created to resolve.”

  “So that’s what this is about?” I asked. “Using us as an example of how peer mediation can work?”

  “No, and yes,” the school psychologist replied. “The primary reason is to settle this dispute. But yes, secondarily, it would be a useful example. It’s not like everyone isn’t already aware of what’s going on. After all, it was your decision to write that article and publish it in the Bugle.”

  For a second I considered telling her that it wasn’t my idea. It was Mia’s. But what good would that do? It wouldn’t take the blame off me, and it would probably cost me another friend. So instead, I said, “And of course, there’s just no way in the world that you’ll ever believe that article had nothing to do with Katherine.”

  Dr. Ploumis and David exchanged glances, as if they’d known that was what I’d say. I really didn’t like the way they seemed to be ganging up on me.

  “It almost doesn’t matter now what your intention was,” Dr. Ploumis said. “The reality is that no matter what you intended, everyone, including Katherine, believes you wrote the article about her. And I feel that it’s
important that you two sit down and discuss it face-to-face.”

  David leaned forward. “Katherine’s already said she’s willing to meet.”

  “Oh, great,” I said, annoyed that they’d already conspired on this. “So now I have no choice. If I say no, it just makes me look even worse.”

  “Callie, no one is trying to make you look bad,” Dr. Ploumis said. “We’re just trying to resolve a situation that needs resolution.”

  I believed her, but I wondered if David had told her everything she needed to know. “Okay, I’ll agree to meet, but are you sure David should be involved?”

  Both of them frowned.

  “Why not?” asked Dr. Ploumis.

  I turned to David. “Did you tell her about you and Katherine?”

  David’s eyebrows dipped deeper. “What about us?”

  “I heard you had a thing with her last year,” I said. “She asked you to the Sadie Hawkins dance and the next night you two went into a bedroom at a party and you did something she didn’t like and then at school she told Mia to go over and slap you.”

  David’s mouth fell open.

  Dr. Ploumis gave him a quizzical look. “Is that true?”

  “No way! I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “Katherine asked me to the Sadie Hawkins dance and then spent the whole night with her friends. And I never went into any bedrooms with her. And I have no idea why she sent Mia to slap me, other than to prove that she could.”

  It sounded like he was telling the truth. And the more I thought about it, the less I felt that he had reason to lie. So I agreed to meet for peer mediation during lunch on the following Monday. But I couldn’t help wondering where that story about David and Katherine in the bedroom had come from.