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“Of course she does,” Jonathon looked mildly amused.
“What’s the bad news?” Clara didn’t want to let her imagination start conjuring up scenarios.
“Some forensic evidence came up during our investigation,” Jonathon began slowly.
“What forensic evidence?”
“A pubic hair was found in Lindsey Peters’ underwear,” he told her gently.
“She was raped.” Clara heard herself say the words, but her voice sounded nothing like her.
“Yes,” Detective Bennett confirmed.
“But none of the other children had been raped,” she protested. “Right?”
“As far as we know, none of the other children were assaulted,” Jonathon nodded.
“As far as you know?” she repeated.
“The medical examiner doing the autopsies thirty years ago checked, and none of the girls showed signs of being sexually assaulted. Lottie Hatcher’s examination was inconclusive. But you weren’t dead, you escaped, so we don’t know if you were assaulted.” Jonathon was watching her closely.
“If none of the other children were raped. Then why would I have been any different?”
“I don’t know. Is it a possibility?”
“No. I wasn't raped. No one touched me while I was missing,” she said firmly.
“I thought you didn’t remember what happened while you were missing,” Detective Bennett said suspiciously.
“I don’t, but I had a sexual assault examination in the hospital after Tommy and I were found. I wasn't raped.” She may not remember the weeks she was missing, but she certainly remembered that. It had been a horrible, terrifying, embarrassing, and painful ordeal. “Isn't the report in your files?”
“Yes, but I needed to hear you confirm it,” Jonathon acknowledged a little shakily.
The thought of her being sexually assaulted as a six-year-old had upset him, of course. That was natural, who wouldn’t be upset by the thought of any child being hurt in that way? What bothered her was wondering if he still would have wanted to go out with her if indeed she had been raped. She didn’t understand what had changed with the killers. Why had they started sexually abusing the children?
“Who does the DNA match?” Naomi asked, eyeing the detectives shrewdly.
Her eyes snapped to Jonathon and Detective Bennett. That they had matched the DNA to someone hadn’t yet occurred to her, but now that Naomi had brought it up, she realized this was what had been giving her that bad feeling.
“I'm sorry, Clara, I know you don’t want to hear this…but the DNA matched Thomas.” Jonathon’s gaze was anxious as he waited for her reaction.
Clara just stared at him.
She stared at him in silence for so long that at last, he commanded, “Clara, say something.”
“Mistake,” she murmured.
“What?”
He was frowning at her, and she realized she’d spoken so quietly, no one had heard what she’d said. “It must have been a mistake,” she repeated more loudly.
“It wasn't a mistake,” Jonathon said gently, but firmly. “Thomas raped that little girl. Possibly Lottie, too. Hewasinvolved in the recent doll murders.”
“No!” she said shrilly. “No! No! No!” She shot to her feet and stormed across the room, dropped onto the couch and pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her face. They were wrong. She was sure they were wrong. She knew Tommy. He wouldn’t do any of the things they were accusing him of. But then she hadn’t thought he’d pull a gun on her, cut her neck, and put her in danger by making her run from the police. Had Tommy done it? Had he recreated the same crimes that had nearly cost them their lives when they were little children?
A hand rested on her shoulder, and someone sat beside her. She assumed it was her sister, but then Jonathon spoke, “Are you okay?”
She lifted her head, “Are you sure?”
