"Bethany Abel," Carlton says, and Tabitha Montgomery cringes.
"Or should I say-" he draws out the sentence, savoring the moment - "Tabby Helena. Very clever."
She won't look at him, her green-hazel gaze focused on a scratch on the table that she's been picking at for the past few minutes.
"You're wanted for murder in Boston," Carlton says.
No response. Her nails scrape the wood.
"Change your identity, start a new life." Carlton drops into the chair across from her and stares at her, willing her to look at him. "You could have gotten away."
"I didn't kill Victor." Her voice toneless.
"So you knew him." Carlton leans forward, struggling to keep the excitement out of his voice. She wants to confess, this one. He can see it in her face.
"Of course I knew him, how could I not know him." Bethany scowls. "My idiot brother was so over the moon for Rebecca. He followed her father around like a puppy."
Carlton leans forward. "If he was so enamored of her, why were they estranged?"
Bethany rolls her eyes. "You think that was his idea?"
"It wasn't?"
"Please. He wanted nothing more than to reconcile with her. She wasn't having it. She wanted to find herself, or something. Entitled bullshit."
"I see." Carlton doesn't believe her, of course. If Bryce really wanted Rebecca back that badly, it had to be for the money. That was why he hired his sister to kill her and her father.
"I didn't kill him," Bethany repeats.
The door opens. Chief Vick sticks her head in the room.
"Detective," she says, "a word."
Carlton gets up without looking back at Bethany. She can steep in her own guilt. It'll make the rest of the questioning go that much more smoothly.
He follows Vick out, stopping when she does. She turns to face him, lips pulled tight.
"Detective O'Hara and Mr. Spencer are on their way back from Bethany Abel's apartment," she says.
Carlton huffs impatiently. "And?"
Chief Vick sighs. "I think we have a problem."
"What? Please tell me you found the murder weapon. She's as guilty as they come."
"Carlton." Vick glances through the window at Bethany, who is sitting quietly, having given up her assault on the table scratch. "She may be wanted for murder in Boston. But there's another player."
"Come on." Carlton stares at Vick, incredulous. How many complications can there be? If this requires another cross-country trip with Spencer -
He thinks about the night in the hotel room. Thinks about what could have happened had they stayed for as long as planned.
He forces himself to focus. Looks up at Vick. "And who is that?" he says tightly.
"Bethany's roommate. Emily Hernandez."
"Her roommate?" Carlton can't believe it - another hitch in closing this case. "What's the problem with her?"
"She's a pharmacy tech." Vick pauses. "And her mother owns the sideshow."
When Spencer and O'Hara arrive, Vick calls them all into her office. She writes Victor Xavier and Rebecca Xavier on the board and circles them. She connects them with a line.
"Bryce Montgomery was Rebecca's husband," O'Hara says. Vick writes Bryce's name and connects it to Rebecca's.
"Bethany Abel is Bryce's sister." O'Hara takes the marker from Vick and connects Bethany's name with Bryce's. Then she adds Emily's name and connects it to Bethany's. "Emily is Bethany's roommate."
Vick frowns at the board. "I see a train of people from Rebecca. Where's the connection to Xavier?"
O'Hara writes in one more name: Olivia Hernandez. She connects to it Emily's.
"Olivia Hernandez," O'Hara says. "Emily's mother. The owner of the sideshow."
Vick shakes her head. "I don't see the connection. It can't be coincidence."
"No." Spencer lets his hand fall. "Not a coincidence." He reaches into Guster's bag and produces a photocopied newspaper clipping. He hands it to Carlton.
It's an announcement of engagement, dated 1985. "Olivia Hernandez to wed real estate mogul," Carlton reads.
"Victor and Olivia were engaged," Spencer says. "But they never married. Victor called it off."
O'Hara draws a line connecting Olivia's name to Victor's. "Why?" she says.
"Not sure," Spencer says.
"And Emily." Vick reaches for Emily's file. "How does she fit in?"
"Well, she'd have access to heparin, for one thing," Spencer points out. "She worked at the pharmacy where Victor filled his prescriptions."
