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But as far as these records went back, Adamson hadn't spoken to either of them at all. He hadn't called them; they hadn't called him. He had made quite a few phone calls, but they had mostly been to football team members, his coaching colleagues, and a few personal calls to friends.
No Sadie, no Alyssa, although he guessed Adamson could have deleted such calls.
Their phone numbers had both been inputted into Adamson's contact list, though, Owen noted. He personally thought that was highly irregular, but he guessed that in today’s digital age, Adamson would be able to defend himself by saying he’d done it so they could be in messaging groups and communicate more effectively.
And that was where he went next.
There, Owen realized, was a lot more to be picked up. Coach Adamson was a serial texter. There were reams of communications here. He had several groups set up on his phone to interact with students, and he had messaged both Sadie and Alyssa in the days before they died. He guessed that being in the special coaching group had provided a good excuse for that.
Owen quickly hunted through the messages, reading every last one.
The tone was definitely flirty. And the content was somewhat inappropriate. He called them 'angel' and 'sweetheart.' References were made to 'bikini ready bodies' that had Owen narrowing his eyes in anger. In a couple of the messages, he suggested one on one extra lessons, and that they should hook up with him for coffee.
That was definitely pointing to him wanting an inappropriate relationship. Owen thought, with a frustrated sigh, that he’d been allowed to get away with doing this. For sure, May could use this information. But as much as seeing these texts was disturbing, Owen was disappointed that there had been no direct solicitation of the girls. Also, he could see no fights or friction that could have pointed the way to a murder scenario erupting.
The girls seemed happy with his tone. They had replied with smiley emojis. And scrolling through other messages, Owen realized that Coach Adamson communicated this way very consistently. All the girls received the same warm, flirty, over-friendly treatment from this slimy man who had slept with one or more underage girls in the past.
His eyes opened wider as he saw messages to both girls saying, "See you at the prom! And the post-party!"
That was important, Owen thought, feeling as if he was now making progress. That was an important link in what was needed to nail this guy. He'd clearly shown that he intended to meet up with both his victims during that fateful night when Alyssa had been murdered. He could have been right on the scene, and grabbed the opportunity he was seeking.
But the investigator's side of Owen’s brain was still needing more.
Emails? He turned to the laptop.
Scanning through, he saw there were a lot of emails in Adamson's inbox, too. Owen began scrolling through, noting that they were mostly from team members and colleagues. He clicked on the most recent, a few hours old.
It was from Coach White, a colleague, and it was a thank you note for all Adamson had done in the last few days.
He ran a search for Sadie's name, and then for Alyssa's. The girls came up here, too. In fact, they came up a lot. He frowned, going over the emails and reading them carefully.
There was nothing definitive here.
Most of them were feedback on assignments, progress reports as part of the coaching group, heads-up on televised events they might want to watch, and invitations to workshops and matches.
Nothing to indicate that Adamson was planning trouble or that there was a murderous rage just waiting to erupt.
Owen sighed in frustration. He was doing all he could. All they needed was some kind of evidence and they could nail this guy to the wall. But he was getting nowhere.
He glanced at his watch. He was doing nothing to help the timeline flow here.
Then Owen remembered there was one thing he could do. One thing that was going to be vitally important in linking the threads together.
The pictures.
He could create a timeline of when Coach Adamson had taken the shots, and see if that linked up to the messages. In fact, simply linking up the dates of those incriminating images with the communications, would be helpful.
Feeling that he might have the answers now, and hoping he'd be in time to help May, Owen went back to the coach's phone and quickly accessed the images.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
May sat down opposite Coach Adamson, frowning at him sternly. She was not going to be sympathetic to his pleas of innocence. She was going to question him, put the pressure on, use what evidence she had, and take him to the point where he was willing to confess.
"I didn't do it," he said again. He was sobbing now, his shoulders heaving. "You don't believe me," he said, wiping at his face. "But I didn't do it."
This was a very different man from the one who had pointed the gun at himself, saying he wanted to escape his wretched guilt.
"Let's establish the facts for a start," she said. "Were you at the post-prom party, late on Saturday night?"
