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48
Sofie
Huntsville,Alabama
1950
As I sat waiting for news, I tried to be grateful that this cell was large and well lit, that there was a mattress and a blanket on the bed, and even if it was out in the open, there was a toilet right there. Focusing on the differences between this cell and the last one I’d been in helped at first—but not for long. By the time the lock tumbled, I convinced myself I was going to be locked in that cell, starving and thirsty and terrified, for weeks without so much as an update on my husband or children.
But then Detective Tucker appeared in the doorway. He avoided my gaze, staring at the floor. My breath caught in my throat.
“Jürgen...” I whispered frantically.
“No,” he said hastily. “No, we haven’t had news. But you’re free to go.” He motioned for me to join him in the hallway and I shot to my feet and followed him.
As we started to walk toward the exit, I asked hesitantly, “But why are you releasing me?” It felt dangerous to ask, as if the question could lead me back into the cell.
“We have a new suspect.”
“Henry Davis,” I said grimly. He shook his head.
“No, ma’am. Lizzie Miller.” I was so shocked I stumbled, and Tucker caught my arm and gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry for the trouble this morning. I imagine today has been stressful enough without this...unfortunate mix-up.”
I glanced at the interview room as we walked past, and through the little pane of glass at the top of the door, I saw Lizzie Miller—although at first, I barely recognized her. She was wearing an old man’s shirt that was sizes too big for her—so large she’d rolled the sleeves up to expose her hands. Her hair was in a tight little ponytail at the back of her head, and she wasn’t wearing makeup—revealing heavily freckled skin and eyelashes so faint they were almost invisible. Her expression was carefully blank as she stared up at the wall. I paused, trying to ignore the impulse to confront her.
She had no more pulled that trigger than I did. That didn’t mean she was innocent.
“Can I talk to her?”
“We really don’t need any more trouble,” Tucker said hesitantly.
“Please.”
He sighed as he nodded, and I pushed the door open. I sat opposite Lizzie as if I were the interrogator.
“What do you want?” she said, defensive as always, but I barely heard her. As I stared at her, I was startled to see something in her eyes I’d never noticed before.
Familiarity.
I had also made the wrong choices in a panic to protect my family, and I’d been forced to learn the hard way that even failure did not leave a person beyond salvation.