"But why would she kill Victor?" Carlton's brain is buzzing.
"Wait." Spencer holds up both hands. His eyes have glazed over. "Wait."
Carlton exhales impatiently. He knows Spencer has a process; knows, now, that Spencer's psychic "visions" are nothing more than rapid-fire, connect-the-dots logic. Still, it irritates him that Spencer has to interrupt the conversation at every possible opportunity and bring the spotlight back to himself.
"The dancers," Spencer says, as though to himself. "Emily was a dancer in the sideshow."
"We know that, Mr. Spencer," Vick says shortly. "O'Hara found a closetful of costumes."
"She wasn't there that day," Spencer murmurs. His eyes snap back into focus and he looks straight at Carlton. "She wasn't there the day Victor's body was found, Lassie. They had a substitute dancer-the Asian girl."
"That was the day Rebecca was murdered in Boston," O'Hara says slowly.
Carlton is already heading for the door. "We need to get Emily Hernandez and bring her in," he says.
She isn't hard to find.
They know, from the California BMV database, what Emily Hernandez looks like. They know where she works. And when Carlton and O'Hara approach the pharmacy counter where she's cashing out a customer, she looks at them utterly without surprise.
Carlton flashes his badge. "Emily Hernandez?" he says.
Pale blue eyes. "That's me," she says.
The customer gives Carlton a scared-rabbit look and scurries.
"I'm Detective Lassiter. We have a few questions for you regarding the death of Victor Xavier," Carlton says.
Her expression doesn't change. "Didn't know he was dead." She has blond hair, as straight and fine as cornsilk.
"He was murdered," O'Hara says, stepping forward. "We'd like you to accompany us to the station so we can ask you a few questions."
She is uncannily still. "Am I under arrest?"
Carlton can feel himself getting frustrated. "Should you be?" he snaps.
O'Hara interrupts. "No," she says, "but it would be very helpful if you'd cooperate."
Finally Emily blinks and looks away. "Sorry," she says. "I'm not feeling helpful today."
"Look." Carlton plants both hands on the counter. "If you don't cooperate-"
Emily turns her gaze on O'Hara.
"If I don't cooperate, absolutely nothing will happen," she says tightly. "In case I wasn't clear before, Detectives, I have no intention of going with you. Thank you for coming in. Have a pleasant day."
It galls Carlton beyond comprehension to have to dial Spencer's number. But O'Hara insisted, and although Carlton hates to admit it, he knows that Spencer has a way with people. Carlton never believed he was psychically reading them (and of course, now he knows for sure that he wasn't), but he has an uncanny knack for getting through to wackjobs.
Carlton scuffs his foot across the curb as the phone rings. When Spencer answers - a bright "Lassiepants!" - he straightens his stance.
"Spencer," he says. "What are you doing right now?"
There's a pause, which throws Carlton off a little. He's not used to Spencer hesitating before firing off a comeback. Then: "I'm naked in the tub, Lassie, want to join me?"
Carlton's stomach lurches and he is momentarily vertiginous. "No," he stammers after a moment. "I - we're at the pharmacy where Emily Hernandez works. We were - that is, we're -"
Out of nowhere, O'Hara's hand reaches out and snatches the phone. "Give me that," she snaps. "Shawn. We need you to come talk to Emily. She's refusing to talk to us and she won't come in for questioning."
She gives him the address and hangs up a moment later. Slaps the phone back into Carlton's hand, blue eyes reproachful.
"Say what you mean, Carlton," she says.
"What are you talking about?" Carlton's pulse quickens.
She looks at him a moment longer, then shakes her head. "Nothing," she says finally, then climbs back in the car to wait for Spencer.
By the time Spencer pulls up on his bike a half hour later, Carlton is sweating and surly. Spencer, as usual, looks fresh-faced and newly tousled; his smirk doesn't budge, even when Carlton demands to know what took him so long.
"There was traffic," Spencer explains. "And I wanted ice cream."
"Regardless." O'Hara steps in. "What do you need to know to interview her?"
