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“Hey, how’s the investigation going?” I look up to find Dex Stroope standing in the doorway.
“Slow but steady,” I say vaguely. “Verified a few things—have a few avenues I want to look more closely at.”
“Good. Let me know if you need anything,” he says then notices the files spread out in front of me. “That the autopsy report?” I nod. “You really want to read that?” he asks. “Pretty grim stuff. I can give you the CliffsNotes version.”
My spine stiffens. “Would you ask a male detective that?” I ask. As much as I like and respect Dex, he was pretty old-school.
Dex raises his bushy white eyebrows at my tone. “I would ask that question to any cop whose best friend was the murder victim.”
“I can handle it,” I assert.
“I have no doubt,” he says dryly. “What’s your gut telling you?”
“Who do I think killed Eve?” I ask. “I’m trying to reserve judgment. How about you?”
“I have my suspicions,” Dex says. “Finish your investigation and we’ll compare notes.”
Though I’m dying to know who Dex suspects, I let it go. “Fair enough,” I say. “Hey, Dex,” I call before he goes on his way, “I’m not judging, but the files in Eve’s case are pretty jumbled. That wasn’t like my dad.”
“They didn’t always look like that. There was a time they were organized nice and neat, like everything else. Your dad spent a lot of time on Eve and a few years ago, he went back into the files and pulled everything apart. He said he wanted to look at it with fresh eyes. I think he was onto something but,” Dex’s eyes shift away from me uncomfortably, “he started having his health concerns.”
“But he didn’t tell you what he found?” I ask.
“No, but I got the sense he thought the killer was definitely someone who knew Eve.”
“As is the case with most homicides,” I say. “That would be three-fourths the population of Grotto. Eve knew a lot of people.”
“True,” Dex agrees. “Listen, I’ve gotta run...”
“Hey, can I show you something really quick? It will just take a second.” I flip through the files until I find his interview with Nick Brady. “How solid was Nick’s alibi?”
Dex reaches for the paper and brings it close to his face. He’s left his reading glasses back in his office. He peruses it for a few seconds. “Looked pretty airtight to me. With his friend Jamie Hutchcraft from after school until five. Jamie verified it. And then went to help his mother out at their shop until ten. She backed that up too. Why? You think Brady killed her? We checked him out pretty carefully.”
“No,” I say, taking the paper from him. “I’m not saying that at all. Just trying to be thorough.”
“Hopefully the DNA testing will clear things up and we can put this one to bed,” Dex says. “Let me know if you want to talk more. I’m always around.”
Dex leaves and fear blooms in my chest. Eve’s boot and all of the other items from her case are still locked away in the evidence room. I could pack up all the evidence now and send it off to the state lab. The chief expected it to be done already, but still it sits. You had one job, I say to myself. There’s only one person that the forensics can be tied back to. Me. I should just go to the chief and turn myself in. In the long run it would be easier.
Nola’s words keep nagging at me. I can help you. I want to help you. All you need to do is slip a little bit of his DNA into the evidence, reseal it, send it in and we wait for the results.
And Nola had really done it. She had gotten a DNA sample from Nick and she expects me to do the rest.
I swing by the café and pick up three club sandwiches and some macaroni salad and drive to my dad’s house. I try to stop by there for lunch a few times a week. My first instinct is to avoid my dad and Colin. I feel like all they have to do is take one look at me and they’ll see right through me. See that something’s wrong. But I have to do my best to keep up appearances, to keep things as normal as possible.
No one is sitting on the front porch so I push open the door. “Hello?” I call out. “Dad? Colin?” No one answers. “I’ve got sandwiches!” Bag of food in hand, I move to the kitchen. The refrigerator door is open wide. The floor is wet and sticky and covered with shards of glass. My hand flies instinctively to my sidearm.
A loud crash comes from somewhere within the house. I throw the bag on the counter. “Dad? Colin?” I call again then hurry back down the hallway toward my dad’s den. I push open the door to see my dad’s ancient desktop computer lying on a carpet of wayward papers along with the contents of the desk drawers. My dad is standing in the corner, clutching a lamp, his face red with rage. Kneeling on the floor in front of him is Nola.
“What the hell?” I ask.
“Jesus,” Nola says from the floor. “He freaked out and started throwing things.”
“What are you doing here, Nola?” I ask, my eyes sweeping the room, fingers still hovering over my holster. “What did you do to my dad? Where’s Colin?”
“He had to run to Willow Creek to deliver some sculptures. He asked me to stay with your dad until he got back.” Nola looks genuinely rattled. “I was trying to get him something to eat and he just went off on me.”
I go to my dad’s side and gently pry the lamp from his fingers. “Dad, what’s the matter?” I ask. “What happened?” He is breathing hard and sweating. I’m afraid he’s going to have a heart attack. “Why would Colin ask you to stay with my dad?” I ask Nola incredulously. “He wouldn’t do that.”
