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“Yeah.” I swallowed. “I got his file. But I didn’t read the evidence log of the photos.” I couldn’t bear the thought of what he’d photographed, and I felt like I owed her the dignity of not knowing.
“Just the photos? You read what else they found?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you remember anything else from that day? Anything at all?”
“I don’t know, Malcolm,” I said in frustration. “It was twenty-one years ago, and I was traumatized!”
“Well, too damn bad,” he spat. “We need to know why Sylvester was protecting him. What if he had someone else working with him from the very beginning?”
“It was just him that day,” I snapped angrily. “I remember that much!”
“But what if she stopped screaming because someone else knocked her out?”
I vigorously shook my head. “There was nothing to ever suggest that.”
“Well, something shady was going down. Why else would a police officer risk his career to protect a kidnapper and murderer?”
Shit. He was right.
“But he didn’t admit to anyone else helping him,” I protested. “Either back then or today.”
“That’s because I got too pissed off and knocked him out,” he said in disgust. “I planned to switch topics, then go back to it.” He ran a hand over his head. “I know you didn’t see the photos, but maybe you heard about them. Was Stevens ever in any of them, or were they just of her?”
I closed my eyes, trying to burn out the images my imagination created. I didn’t need to see the actual photos because my mind’s eye was probably worse. “Both. Just her and him…with her.” I choked out the last words.
“What if Barry Sylvester was actually part of Andi’s kidnapping and murder?” Malcolm asked, his voice deep and threatening.
I turned to him in disbelief. “Do you know what you’re saying?”
“I know exactly what I’m saying. But I also know a police officer isn’t gonna just call and warn a child molester they’re coming to get him. He had a reason, either professional or personal. We need to find out which one drove him to make that call.”
If he was right, then a police officer helped—or condoned—Stevens repeatedly raping my sister for days and then strangling her.
Had Barry Sylvester molested my sister too? And if so, was he the one who had taken Ava Peterson?
Having just seen the monster who had violated my sister sent panic flooding through my veins. If Morris had taken Ava, I would have presumed he was using her for leverage. But if Sylvester had taken her…
I walked over to the edge of the parking lot and vomited.
“If you’ve got that out of your system,” Malcolm sneered, “we need to get going.”
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand as I stood. “Fuck you.”
“Already told you that you’re not my type.”
“Then double fuck you.”
“We have work to do. We don’t have time for your hangover vomiting.”
I kept my back to him. “I’m not hung over.”
“I suspect you live in a perpetual state of either drunkenness or hangover. You need to get your shit together.”
I turned to face him. “In case you haven’t noticed, my life is a literal shitshow.”
“Boohoo,” he sneered. “You had something bad happen to you. Two something bads. It fucking sucks. But you didn’t let the first one ruin your life, so why let the second?”
