44. Reed
We’ve all been charged with obstruction of justice, but not for the murder of the man in the roof space.
It’s a relief, but we’re not out of the woods yet.
Because everything happened in another country, we might also still be facing charges to do with concealing the body from the Canadian authorities. It’s all complicated, and I bring in the best lawyers I can think of.
I want to get away from Los Angeles, but we’ve been warned that the cops will probably need to speak to us again.
Plus, we’re on bail and have to report in, and the judge has ordered us to surrender our passports, as we’re considered a flight risk.
I can’t say he’s wrong on that. If we had our passports, we’d be gone within the day.
The whole thing is fucking bullshit.
They’re not taking our fears about Smith catching up to us seriously. The detective insists that these men are in a whole other country, and we have nothing to worry about, but that’s crap.
Besides, even if Smith is still in Canada, it doesn’t mean he hasn’t got friends nearby. I imagine a gun-smuggling ring would have widespread contacts. All it would take is a phone call and a promise of payment or perhaps a favor owed to send someone with a gun to our house.
Mostly, I’m worried about Laney. The lightness we’ve seen in her over these past few weeks since she got out of the hospital has vanished again. Those fucking asshole detectives kept her in an interview room for hours, and then had her locked up again.
The thought makes me so angry, I want to destroy something.
She’s the fucking victim, not the criminal.
How dare they treat her like that? She never touched the body, so I’d hoped she’d think to say that she knew nothing about it, but Laney had probably been so desperate to get everything off her chest that she told them every detail.
Even the rape and assault.
Where’s their fucking compassion? Sure, we may have omitted some of the truth, but we did it for good reason.
I don’t give a fuck what happens to me, but seeing Laney like this makes me want to rip my heart out of my chest. I’m terrified she’s going to do something stupid again, and I know the boys feel the same.
We’re following her around like lost puppies, and we’re all back to sleeping in the same room.
It’s comforting, knowing we’re all in the same place, should something happen.
Of course, this new development has also got the press all stirred up again. Once more, they’re asking questions about exactly what went on in the wilderness. None of us have spoken to the press, but that doesn’t stop them making shit up.
We try to get back into some kind of routine, but it isn’t easy. As the days pass with no appearance from Smith and the others, I try to find some breathing space. Maybe we don’t have anything to worry about. Maybe they are really dead.
Until we get the hell away from the city, I’m going to keep my wits about me.