6. Cassie #2
“That’s a bad answer.”
“I understand that, but… I really don’t know.”
“Did you and Torrance text or call each other to arrange this meeting?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know he would be home?”
“I didn’t. I mean, I knew he was staying at the lake house, and I knew it was late, so I assumed he would be home. If I got there and he wasn’t home, I would have just left. Wasn’t a big deal.”
“Did you use your GPS to get there?”
“No.”
“Why did you go to the lake house last night?”
“To see Tor.”
“For what purpose?” he presses.
“Sexual ones,” I state, holding his gaze.
He nods slightly. “So, you and Tor have been seeing each other. When did that start?”
I swallow, trying to recall exactly what he told me about when we supposedly started hooking up, but so much of last night feels fuzzy.
“Not long ago. A few weeks, I guess. We ran into each other at a restaurant—The Angry Lizard—and he followed me out to my car to talk about… what happened. He wanted to go for a ride to talk. We ended up hooking up that night, and… one thing led to another. We’ve hooked up a few times since. ”
“How many times?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” he asks skeptically.
“It wasn’t serious. No one even knew we were hooking up. For obvious reasons, it’s complicated.”
“For the record, I do need you to explain to me why it’s complicated.”
My jaw locks, but I work to unlock it. “Last summer, Timothy Walters raped me. I pressed charges. We have been in a legal battle over it for the past year. His family hates me, and the feeling is mutual.”
“Did Timothy Walters know you were hooking up with his brother?”
“I don’t know if Tor told him about it at first,” I say, trying to think through the logistics of my answer as I come up with it. “He was at the house when I got there last night, so I think he figured it out.”
“And he didn’t have any issue with that?”
“If he did, Tor didn’t tell me.”
“Did you speak to Timothy Walters when you got to the house last night?”
“Not really.”
“You didn’t argue?”
My heart sinks a little at the way he doubles back, like he knows it’s not the truth. “We didn’t argue. I didn’t want to talk to him. I went straight upstairs to Tor’s bedroom.”
“Torrance Walters and Timothy Walters are identical twins. To your knowledge, have you ever mixed them up?”
I frown, taken off guard by the question. “No. I’ve always been able to tell them apart.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. They’re different people. They have different… mannerisms, different ways of talking to me.”
“Were you and Timothy alone together at any point last night?”
“No. Like I said, I went right up to Tor’s room.”
“Did Torrance answer the door or did Timothy?”
I lick my lips. “Do you have water?”
“Yes.” He pushes his chair back, turning to reach into a small mini fridge beneath one of his bookcases. He grabs a bottle of water and hands it to me across the desk.
“Thank you.” I uncap it and take a quick drink.
“Who answered the door?” he asks again.
“Timothy Walters answered the door.”
My skin heats. Tor and I never discussed the answer to that question, so I have no idea what he said.
The lawyer cocks an eyebrow. “But you didn’t speak to him?”
“Like I said, not really. I just told him I was there to see his brother.”
“Did he seem surprised?”
“Not really.”
“Had you seen Timothy on a previous occasion when you were coming over to meet Torrance?”
I shake my head. “It was the first time we hooked up at the lake house.”
“You said you went straight up to Tor’s room. I take it Tor was not downstairs when Timothy let you in?”
“No, he was upstairs.”
“So you were alone with Timothy Walters last night.”
My skin feels so hot, even my ears are burning. “I guess I was for a few seconds.”
“Did Tor come downstairs when you got there, or did you go upstairs alone?”
I lick my lips. “I went upstairs alone.”
“So you were the last person to see Timothy Walters alive?”
Yes. But that’s a bad answer.
“No. Tor… he went downstairs for a bottle of water, so he saw Tim after I got there.”
“Did he get you one?”
“What?”
“A bottle of water,” he clarifies.
I shake my head. “I took a few sips of his.”
“Mm. Seems a little rude.”
“He asked if I wanted one. I told him I wasn’t thirsty. After we had sex, I was.”
He’s not convinced, but he moves on. “Is it possible Torrance Walters murdered his brother when he went downstairs to grab that bottle of water?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“Why not?”
“Why would Tor murder his own brother?”
“Well, it sounds like Timothy raped his girlfriend. That could be motive.”
“It’s not,” I say flatly. “I’m not even technically his girlfriend, and while Tor and I have a relationship now, we didn’t back then.
