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My stomach drops. “He fell down the stairs?”
“Appears so.”
“Was his wife home?”
“She was. Asleep, she says. Woke to the noise, came out of the bedroom and he was at the bottom of the staircase. And yes, before you ask, she’s been questioned.”
“Where is she now?”
“By her husband’s side, of course.”
I take a second to let this new and very interesting information sink in. I decide that I don’t have time to analyze it now, so I continue, “Then question Stroud. It’s no secret he and I have had bad blood since high school. He is the only one who has had access to the information provided in the letters. I don’t know how, or why he would have framed me… but I think someone needs to question him.”
Young shifts her gaze to the medic checking Sylvia over, and appears to be choosing her next words carefully. She dismisses my suggestion to question her colleague and instead says, “The last letter said ‘you are next’ right?”
“Right.”
“So the obvious implication, considering it was sent with her dead mom’s necklace is, that she is next to die.”
“Right.”
“Well…” Young gestures to the obviously still alive woman.
I nod. It doesn’t make sense to me either. Sylvia was taken and left for dead, but not beaten, or tortured, or killed. The threat was not followed through with. Unless….
“Maybe we’re thinking about it wrong,” I say. “Maybe ‘you are next’ means something else.”
A stretcher is carted into the barn.
Young jerks her chin. “Come with us, will you? I’d like to ask you some more questions and we could use the extra help getting her across the field.”
“Do I need to get a lawyer for these questions, Officer Young?”
“Listen. I didn’t think you did it back then, and I don’t think you did this now.”
I can’t hide my surprise.
She continues, “Your case wasn’t fair. Your lawyer was crap, Stroud hated you, and the jury was hand-selected by him and him alone—though you didn’t hear that from me. You did not receive a fair trial. Hell, everyone knows.” She stands as the officer readies the gurney. “More than that, I just didn’t peg you as the type. Call it a gut instinct.”
“Thank you.”
She dips her chin, “Now, help us.”
Together, we lift Sylvia onto the gurney.
“You guys ready?” the medic asks.
I nod.
“Left, right, left, right…”
“Where did you guys park?” I ask as we maneuver out of the barn.
“Next to what I assume is your truck.”
“You couldn’t find a gate either?”
“Nope.”
