Page 32 of Forever Dead

Instead, she kept thinking about Eleanor Marsh: the forced back door, the severed phone line, the unfinished emergency call, the rocking chair. Connor had told her enough to make the case impossible to ignore and then expected her to do exactly that.

A knock came at the door.

Selena reached for the cane beside the recliner. Getting upright took longer at the end of the day. The knee stiffened after sunset as if it had its own schedule, and the brace seemed to weigh twice as much once she was tired.

“Coming.”

She crossed the room, checked the peephole, and smiled for the first time in an hour. Arnold stood outside in jeans and a dark jacket, holding a manila folder against his chest.

Selena opened the door. “You’re a star, Arnold.”

He gazed along the motel walkway before stepping inside. “If the sheriff finds out, he’ll kill me.”

“I know. You didn’t say anything to Cheryl, did you?”

Arnold laughed under his breath. “Are you kidding? If she found out I was giving you copied case files, she’d be worse than the sheriff.”

Selena shut the door. “Yeah, she doesn’t like me.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“She’s never exactly hidden it.”

Arnold carried the folder toward the bed. “I think she just has eyes on the sheriff and sees you as competition.”

Selena leaned on the cane. “Been there, done that. I don’t intend on going back.”

The answer came easily, but it did not feel as certain as it once had.

Connor had occupied too much space in her thoughts since she returned to Elmsview. Some of that could be blamed on the cases. They had been forced into each other’s lives by murders, old secrets and the simple fact that they knew how the other worked. But lately there were moments that had nothing to do with investigations: his concern when she was hurt, the way he had reacted to Eric, the unfinished sentence in the SUV that afternoon. Selena pushed the thought aside.

Arnold set the folder on the bed. “This is what I could copy so far. Nothing leaves here except what’s already in that folder.”

“Understood.”

“And if Connor asks, I spent the evening doing literally anything else.”

“I’ll swear you were bowling.”

“I hate bowling.”

“Say you were dragged there on a date. That makes it more convincing.”

Arnold shook his head, but a smile tugged briefly at his mouth.

Selena sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to twist her knee, and opened the folder.

Inside were a selection of printed scene photographs, a copy of the initial incident report, Arnold’s interview notes and a one-page summary of Blethan’s preliminary findings. The photographs were grouped in a large envelope.

She opened it first.

The first photographs showed the exterior, the broken rear door, the cut phone cable down the hill and tire impressions in the driveway. Others captured the kitchen floor with the carving knife and mobile phone marked by numbered evidence tents.

Then came the dining room, and Selena stopped.

Eleanor Marsh lay in the corner beneath the remains of the rocking chair. The photograph captured the unnatural angle of her neck with clinical clarity. Her skin was pale under the crime-scene lighting, one arm trapped beneath her, the other reaching toward the baseboard.

“Eleanor...”