“Sure,” I said doubtfully.
“I had a one-night stand with Finch.”
“No.” When I turned to look at her, she nodded. “Eww.”
“A month ago,” she said, then shrugged. “Whatever. My point is: we all make bad choices. All you can do is try to choose differently next time.”
“Yeah, apparently I’m not so great at that.” We were quiet again. “Thank you for stepping in when you did. I think he actually could have broken my neck.”
“Anytime,” she said.
“Did you hear from Derrick or Keith?”
She nodded. “From Derrick. Apparently Keith talked him into coming to the Falls to find Finch and then gave him the slip. He doesn’t think Finch was ever here. He’s been driving around looking for Keith.”
“So, if we’re not going home, what are we doing?” I asked.
“I think we have to move her,” Stephanie said.
“Move who?” I honestly had no idea what she was talking about.
“Crystal.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Did you hear what Luke said about knowing the cops?” Stephanie caught my eye. “We’re so deep in now . . .”
“Right, too far to turn back,” I said, staring out the window at the passing darkness. “Our specialty.”
DETECTIVE JULIA SCUTT
SUNDAY, 8:12 P.M.
When I return to Jonathan’s the house is dark. The two uniforms outside proclaimed “all quiet” when I stopped at their patrol car, parked at the top of the driveway. But it’s pretty obvious they’ve been sitting there with their eyes locked on their phones.
Inside, the house is still. I flip on a few lights, quickly clearing the downstairs— it doesn’t hurt to be careful; our driver is still missing— before heading up the steps for Alice’s journal. With Finch as my source, I’m skeptical about this guy they supposedly killed in college— that it happened at all, much less that it’s got something to do with what happened in that car. But then, one bad thing does have a way of leading to another.
It’s a waiting game anyway until the lab calls with the corkscrew fingerprint results. At least there was one usable print on the handle, which given the shape and the mud is damn lucky. If it does match Luke Gaffney, then I’ll have to dig out that rusted tent stake from Jane’s file and get that tested, too. I’ve been trying to prepare for how it will feel to know that I’ve let my sister’s murderer walk around out there all these years. But each time I think about it, all I can picture is myself shooting Luke Gaffney in the head.
They haven’t found Crystal’s body yet, either. There was evidence that something had gone on in the barn. There were footprints, drag marks— but no Crystal. We’ll find her eventually. I’m not giving up until we do. Meanwhile, the officers are holding Luke Gaffney at his house while they finish their search. They haven’t come up with much except some pot and a bottle of Percocet with somebody else’s name on it. Enough for us to hold Luke, but not for very long.
Upstairs in the room where Derrick and Finch were staying, I find the duffel bag on the floor where I left it. Inside is the manila envelope with the journal. As I slide the pages out, a picture comes with them this time— the group at what looks like Derrick’s wedding. He and Maeve have their hands clasped, and they’re laughing. When I look inside the envelope, I find more pictures. Must be the ones Derrick got so angry at Finch over. It is weird that he was carrying them around, but it makes me feel a little sorry for Derrick, honestly. I slide the pictures back inside before turning for the stairs, the envelope gripped in my hand.
Back downstairs, I’m halfway across the living room headed toward the front door when I notice how quiet and peaceful it is being locked away in this beautiful, empty house, no suspects or witnesses— or whatever they end up being— screaming to be released. Could be all for the best if I steer clear of the station until I have that fingerprint report. Everything until then is really just me stalling.
Instead, I drop down onto one of the red leather couches, which is exactly as cold and uncomfortable as it looks, and start reading Alice’s journal. Almost right away, there it is: a party on the roof, a fall, one dead guy, and a whole bunch of lies. Alice was tormented by the guy’s death, even more so by the fact that the friends decided to keep it a secret. And there does seem to be a fairly straight line between that and her suicide. Alice was never going to make it, keeping that secret, and, according to the journal, she told her friends as much. So they were warned, you could say. They could have cut their losses and told somebody. If they had, it might have even saved Alice from herself, who’s to say? No wonder they’re all so fucked up.