I'm dead silent for a moment, staring at the dark phone screen apprehensively before I make myself respond.
"Clarissa. You sound worried?"
She sighs breathlessly from the other end of the phone, and I can imagine her pacing a room or playing around with her hands anxiously. "Well, I... are you... okay?"
"I'm good, thanks," I say evenly. "Well, as good as I can be."
"But... see, I needed to tell you something, I still do, only, you weren't home. And- and I haven't been able to find you or... but your friend gave me this number. Yesterday."
I glance at Edith, then back to the phone. Clarissa's holding something back, I can tell, but it's not as easy to pry information out of people by phone call as it is when you're face to face.
"No, I'm not at home right now. I'm staying with some friends until things are safe enough. But you're on the phone with me now, so whatever it is you need to tell me, I'm listening."
Everyone around the table is listening avidly; Elias peering at the phone with accusing eyes, Edith fiddling with her hair as her eyes wander over the screen, and Emerson sitting back calmly, observing the situation with his thoughts sealed off, the conversation continuing.
Clarissa takes a while to form an answer, clearly stressed about whatever it is she wants to say. I know it must be something to do with the case, maybe something that could make solving it a lot less complicated than it already is, but something's holding her back.
Someone. Or is it herself?
"I... I don't... no, I don't know, not for sure. And you're right," she rambles nervously, her breath hitching every so often between words, "things aren't safe enough now. I don't know..."
"Clarissa," I interrupt, as gently as I can, "even if you don't know, I'm interested. It could be important, couldn't it? It could help make sure no one else gets hurt. You can tell me, can't you?"
She considers this for a long moment, then sighs again. "I can tell you," she repeats quietly, most likely convincing herself at the same time. "But... no, it's so much easier if I could see you, like, properly. I feel like I'm always being... being watched. I- I don't want to die, Holly."
I take a moment, trying to see this from all angles. Could she just want to draw me out? She is our prime suspect, either the killer herself, or involved somehow in the murders. Whatever she knows, I need to know. But I won't get far with her like this. Whether she's trying to draw me out or not, I'll be going to the funeral tomorrow anyway, with backup from Brunsley's team and the Tyrels.
"Okay, Clarissa? How about this? My parents' funeral is tomorrow, and details about the time and place will be sent out soon." I look up at Edith in confirmation, and she nods in agreement. "You're invited too, of course. We'll be able to talk face to face in a quiet place there, and I'll make sure nothing bad will happen to you. Does that make sense?"
"Tomorrow? Yes, tomorrow. I can do that... okay."
"Okay," I reply smoothly. "Thanks for calling me."
"Mm." She sounds distracted now, probably as paranoid as she sounds. "Holly?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry," she murmurs, and I frown slightly, waiting for her to explain. "I'm sorry this happened to you. I mean, your poor parents! Judith, and... and Bobby... and you, it's not right."
I can't help but nod in agreement. "No, it's not right."
"I know he didn't mean it..."
That makes me freeze, and my gaze fixes on the phone attentively, trying to turn the volume up to hear Clarissa's wavering, hushed tone a little louder. But it's as high as it will go.
"I know he was just being nice... your parents were nice, Holly."
"What do you mean?" I try coaxing more out of her, but what she's saying doesn't make sense.
"And maybe he was too nice," she continues, "but I don't think he knew. Even if he did... what she said, it's not right. He shouldn't have had to run."
"Wait, what?" All delicateness is thrown out the window now as I hear that word, practically hear that crackling song playing in my head. "What are you-"
"I need to go," Clarissa says in a rush. "I... no, I need to go."
Then all at once, her voice is gone, and the Caller screen is replaced with the time and lockscreen. A conclusive silence hangs in the air, and I put my phone down, instantly going to my casebook and adding the whole conversation, word for word, down on the next free space.
"What do you think she meant?" Edith asks us, breaking the quietness of the library. "Was 'he' your dad, Holly?"
"Most likely," I mumble, concentrating on what I'm writing.
"Of course he is," Emerson says, and I control the urge to roll my eyes, carrying on in my book. "Bobby Cassia was a nice man. He was a good person, like she said. But sometimes, he was too nice, either willingly or unwillingly. Clarissa took it the wrong way, and so did the killer. The killer, who, as Clarissa just confirmed, is a woman. 'What she said, it's not right.'"
"Not only that," I add, finally looking up from the page, "but the murderer quoted the song that was playing in the basement. Run Bobby Run? 'He shouldn't have had to run.'"
"And with that evidence, along with other supporting facts, shows that the RoseBlood Killer, as you call her, is some kind of a jilted lover."
My mouth's open and ready to carry on with the train of thoughts, but at his last words, my own dry up, and I close my mouth again, going quiet. Emerson hesitates, sensing the unease.
"Oh, sorry, Holly," Edith goes to apologise, but I shake my head.
Just accept it. Nobody's perfect. There's no such thing as a perfect family. You knew that before all this happened.
"Don't be," I tell her with a half-smile. "It's okay. And it sounds about right, anyway, because my dad was a friendly person. I just didn't think of it like that, that's all."
"You wouldn't, though, would you?" Emerson replies, and my gaze flicks to meet his dark one. "You were his daughter, and you saw him as your father. There's no true way you could have known, so what matters is that we know it now."
I pause for a moment, taking in his words, before nodding and moving on. I can't tell if he's genuinely being nice or if he's mocking me, but uncovering Emerson is a case for another time, I suppose.
"I don't trust that girl," Elias speaks up with a frown. "She's not as innocent as she puts on, I'm betting. She could have tracked Holly's number or something."
"And you'd be right," Emerson answers his brother, whilst tapping away on his iPad. "I doubt she can track the number, and if she was up to anything like that, she would have made her own private, so it would have come up as a No Caller ID. And no, she's not innocent, whether she likes it or not, because she knows something important about this case. She could be the killer, but even if she isn't, she probably knows something crucial about the murders."
"But say she isn't the killer," Edith suggests steadily. "And her feeling like she's being watched could be correct instincts. Shouldn't we call Brunsley to check in on her or something? If she's trying to help us solve the case and really cares and worries, she could be a target, couldn't she?"
"That's true," I nod slowly. "But I think that sending Brunsley there might make her close up or draw more attention to her."
"We leave it for now," Emerson concludes, "and we'll see her tomorrow, face to face, in a controlled environment. I will inform Brunsley about that conversation, though, and make sure all the funeral preparations are pretty much done."
"I'll try to see which sonnet or poem those words came from," Edith says. "And Holly, there's a bunch of files from your parents' computers and pictures of their books and stuff that could have something interesting in them. Do you want to look through that? I mean, it might make more sense to you, since they were your parents."
Yes, they were. That doesn't mean a thing.
"Yeah, okay then."
Elias scrapes his chair against the floor as he goes to stand up, and I look up at him in mild interest. Is it spooking him, this case, now we're getting deeper into it? They did say something similar had happened to a cold case that's probably related to this one.
There's a lot more to The RoseBlood Killer than I thought, and there might just be as much to the Tyrels, too.