But Spencer is already walking into the store.
It takes over thirty minutes for Spencer to come back outside. Emily isn't with him.
Carlton feels a flare of frustration. "Well?" he demands.
The expression on Spencer's face is strained; he doesn't quite meet Carlton's gaze. "Let's go," he says.
"Wait a minute, Shawn." O'Hara catches his arm. "Is she going to talk?"
Spencer looks at O'Hara's hand on his arm. Looks at O'Hara.
"We need to find her mother," he says.
Next day.
O'Hara stays at the station when Carlton heads to Emily's mother's house. He picks up Spencer on the way, because Spencer is remaining resolutely mute: he's refusing to tell anyone why finding Olivia is so important. He's not talking even now.
Normally Carlton would give anything to make Spencer shut the hell up, but his persistent silence is starting to become unnerving. After fifteen minutes: "Spencer."
Spencer starts. "Yeah?"
He can't believe what he's about to say. "What are you thinking?"
More silence. Spencer appears not to have heard him. He is on the verge of asking again when Spencer draws in a long breath and lets it out in a sigh.
"It's really stupid," he says.
Carlton exhales impatiently. "For God's sake, Spencer, what is it?"
"I didn't want to Jules to hear," Spencer says quietly.
Carlton hears Spencer's tone and knows something is wrong. He tightens his grip on the wheel. He may not be as smart as Spencer, may not be as intuitive, but he'd have to be a rock to miss the fact that Spencer is about to say something significant.
"Hear what?" he says, because he figures that's a safe question.
"What Emily said." Spencer pauses again. "And the reason we have to go talk to her mother."
He fiddles with his phone, turning it over in his hands. "I'm glad I'm not psychic," he says, and his voice sounds tight. He looks over at Carlton, then back to his phone. "Victor molested Emily."
Carlton takes in a fast breath. His first thought: motive. Emily had reason to kill Victor. But Rebecca? He can see no reason she would have killed Rebecca. His second thought: Spencer is not ready for this. He's seen more than a few cases like this - it's part of the job. But Spencer...
Spencer's lips are pressed together, and he looks a little...green.
"You all right?" Carlton asks, and he doesn't believe Spencer's nod. Without further interrogation, Carlton pulls off the highway and into a gas station. The moment the car stops, Spencer gets out and heads for the restroom.
He's gone a long time.
When he emerges, he is still pale, but he's no longer any shade of green. He slides into his seat without looking at Carlton.
"Thanks, buddy," he says. "I..."
Carlton waits. Watches Spencer. Knowing, now, that he isn't psychic, Carlton can finally see him. He sees his recklessness, his fear. One little confession, one page turned, and there: a human underneath.
Spencer is still fumbling. "I just...I never thought about-"
Carlton doesn't want to cut him off, but he can't stand it, can't stand watching Spencer struggle. "I understand," he says, and the look of gratitude that washes over Spencer's face almost undoes Carlton entirely.
He clears his throat. Starts the car. "So the mother knows about it," he says. He puts the car in reverse, backs up, pulls into the street.
"Yes." Spencer twists his hands together. "Emily told her when she was fifteen. Her mother didn't believe her."
Carlton shakes his head. "They always believe the boyfriend."
Spencer makes a little noise, as though he's about to say something else. He runs a hand across his face. Exhales loudly.
"She said it started when she was nine." His voice is quiet. He hasn't had a case like this. Carlton is sure of it. "Six years."
Carlton can't think of anything to say to that. Can't explain it away, can't even make a snide remark to distract Spencer from the awfulness of what Emily's told him. So he doesn't say anything. He just drives.
"He started coming into her room after Olivia was asleep." The words tumble out. "He raped her the third time he showed up and he kept doing it. Almost every week. Six years. Six years, Lassie." Spencer's hands are balled into fists he's breathing shallowly. "How can - how can - "
Carlton glances over, and Spencer is looking at him. Bewildered. Angry.
"How can someone do that?" he says finally.
