been caught holding the murder weapon in her hands.
Charlie looked at her own hands, still bloody from the little girl who had died in her arms. Died because Kelly Wilson had shot her. Murdered her. Just like she had murdered Mr. Pinkman.
“Ms. Quinn?” Delia glanced at her watch, but Charlie knew the woman was exactly where she needed to be.
Charlie also knew how the legal system worked. No one would tell the story of what happened this morning without an eye toward nailing Kelly Wilson to a cross. Not the eight cops who were there. Not Huck Huckabee. Maybe not even Mrs. Pinkman, whose husband had been murdered not ten yards from her classroom door.
Charlie said, “I agree to give a statement.”
Delia had a legal pad in front of her. She twisted open her pen. “Ms. Quinn, first I want to tell you how sorry I am that you’ve been pulled into this. I’m aware of your family history. I’m sure it was difficult witnessing …”
Charlie rolled her hand, indicating she should move on.
“All right,” Delia said. “This next bit I have to say. I want you to know that the door behind me is unlocked. You’re not under arrest. You are not being detained. As I told you before, you’re free to leave at any time, though as one of the few witnesses to today’s tragedy, your voluntary statement could be instrumental in helping us put together what happened.”
Charlie noted that the woman had not warned her that lying to a GBI agent could land her in prison. “You want me to help you build your case against Kelly Wilson.”
“I just want you to tell me the truth.”
“And I can only do that to the best of my knowledge.” Charlie didn’t realize that she was feeling hostile until she looked down and saw that her arms were crossed.
Delia rested her pen on the table, but the recorder was still going. “Ms. Quinn, let’s put this out there that this is a very awkward situation for all of us.”
Charlie waited.
Delia asked, “Would it help you speak more freely if your husband left the room?”
Charlie smoothed her lips together. “Ben knows why I was at the school this morning.”
If Delia was disappointed that her ace had been played, she didn’t let on. She picked up the pen. “Let’s start from that point, then. I know your car was parked in the faculty lot to the east of the main entrance. How did you enter the building?”
“The side door. It was propped open.”
“Did you notice the door was open when you parked your car?”
“It’s always open.” Charlie shook her head. “I mean, it was when I was a student there. It’s quicker from the parking lot to the cafeteria. I used to go to the …” Her voice trailed off, because it didn’t matter. “I parked in the side lot and went through the side door, which I assumed from my previous time as a student would be open.”
Delia’s pen moved across the pad. She didn’t look up when she asked, “You went directly to Mr. Huckabee’s classroom?”
“I got turned around. I walked by the front office. It was dark inside, except Mr. Pinkman’s light was on in the back.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“I didn’t see Mr. Pinkman, just that his light was on.”
“What about anybody else?”
“Mrs. Jenkins, the school secretary. I think I saw her go into the office, but I was way down the hall by then. The lights came on. I turned around. I was about thirty yards away.” Standing where Kelly Wilson had stood when she murdered Mr. Pinkman and the little girl. “I’m not sure it was Mrs. Jenkins who entered the office, but it was an older woman who looked like her.”
“And that’s the only person you saw, an older woman entering the office?”
“Yes. The doors were closed to the classrooms. Some teachers were inside, so I guess I saw them, too.” Charlie chewed her lip, trying to get her thoughts together. No wonder her clients talked themselves into trouble. Charlie was a witness, not even a suspect, and she was already leaving out details. “I didn’t recognize any of the teachers behind the doors. I don’t know if they saw me, but it’s possible they did.”
“Okay, so you went to Mr. Huckabee’s classroom next?”
“Yes. I was in his room when I heard the gunshot.”
“A gunshot?”
Charlie wadded the Wet Wipes into a ball on the table. “Four gunshots.”
“Rapid?”
“Yes. No.” She closed her eyes. She tried to remember. Only a handful of hours had passed. Why did everything feel like it had happened an eternity ago? “I heard two shots, then two more? Or three and then one?”
Delia held her pen aloft, waiting.
“I don’t remember the sequence,” Charlie admitted, and she again reminded herself that this was a sworn statement. “To the best of my recollection, there were four shots, total. I remember counting them. And then Huck pulled me down.” Charlie cleared her throat. She resisted the need to look at Ben, to gauge how he was taking this. “Mr. Huckabee pulled me down behind the filing cabinet, I assume for cover.”
“Any more gunshots?”
“I—” She shook her head because again she was unsure. “I don’t know.”
Delia said, “Let’s back up a little. It was only you and Mr. Huckabee in the room?”
“Yes. I didn’t see anyone else in the hall.”
“How long were you in Mr. Huckabee’s room before you heard the shots?”
Again, Charlie shook her head. “Maybe two to three minutes?”
“So, you go into his classroom, two to three minutes pass, you hear these four gunshots, Mr. Huckabee pulls you down behind the filing cabinet, and then?”
Charlie shrugged. “I ran.”
“Toward the exit?”
Charlie’s eyes flicked toward Ben. “Toward the gunshots.”
Ben silently scratched his jaw. This was one of their things, the way Charlie always ran toward danger when everyone else was running away.
“All right.” Delia spoke as she wrote. “Was Mr. Huckabee with you when you ran toward the gunshots?”
“He was behind me.” Charlie remembered sprinting past Kelly, leaping over her extended legs. This time, her memory showed Huck kneeling beside the girl. That made sense. He would’ve seen the gun in Kelly’s hand. He would’ve been trying to talk the teenager into giving him the revolver the entire time that Charlie was watching the little girl die.
She asked Delia,
