“I just wanted to clarify a few details with you.”
She nodded. Swallowed.
“Where were you on the night that Calvin and Elizabeth Murphy were killed?”
Juniper nearly choked on her sandwich. “Excuse me?” she said, between coughs into her napkin.
“I’ve upset you.”
“No,” Juniper argued, taking a swig of her soup. It was the only liquid she had. She longed for a bottle of water but wasn’t about to ask. “You surprised me. I didn’t realize I was a suspect in your new investigation.”
“I never said you were a suspect.”
Juniper had to admit, this guy was good. He was studying his notes, or pretending to, but when she least expected it, he snapped his eyes up and gave her the full brunt of his attention. It was a great way to catch her unguarded. She steeled her features.
“What are you saying, Officer Stokes?”
“Please, call me Everett. I’m saying that there’s a discrepancy in your timeline that night. See, you were at the Pattersons’ party”—he ran his finger across the page and tapped something that Juniper couldn’t see—“from approximately nine until nearly ten. Several witnesses saw you there. With your brother.”
Juniper nodded but didn’t say anything.
“And then it says you drove home by yourself but met up with your brother and Sullivan Tate at your farm to watch the fireworks.”
“Yes,” Juniper said, but her mind was reeling. What had she said? What time did she arrive at home and who was supposed to be where, when? She folded her hands on her lap so that he wouldn’t see them tremble.
“Can you see the fireworks from your farm?” He smiled at her suddenly. “I mean, you’re a ways out of town. There have to be better places to watch.”
“There are. But we can see well enough. We wanted to avoid the crowds.”
“Sorry if I’m making you nervous, Juniper. I just want to clarify a few details.” He turned another page and scanned it. “So you watched from the back of Jonathan’s truck. Together. And then Sullivan left for home around ten thirty and you went inside.”
“That’s right.”
“And your brother…？”
“Heard the gunshots and went to the Murphys’ farm.”
“But you didn’t hear them.”
“I was in the shower at the time.”
“So Jonathan placed the 911 call at…”
Juniper’s palms began to sweat. She hadn’t talked about any of this for almost fifteen years, and she couldn’t remember how exactly she had accounted for each minute. What had Sullivan said? Jonathan? At the time they made sure their stories matched, but it was hard to separate fact from fiction with Everett staring at her. He didn’t blink. Pure determination. He was trying to prove something, but she didn’t know what.
“I don’t remember,” Juniper finally said.
“Ten forty-one,” Everett said. “That leaves eleven minutes unaccounted for.”
“I was showering,” Juniper reminded him. “Sullivan was driving home. Jonathan was probably doing chores. And we weren’t glued to our watches. I have no idea what time Sullivan actually left and I went upstairs. It could have been ten thirty-five or forty.”
“Yeah, that’s what the investigating officer said at the time. You were”—he put air quotes around the words—“？‘a bunch of kids who had been drinking and couldn’t be specific.’ But eleven minutes is a long time, Juniper.”
She held his gaze and lifted her chin a fraction of an inch. “What are you saying?”
Everett ignored her question. “Sullivan was home by ten thirty-five. That has been corroborated by both of his parents. And the Tate Family Farms are in the opposite direction. His timeline fits.”
“Mine doesn’t?”
“You and Jonathan are each other’s alibis for eleven minutes.”
“You’re assuming the timeline is accurate.”
Everett closed the file with a snap and sat back with both hands laced behind his head. “A minute here, a minute there. I get it. I’m trying to make nearly fifteen-year-old evidence make sense, and no one was paying attention to the clock that night. Today, we’d subpoena cell phone records and know exactly where everyone was and when. The records we do have indicate that you all—Jonathan, Sullivan, and you—pinged off the cell tower south of town. I’m sure three-quarters of Jericho would’ve pinged off that tower. Three thousand potential suspects.”