Carlton remembers the first time he worked a case where a child was involved. He was more than happy to hand it off to Special Victims, because images of that little boy kept him up at night. Nightmares where he couldn't save the boy, where he saw him dragged shrieking into basements and alleyways. And he can't answer Spencer's question. Is fairly sure there is no answer.
His hand is off the steering wheel before he knows quite what he's doing. It hovers in the air for a split second, and then he lets it fall. Wraps his fingers around Spencer's knee and squeezes once, fast. Pulls away.
He can feel Spencer's gaze on him, can feel Spencer's shock. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Spencer's left hand uncurl, his fingers brushing the place on his jeans where Carlton's hand had been.
"Lassie..."
A question in Spencer's voice.
Would he have answered it, had the GPS not alerted them that their turn was coming up? Had the moment not been lost?
"In one thousand feet, turn left at Euclid Avenue," the robot-voice says. And Carlton comes back to himself.
"I'll do the talking," he says. "You - just - stay behind me and keep quiet." He hears his tone and it feels cruel.
Spencer's voice is quiet, small. "Sure," he says.
Carlton curls his fingers tighter around the steering wheel, feeling his pulse beat in his hands. Hates himself for offering Spencer consolation, then yanking it back. Why?
They pull into Olivia Hernandez's driveway in utter silence. Spencer is following directions and it's making Carlton feel disoriented and confused. He lets Carlton lead him up the walkway, no smart remarks, no dancing here and there, not a word.
The woman who answers the door is unmistakably Emily Hernandez's mother. Same pale blue eyes, same birdlike frame. She has Emily's white-blond hair, although hers has turned slightly ash and is cropped at her chin. Her makeup is perfectly applied.
"Olivia Hernandez?" Carlton says.
"Who's asking?" The blue eyes narrow.
"Detective Carlton Lassiter and Shawn Spencer." Carlton hopes Olivia doesn't catch Spencer's lack of title. He doesn't want to have to play that card - not yet, anyway. "We have a couple of questions about the death of Victor Xavier and were hoping you might be able to help us with them."
She studies them, and Carlton sees Emily in her stillness. After a moment, she moves aside.
"Come in," she says.
They follow her into a sitting room done in off-white and dusky rose, colors Victoria liked. This makes Carlton feel twitchy and unsettled, as though he wasn't feeling twitchy or unsettled enough.
"Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea?" She is coolly gracious.
"No thank you," Carlton says, and Spencer, still wordless, shakes his head.
She perches on the couch across from them, spine straight, hands in her lap.
Carlton clears his throat, and why does he feel suddenly clumsy? He fumbles, can't find words. "We understand that you were engaged to Mr. Xavier."
"That's correct."
"We spoke with your daughter this afternoon." Carlton suddenly realizes that he doesn't know exactly what Emily said. That he is hardly able to quote the conversation back to Olivia, since he wasn't there.
No change in Olivia's expression. "And?" she says.
And Carlton is relieved when Spencer, at last, speaks up.
"She came back to train your dancers," he says, and Olivia looks at him as though she's just noticed him.
"Are you a detective?" she asks primly.
"No, ma'am," Spencer says, and Carlton hears some of the swagger back in his voice. "I'm the head psychic at the Santa Barbara Police Department."
Olivia's lips purse. "Oh, you are," she says. "Of course."
"Yes." Spencer pauses, and now Carlton almost feels him realign. "But," he adds, after a beat, "I'm not acting in that capacity today."
"Hmm." The sour-lemon expression doesn't change. "And in what capacity are you acting?"
Spencer leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands outstretched toward Olivia. Beseeching. "We just want to find out what happened to Mr. Xavier," he says. "And Emily - "
He turns his hands palm-up.
"Emily told me some things today."
Carlton hears the change in Spencer's tone and wonders: is he acting? Is this - the catch in his voice, the plea in his expression - real?
He doesn't get a chance to contemplate, though, because Olivia is leaning forward, she's interested, she's speaking.
"What?" Blue eyes alive now, anxious. "What did she say?"
Carlton is startled by the frankness of Spencer's words. "She said that Victor molested her."
