So I hung up on slimy Mr. Bolter and stared out the kitchen window. The glass had a crack from one of the kids playing ball in the yard. Afternoon sunshine made its way inside. Outside, the trees in the backyard looked sad without their leaves. It was the kind of winter scene that matched my life.
The kids were playing upstairs with Dylan, thumping around like usual. It was good to hear their lively noises when everything else around me seemed dead.
I sank into thought, staring at nothing, when the phone rang.
Unknown caller.
My heart jumped as I picked up.
Brian walked in at the same time, rubbing his hands, as Detective Nolan’s voice came through the phone.
“Nicole?”
“Yes,” I said, locking eyes with Brian.
“I have some information on the license plate.”
Hope and fear grabbed me all at once.
“The car belongs to a man in Peabody,” he said. “He lives in a run-down trailer with his wife and kids. Says a guy he knows sometimes borrows his truck every few months or so. They’re estranged friends from a construction job they did together about ten years ago. He said this friend just shows up out of nowhere and pays him a thousand in cash to borrow his truck. Then he uses the truck for a day. Returns it, then leaves.”
“Does this guy from the trailer have an alibi for himself?” I asked.
“He does.”
“Let me guess:his black-and-blue beaten wife?”
“No. Security camera. He has them inside the house and at his doors. I pulled the footage directly from the security company. He was home all night during Zach’s murder. And that man he talked about really did show up. Matched the guy from the gas station. But he was wearing a COVID mask and a hoodie. Just like in the gas station footage. All we have on him is a disconnected phone number. And a first name.”
“Which is?”
“I can’t tell you—” He huffed, frustrated, like he already knew I wouldn’t drop it. “Ah, fuck it. His name is John Myers. That’s all we have. The truck owner’s story is thin and not enough for charges. It’s not against the law to rent out your truck as long as you have no knowledge of a crime being committed with it.”
“So how do we find this Myers?”
“We don’t,” Nolan said.
“What do you mean?” My voice rose sharply. “We have to arrest him. Put a warrant out for him or something.”
“Based on what?” Nolan said. “We have nothing. For all we know, this man could have been hunting, and the blood on him was from a deer. Or he cut himself on a jobsite. Hell, what if Myers says it was paint?”
“Paint?” I said. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nicole, I’m not sayin’ I like any of this. But I’m speaking through the eyes of the system here. Every accusation needs evidence. Everything has to be proven in the eyes of the court, checked off like boxes on some shopping list. And, so far, we have nothing here. Literally nothing. Just theories and gut feelings.”
“If we need evidence, well, what about DNA, then? Sweep the truck. There has to be something. Zach’s DNA or something.”
Nolan sighed, long and exhausted. “I…tried. But the judge denied the warrant, stating there’s not enough evidence for that.”
My jaw tightened.
Thomas Harlow.
My chest pinched with that old familiar burn of hate again. In the corner of my eye, I caught Brian rubbing the back of his neck, pacing up and down in the cramped kitchen. Another fire I had to put out. Another mess waiting for me.
“Listen,” Nolan said quietly, “I’m sorry. I know this is not what you want to hear. But there’s nothing else I can do. The AG shut me down. There isn’t any more evidence to support pushing this lead. All we can do now is wait until this…Myers shows up again. The man from the trailer said he’d call me when he does. It might take some ti—”
“I don’t have time,” I cut him off, fingers pressing into the bridge of my nose as if that could stop the pounding inside my skull.
