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Newman shook his head. “Nothing. We’re leaving.”
Dr. Jameson was already putting a needle of something into Jocelyn’s IV line as she sobbed and screamed on the bed. I think in between wordless screams she was gasping out, “I did it. I killed him. I killed him.”
We walked out into the hallway with her screams echoing after us.
45
NEWMAN WALKED AWAY down the hospital corridor, striding fast as if he wanted to run but wouldn’t let himself do it. The three of us followed him, though I had to do some serious quick time to keep up. Newman was already in the open elevator when we got there. Edward put an arm in the door to keep it open long enough for us to join him. Two people were already in the elevator, so we still couldn’t talk.
Newman stood pressed in the corner, looking pale and tense. In the mirrored surface of the elevator, the rest of us just looked bored as we rode down. The people looked at us with our badges in plain sight but didn’t say anything.
The doors opened, and Newman pushed past all of us to head for the parking lot. We followed, and a glance back showed the couple watching us. It would be hospital gossip that the marshals looked upset, or maybe the story would grow and we’d be accused of brandishing weapons. We needed to be calm.
“Newman,” I called, “I’m almost twelve inches shorter than you are. If you want me to run to keep up, I can, but I’ll feel silly.”
He stumbled and turned around to look at me, and a car honked its horn before it almost hit him. The three of us jogged up to be with him then. Be a shame for him to get injured in the parking lot by being careless. Our job had so many other more interesting ways to get hurt; being hit by a car was just too mundane.
Newman crossed to stand by our vehicles, hands on hips, hat in his hand as if it had become too heavy. “Jesus,” Newman said, “I fucking hate this case.”
“It’s got all the awfulness of both regular police work and the supernatural,” I said.
“Incest. Fuck, I do not want to put that in my report. If Bobby has to die and Ray’s already dead, I do not want that following them to the grave.”
“Jocelyn doesn’t need that following her around the rest of her life either,” Edward said.
“They aren’t actually related to each other,” I said.
The two of them looked at me.
“Legally it’s not incest,” I said.
“I double-checked—Bobby was seven and Jocelyn was only five years old when her mother married Ray. They have been raised as brother and sister. Jocelyn probably doesn’t even remember a time when Bobby wasn’t her brother,” Newman said.
“So, you will simply accept that the woman is telling the truth because she cried?” Olaf asked.
I looked at him. “Are you saying she smelled like she was lying?”
“Yes and no.”
“What does that mean?” Edward asked.
“She was disgusted with Bobby. She does not feel for him what he feels for her, but she also smelled like truth when she said she killed her father.”
“Can you blame her for thinking she killed him?” I asked.
Olaf stared down at me and finally said, “If her version is true, then I can see why she might feel guilty.”
Edward said, “But you said that Bobby is telling the truth, too.”
Olaf nodded. “He believes what he says. There is no doubt or lie in him when he speaks of the love between himself and his sister.”
“Is he delusional?” Newman asked.
“That’s for a court-appointed therapist to say,” Edward said.
“If Bobby were human, then we’d get him in to be interviewed by professionals, but he’s a wereleopard. There won’t be any doctors doing talk therapy with him,” I said.
Newman leaned against the side of his Jeep, head down. “Jesus, have I been wrong all along? Did Bobby kill Ray?”