And just like that, the porcelain veneer cracks. Shatters. Carlton sees Olivia's expression crumple just before she flees the room.
How does he do that? How does Spencer know just what to say, just how to be, to crawl under people's skin? How does he gauge whether to turn into a whirling dervish of faux-psychic bullcrap or a soft-eyed empath?
Right now, though, his lips are pinched. He's watching the doorway where Olivia left.
"I hope she comes back," he says quietly.
"She will," Carlton says, although he isn't sure.
She does.
Olivia appears a few minutes later, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "I'm sorry," she says, and it's a very different woman than the one who answered the door ten minutes ago. She lowers herself onto the couch. Looks at Spencer.
"What else did she tell you?" she asks, and her expression is at once steady and fearful.
Spencer looks at his hands. "She said he had been..." Pause. "For six years."
"Did she tell you I didn't believe her?"
The candor of the words startles Carlton, and appears to startle Spencer as well. Olivia's eyes are bright with tears, but her gaze doesn't waver.
"I told her to stop telling stories," she continues. "I told her she had to stop lying or I'd send her away." She stops suddenly, gasps for breath. "I live with that every second of my life."
Carlton is silent and so is Spencer, because there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that they can say.
There is a long pause as Olivia regains composure. "She ran away," she says, her voice steady once more. "I tried to find her, but she didn't want to be found, and I didn't - " Raw shame, now, layered on guilt. "I didn't try hard enough."
"But she came back." Spencer's eyes stay on Olivia's.
Olivia takes a deep breath. "Yes. She came back."
"Why?"
"Because-" Olivia twists the tissue until it tears. "I found her. I asked her to reconcile. I asked her to come back because the show was going under and I needed her help."
"And she came."
"Yes."
"When?"
Olivia's gaze drifts to the left. "Oh, probably eighteen months, two years or so now."
"She did...what?"
"Trained the dancers," Olivia says, and Carlton sees her start to relax. "Balanced the books."
Despite himself, Carlton finds himself a little bit impressed by Spencer's interview. He doesn't try to play the psychic once, and his questions - concise, non-leading, asked in a tone that's at once gentle and assertive - are getting responses. Although he's certain Spencer will remember what Olivia says, Carlton makes mental notes: the dissolution of Olivia's engagement to Victor shortly after Emily ran away, Emily's subsequent enrollment in school to become a pharmacy tech, the strained relationship between Emily and Olivia upon her return. And, finally, that Olivia had been considering selling the sideshow.
To Victor.
When Olivia says this, she's looking at her hands, so she doesn't see the look that flashes across Spencer's face: that intense, focused expression, quickly replaced by his previous compassionate one.
And just as quickly, Spencer is wrapping it up. Carlton is momentarily confused - why is he calling a halt to the interview? They've barely been here a half hour.
But Olivia is standing, then, and Spencer is following her to the door, and Carlton has no choice but to follow.
As soon as the door clicks shut behind them, Spencer grabs Carlton's arm.
"We have to get to Emily's. Right now," he says.
"Wh-" Carlton doesn't even get a chance to finish the word because Spencer is physically propelling him toward the car.
"I'll explain on the way over," he says. "Just-let's go. Now."
The apartment that Emily and Tabitha share is over a half hour away, so once they're on the highway, Carlton looks at Spencer.
"Well?" he says.
"Well what?"
Carlton huffs. Jesus. "Well, why are we going to Emily's?"
Spencer looks away. "Because I'm pretty sure she killed Victor. And Rebecca."
Carlton almost slams on the brakes in the middle of the freeway. "What?"
Spencer glances at him. "You thought it yourself. As soon as I told you what Victor did to Emily."
He can't deny that, but how did Spencer know? "What about Rebecca?"
"Didn't you hear what Olivia said? Emily and Rebecca had a difficult relationship after that. Rebecca probably hated Emily for what she'd said about her father, and undoubtedly Emily hated Rebecca for taking her father's side." Spencer rubs the back of his neck. "Remember Rebecca's apartment?"
Carlton mentally replays the scene in Rebecca's apartment. "Yes."
