“You called around for a couple of quotes to have the professionals deal with it, but they wanted four hundred bucks just to collect a trash bag. You’d already done all the work; there was no way you were paying four hundred bucks for any damn thing.”
His face burns red with anger. He repeats, “So?”
“So you swung by the hardware store and bought a pair of coveralls. Gloves. Tape. Safety glasses. All that sorta stuff. It was thirty bucks and twenty minutes of your time.”
“How doesanyof this connect to what happened to that girl?” he blusters. “Are you fucking stupid?”
In my peripherals, Drake drops his gaze to his shoes and snickers.
Prick.
“It connects, because she knew cutting Josey’s throat would be messy as hell. To combat that, she grabbed supplies from your garage and organized a fake catch-up so she could take care of business, while you,” I meet Rhonda’s eyes, “were busy running errands.”
“No.” Fat tears plop onto her cheeks. “None of this is true.”
“Sniffer dogs found the bag she buried after she dumped Josey’s car,” Ipress. “It took them a while, since that bag was buried deep and a long way from the road.”
Rhonda’s hands shake.
“We sent it to the lab right away,” Drake adds. “The coveralls. The gloves. Even Josey’s phone was there.”
“It was pretty smashed up. Maybe she thought destroying the phone would destroy proof of the texts, but it doesn’t quite work that way.”
“There was a hat in that bag, too. Actually,” Drake takes out his phone and taps at the screen for a moment. Scrolling. Searching. Finding what he needs, he turns the device and shows the family a social media photo of Scott Prim after a football game. His hair is sweaty, his face is red, and that same hat sits plopped on his head. “This one right here.”
“Don’t even fuckin’tryto pin this on me! I lost that hat.”
“No,” I rumble. “You didn’t lose it. It was stolen.”
He shoots a furious glare at his sister.
“I doubt it was malicious,” I continue. “She needed something to wear while she drove Josey’s car through the city, and I noticed a whole rack of hats by the front door when we stopped by. I bet she just grabbed one on the fly and didn’t even really think about who owned it.”
“You have a girlfriend, don’t you, Scott?” Drake locks his phone and slips it back into his pocket. “These women shed hair so fuckin’ much, it’s insane.”
“Yeah, but?—”
“My girlfriend?” He chuckles. “I love her to bits, kid, but I swear to God, I have to unclog the shower drain at least once a week.”
“We found hair inside the hat,” I tell them solemnly. “Long strands that can’t possibly be yours, so we knew right away they belonged to our killer.”
“That doesn’t mean she—” Rhonda frantically shakes her head. “That doesn’t mean Tara hurt Josey!”
“The hair’s with the lab right now. We’ll know who it belongs to soon enough.”
“But she’s his sister! She could’ve borrowed his hat anytime.”
Scott scoffs. “Not fuckin’ likely. She doesn’t borrow my things unless she wants a pop in her ugly fuckin’ face.”
Heartbroken, Tara only drops her swollen eyes to the table and cries.
Charming little fuck.
“So that means we have the murder weapon.” I toss the ball from my left hand to my right. “Andthe coveralls and gloves. They had a powdery layer in some spots too, so I bet we’ll find asbestos on those.” I toss theball again. “Legally, you should’ve disposed of those with the sheets of asbestos, Mr. Prim. Asbestos fibers are not safe to keep lying around the home. Not even in the garage.”
You cheap sack of shit.
“We also have Josey’s phone.” I toss the ball again. “We’re waiting on the warrant for records to follow.”
