Whispers of Deception

Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

T he house looked even more foreboding up close—its pale, peeling paint against the overcast sky giving it a haunted feeling. Lilia had walked past their house five times in the past twenty minutes, pacing back and forth like a restless ghost tethered to a place that didn’t want her. She was certain by now that they thought she was either a reporter or a stalker. Finally, the door opened and Lilia froze as a woman with disheveled hair and a tired expression lugged a large box out onto the porch. Her face was hidden behind loose strands of blonde hair. She placed the box down with a huff, then paused, her gaze locking with Lilia’s.

“Can I help you?” The woman’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

Lilia flinched. “Me? Uh, no.”

“You keep walking back and forth,” she said, her tone laced with suspicion. “I’ve seen you. I’ll call the police if I have to.”

“I’m not—uh.” Her voice faltered, her nerves getting the better of her. She could feel herself stammering. Her mind raced, trying to find an excuse.

“I know you,” the woman squinted.

“No,” Lilia shook her head, taking a small step backward. “You don’t?—”

“I do.” Her voice turns icier, a dangerous edge lingering. “You were friends with that girl—the one they say Tommy killed.”

Lilia opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her thoughts scatter like dead leaves in the wind. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she finally managed. “I just wanted to give you my condolences.”

Jessica’s face softened, if only for a moment. She sighed, glancing down at the box by her feet. “You know,” she said quietly, “you’re the first person to say that to me.”

Silence fell between them. The air was heavy with unsaid words, laden with grief.

“For what it’s worth,” Lilia said, “I don’t believe Detective McCall killed her.”

Jessica slightly, resting her hand protectively on her stomach. “Would you like to come in?”

Lilia hesitated, unsure if she was ready to step into the home of the man everyone believed killed her friend. She’s afraid of what she might find, or see. Despite her hesitation, she nodded. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Please,” Jessica gestured, stepping aside. “I would appreciate the company.”

Lilia nodded, following her into the house. The air inside is heavy with the scent of fust and stale coffee. Boxes were stacked along the walls, half-filled with clothes, books, and mementos that seemed out of place. Lilia’s eyes traced the family photos hanging crookedly on the walls—images of a life that, not too long ago, seemed ordinary.

“I apologize for the mess,” Jessica said, closing the door behind them. “I’ve been packing up some of his things.”

“It’s fine,” Lilia murmured, waving her off as she glanced around, her eyes lingering on the wedding photo in a silver frame. Thomas McCall looked happier, younger, his arm draped around Jessica’s shoulders.

“Would you like some tea?” Jessica asked.

“Water is fine, thank you.” Lilia lowered herself onto the couch, the cushions sagging under her weight.

Jessica handed her a glass of water, then sat down across from her. For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet was almost suffocating, broken only by the faint ticking of a clock in the next room. Lilia sipped her water, gathering the courage to ask for what she came for.

“Did he ever talk to you about the case?” Lilia finally asked. “Willow’s case, I mean.”

Jessica’s face tightened, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “Tommy didn’t like to bring work home,” she said. “He’d seen too much on the job—things he wanted to forget about when he walked through the door.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, nodding. “I figure anyone would.”

Jessica looked away, her gaze distant. “But he thought he was getting close to something.” Her voice was quieter now, like she was afraid to speak to the words aloud.

Lilia leaned forward, her pulse quickening. “You mean like figuring out who killed Willow?”

Jessica nodded slowly, her hands trembling. “It was a few days before everything happened. He’d been staying up at odd hours, pacing around the house, locked in his study for hours on end. He said he was close—that he had found something.”

Lilia’s grip tightened around her glass. “Found what?”

Jessica shook her head. “He wouldn’t tell me. Just that whatever it was, it would help with the case a lot.”

“Do you have any of his things? Case files, notes, anything?” she asked, a flicker of hope rising in her chest.

Jessica hesitated for a moment before standing and crossing the room. She crouches beside one of the boxes stacked near the door, rummaging through its content. After a few moments, she pulls out a worn leather binder and handed it to Lilia.

“It should all be in there,” Jessica said softly.

Lilia took the binder, her fingers brushing against the soft leather. “Thank you so much.”

Jessica sat back down, her hands folded tightly in her lap. “My husband wasn’t a killer,” she said, her voice breaking. “Tommy wouldn’t have hurt a fly. He barely ever used his gun—he wouldn’t have killed her. The things they’re saying about him on the news . . . ” She trailed off, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s all lies. That isn’t who he was.”

Lilia reached across the table, gently touching Jessica’s hand. “I’m going to make sure everyone knows that he’s innocent,” she said, her voice steady with conviction. “I promise.”

Jessica smiled weakly, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice fragile.

Lilia clutched the binder tightly to her chest as she stood. She doesn’t know what she’ll find inside, but she knows one thing for certain: whatever McCall was close to discovering, it was important enough to cost him his life.