"The pictures in her bedroom." Spencer points at the air. "Glass broken, and Rebecca's face stabbed out in all of them." He drops his hand to his lap. "Except one. A family photo. An old one."
"Okay," Carlton says impatiently, "so what does that have to do with anything? Whoever killed Rebecca hated her. That should be obvious."
"Yeah, but that family photo had Rebecca in it, too. She was maybe ten or eleven. And Emily, same age, and Victor." He pauses. "It was Emily's face stabbed out in that one."
Now Carlton understands.
Spencer looks troubled. "I don't think we should have left her, Lassie."
"I need evidence, Spencer," Carlton hisses.
"I know," Spencer says. "And I'll get it."
They knock on Emily's door, and she answers, which surprises Carlton.
"You're here," she says.
"You know why," Spencer says.
And she nods. Moves aside.
Spencer walks into the second bedroom, and Emily and Carlton follow. He traces the perimeter of the room, not touching anything, just looking. He's frowning.
"Well?" Carlton says.
"Just..." Spencer's eyes narrow, and he drops to the floor. Reaches under the bedskirt and pulls out a shoebox.
Carlton reaches for the box. Opens it.
"Bingo," he says softly. "Looks like you're wrong, Spencer."
Inside the box are empty medicine bottles. Labeled insulin and heparin.
Spencer shakes his head. "Call the Chief," he says.
Vick arrives not thirty minutes later. She's got O'Hara with her.
Spencer looks at Emily. "Do you want to tell them?" he asks.
Emily's eyes fill and she shakes her head.
"Chief," Spencer says. "Can I talk to her?"
Vick glances at Carlton. Then: "Two minutes, Mr. Spencer."
Spencer stands up and Emily follows suit. They leave the room. A few minutes later, he comes back in.
"She's in the living room," he says. "Jules-"
"I'll go sit with her," O'Hara says immediately. She closes the door behind her.
Spencer looks at Carlton. He looks anxious, and Carlton realizes that he's worried. He thinks Carlton is going to call him out. Here, in front of Chief Vick.
He should. He should tell the Chief that Spencer is a fraud, nothing but a guy with really good observational skills taking the entire department for a ride.
He should, but he doesn't.
He looks straight at Spencer and gives him a tiny nod. And Spencer immediately throws himself into his schtick.
It's hard to watch, now that Carlton knows what's really going on, but it's less galling than it was before. When Spencer is "psychically pulled" toward the bed and reaches under it, Carlton actually almost smiles.
Of course, he loses that impulse as soon as Spencer says, "But Emily planted the bottles."
"What?" he snaps.
"Check 'em for fingerprints," Spencer says. "I'm sensing she wasn't thinking clearly. I'm sensing she didn't wear gloves."
"And what explanation do you have for that, Mr. Spencer?" Vick folds her arms. Waits.
"Here's what happened," Spencer says.
"Emily and her mother had this sideshow. Emily's father had died when Emily was small -" (How did he know that? Carlton wonders) "-and they didn't have much money left. It wasn't doing well."
Spencer pauses. "When Emily was seven or eight, Olivia met Victor Xavier. Rich developer. Victor had a daughter, Rebecca."
"And Olivia and Victor got involved," Vick supplies.
"Right." Spencer seems to droop a little. "And shortly after that, Victor..." He trails off. Looks at Carlton.
Carlton clears his throat. "Victor was molesting Emily," he says, as professional and clipped as he is capable of being.
Vick's expression changes little, but Carlton sees her lips tighten.
Now that the bad part is over, Spencer seems to have recovered. "No one believed Emily," he continues, "so she ran away at fifteen. Lived on her own for a while, then was taken in by a friend, who - " Spencer swallows hard "-paid her way to go to school to be a pharmacy tech."
The look on Spencer's face makes Carlton wonder what kind of "friend" Emily had made, living on her own at fifteen, who would have been willing to pay for school.
