Chapters (30)
- Praise for Every Single Lie
- Dedication
- Title Page
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Epilogue
- Author’s Note
- Resources
- Acknowledgments
- No One Is Alone
- About the Author
I know exactly how she feels. Frustrated and mystified that this has managed to stay in the headlines for five days, when, according to Penn, school shootings only seem to hang around for three or four, and corrupt politicians are hardly a blip on the radar.
But, as Mrs. Bhatt laments to Coach Killebrew as I pass them in the hall, everyone loves a dead baby.
At lunch, I glance out one of the tall, skinny cafeteria windows to see that the reporters have all left, but I don’t understand why until Amira plops down across from me holding her phone. She offers me one of her earbuds without explanation, and I accept it when I see my mother on her screen.
The press conference has started.
I’ve missed the first few minutes of it, but I get to hear my mom reiterate that the Clifford PD is no longer involved with the Lullaby Doe case, except in the search for a next of kin to notify, which is standard procedure in every case involving an unidentified decedent. Evidently I missed the part where she told them the baby was stillborn, so there would be no murder investigation.
The press room—really it’s just the multipurpose room where they set out cake when someone has a birthday—erupts as reporters start shouting questions.
“Is it a crime in the state of Tennessee to fail to report a death? If so, wouldn’t that mean the mother should still face criminal charges?”
“That is not something the Daley County district attorney general is interested in pursuing at this time.”
“Why might that be?” another reporter shouts, and I recognize her voice. That’s the WBBJ reporter who chased me down the sidewalk outside To Dye For.
My mother turns to her right, and a man in a suit steps up to the microphone. Evidently he’s the county’s district attorney general.
“At most, failing to report a death would be a misdemeanor, punishable by probation and a fine, on the outside. Pursuing such charges would cost the county money and produce little result, yet would likely keep the next of kin from coming forward to claim the remains. The county court system and the Clifford Police Department have no wish to add to the suffering of that family, whoever they are. Our interests are in helping reunite this poor baby with her family and seeing her properly laid to rest.”
“We would also like to offer to connect her mother with counseling services, at no charge, should she come forward and claim the remains,” my mom adds as the attorney steps back again.
“Detective, isn’t it possible that the mother’s prenatal neglect directly led to the death of that baby?”
I can’t see which reporter shouts this, but the question gives me chills.
“Couldn’t she be charged with criminal neglect?”