He showed up on his brother’s side of the courtroom, not mine.
He didn’t break ranks with his family and defend me.
I don’t…” I shake my head. “There’s no reason he would do something like that. ”
He cocks his head, holding eye contact. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. And I would have heard it,” I point out, realizing I shouldn’t even be humoring this line of questioning.
“I would have heard a gunshot from his bedroom. I didn’t.
Instead, I heard Tor and Tim exchange words while Tor was coming up the hallway.
I think Tim was ribbing him or something about having me over.
I don’t know, I didn’t hear much, then Tor shut the bedroom door.
But Timothy Walters was still very much alive. ”
“Then what happened?”
“Tor and I had sex. In his bed. We fell asleep after, and then we woke up when we heard a loud noise downstairs.”
“Did you hear any other noises? Anything that sounded like a struggle? Voices?”
“No. If any of that happened, it must have been before we woke up.”
“What time was it when you heard the loud noise?”
“I’m not sure. Like I said, we were asleep.”
“You didn’t grab your phone and check?”
I shake my head. “It was in my purse. Tor threw back the covers and told me to stay put. He went downstairs to check out the noise, and that’s when he found Tim bleeding on the floor.
The front door was open; he closed it—because if there was an intruder still out there, he obviously didn’t want them coming in and hurting either of us—and then he called for help. ”
“Did he lock the door?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t downstairs.”
“Did you go downstairs at all?"
“Not after I went up to his bedroom. Not until the police brought me down to take me to the station.”
“And what did you say to the police?”
“I didn’t say much of anything. I told them briefly what happened, just the basics—we were asleep and woke up because of a loud noise. I told them I didn’t want to talk to them without a lawyer. I’m aware that my motive makes me a potential suspect.”
The lawyer nods, his watchful gaze on me. “Let’s talk about that. How did you feel about Timothy Walters?”
“I hated him,” I answer honestly.
He nods once. “Did you ever tell anyone you wished him dead?”
“No.”
“Did you ever threaten him?”
I scoff, shaking my head. “He wasn’t afraid of me.”
“Wasn’t what I asked,” he reminds me.
“No, I never threatened him. Not with anything beyond legal action, anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I didn’t want to face him, so I stayed away from him.”
“Did you ever imagine killing him?”
My eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
“I am.”
I hesitate, and I know it’s a mistake, but I can’t help it. “No.”
I can tell he doesn’t believe me. “Is there any evidence that would prove otherwise?”
My stomach sinks, remembering the journal.
The journal Tor hasn’t returned to me.
I completely forgot until this moment, but the knowledge that someone—and I don’t even know who—does have evidence against me makes my blood run cold. “Even if I did imagine it, it’s not illegal to imagine things,” I point out.
“No, but it doesn’t look good.”
“There’s no evidence that I ever thought about killing him,” I say carefully, the words like ash in my mouth.
He jots down a note on his legal pad, then continues. “Before speaking to the police last night, did you and Torrance Walters discuss what happened?”
“I mean, of course. He told me what happened. He told me he had called the police and they were on their way.”
“If I go over Torrance’s version of events and yours, will they match?”
“They should.”
“Because you coordinated your stories?”
“Because I’m telling the truth,” I lie. “And Tor has no reason to lie to you, either.”
He nods. “If I take on your case, there will be conditions. First, you don’t speak to the police without me present. You may not even speak to them with me present. Second, you do not discuss the facts of this case with anyone, including Torrance Walters.”
I frown. “That seems… how would we not talk about it?”
“You can’t,” he tells me. “You don’t want your story to feel coordinated.
Stories need to match, but they can’t sound rehearsed.
It’s a delicate balance, and if you and Torrance discuss it and get on the precise same line of the same exact page, it will hurt you more than help you.
You have motive and opportunity to have committed this murder, and if they find a murder weapon they can also tie to you, then there’s very little chance I can get you off.
But Torrance knowingly agreeing to be your alibi would make him an accomplice, even if he knew nothing of your plan before the murder—even if he had no real part in it.
He could spend the rest of his life in prison. ”
My heart leaps to my throat.
Life in prison.
He gives me a few seconds for that to sink in, then he goes on.
“I don’t know if you care what happens to Torrance Walters, but if you do, and you think there’s a decent chance that evidence could be found that would lead to a conviction for you, then you need to separate yourself from him. And now is the time to make that decision—not later.”