"She worked for a while, and then Olivia found her." Spencer leads them out of Tabitha's room and into Emily's. Points at the dance costumes in the closet. "She asked Emily to come back. The engagement had ended shortly after Emily ran away, and Olivia was barely keeping the show afloat. And Emily did." He plucks at the tulle of a tutu. "She brought the show around - managed money, trained the dancers, and everything was going fine. Until her mother told her that Victor was back in the picture and wanted to buy the show."
He looks away. "Emily felt like Victor had possessed every part of her life."
Vick, grimly: "So she killed him."
Spencer nods.
"But." Vick frowns. "How does Bethany Abel fit into this?"
"Emily found Rebecca in Boston," Spencer says. "She met Bethany through Rebecca."
Vick nods. "How?"
"She found out Rebecca was married. It's - " Spencer furrows his brow and puts a hand to his head. "It's not clear how she found Bryce, but it didn't take her long to find the sister, and figure out that Bethany - or should I say, Tabitha - was wanted for murder. So she got close to her, convinced her to come back to Santa Barbara. Change her identity."
Spencer is frowning. He glances at the door.
"I need to talk to Emily," he says.
Emily's on the couch next to O'Hara. Her hands are clenched in her lap; she won't meet anyone's eyes.
Spencer drops to the floor at her feet and sits cross-legged. "Hi, Emily."
No answer.
Spencer doesn't try to convince her he's psychic. All he says is, "I'm sorry."
Then he waits. Waits until she looks at him, and at last, asks, "Why?"
"Because I hate what happened to you," Spencer says.
Emily's eyes spill over. Tears drip onto her hands as she sits motionless, silent.
"You didn't mean to stab Victor, did you," Spencer says. It isn't a question.
Slowly, slowly, Emily shakes her head.
Carlton start to reach for his handcuffs and in a tiny, barely noticeable motion, Spencer flicks his hand in Carlton's direction. A don't move gesture.
Carlton waits.
"Emily." Spencer scoots around so he is directly in front of her on the floor. "What happened that night? With Victor?"
Emily puts her face in her hands. And Spencer waits.
Finally:
"I thought he would get sick," Emily whispers. "I thought he would go into a coma. Or hit his head and bleed. I wanted him dead." She looks up suddenly, blue eyes fierce and furious. "I wanted him dead."
Spencer holds her gaze. "I know," he says.
"But he came to the show." Emily's shoulders sag. "He said he was buying the sideshow. He said we were moving to Boston. We'd be with Rebecca. He said - he said - " She starts to sob. "He said we were a family."
Spencer doesn't say anything, just waits until Emily can continue.
"He tried to...he said...when you're family, you..." And then she is bent over, hands fisted in her hair, face almost in her lap. "I couldn't," Carlton hears her say. "I couldn't do it again."
"You were defending yourself," Spencer murmurs, and Carlton's first instinct is to snap at him for leading Emily on, but then he remembers what they're talking about.
"I only wanted to stop him," Emily says, her voice muffled. "But he kept bleeding. There was so much blood."
Spencer reaches up. Puts a hand on Emily's arm.
"What about Rebecca?" he says.
Emily sits up and meets Spencer's gaze.
"She was going to be my sister." Her demeanor has changed in a split second. "But she hated me. She said I was a liar." She grabs Spencer's hands, curls her fingers into his skin. "I never lied."
"I know."
"I wanted to see her." Emily's tone is almost pleading. "I found her before. I made Bryce like me. I made Tabby like me."
Spencer leans toward her. "She wasn't happy to see you."
Emily shakes her head. "She screamed at me. Wanted me to get out. Said she never wanted to see me again." She looks at Carlton, and he is unnerved by the pain in her eyes. "So I came back with the gun."
"You shot her."
"Why shouldn't she hurt?" Emily grabs at her hair again. "Why shouldn't she hurt like me? Why me? Why me and not her?"
Spencer looks at Carlton, at Chief Vick. It's enough.
Chief Vick steps forward. She sits down on the couch next to Emily.
"Emily Hernandez," she says, and her voice is quiet and sad. "You are under arrest for the murders of Victor and Rebecca Xavier."
Emily puts her face in her hands and cries, and cries, and cries.