Chapter 10 #2
I pull my hand from Boone’s and lower my head in shame.
“No, the door wasn’t locked. It rarely was.
So stupid, I know.” I don’t try to validate the ignorance in any way.
It was na?ve and lazy. There were times when I would get irritated at Hayzel for locking the doors because I would have to dig through my bag to find my keys. It makes me hate myself a little.
“What about the rest of the house? Any signs someone had been there?”
“I didn’t notice anything until I got to her room.
The door was open, and her door was never open anymore.
If it hadn’t been, I might have just walked right past to my room and…
” I can’t bring myself to say that I might have gone to bed with my sister lying in bed on the other side of the wall in a pool of her own blood.
“I remember being relieved for like half a second, thinking that maybe she went out with friends, and she was getting better, but then I got closer to her door, and the smell hit me.” I shake my head, wishing I could forget the overwhelming scent, slightly sweet like raw meat that had been left out on the counter for too long and the strong odor of metal.
My brain recognized something was wrong way before I put the pieces together.
I couldn’t figure out why my hand was shaking when I covered my nose and mouth before I called her name and flipped on the light.
Boone’s stool makes a creaking sound when he adjusts in the seat, thankfully pulling me back to the lakeside condo and away from the house that’s often present in my nightmares.
I clear my throat, realizing I’m no longer crying, though my face still feels damp.
Voice flat, I continue, “I dropped my bag on the floor. I know that because I had to go back to find my phone a few minutes later. She was still warm when I grabbed her hand, but I already knew she was gone. I still screamed her name and begged her to wake up, even though her eyes were wide open.”
“Her time of death was estimated to have occurred between ten thirty and eleven thirty. Are you sure the killer wasn’t still in the house?”
I blink. No one has ever asked me that before.
It takes me a second to think about his question before I can answer it, and when I do, it scares me.
“He could have been standing right behind me, and I doubt I would have noticed him. I didn’t even hear the police come in.
They had to pull me out of the room because I was just standing there. ”
“The timeline is pretty tight, and there was no mention of the police clearing the house until much later, after it was established it was a crime scene,” he says with a clear note of contempt in his tone.
“I’d never thought of it that way. I was too focused on thinking that if I’d left work just a little earlier, I could have stopped it.”
“I think it’s more likely you would have become another victim.
” He shuffles the papers again then gives me his full attention.
“I don’t have full access to the case, specifically the lead investigator’s notes, but I don’t necessarily agree with some of the preliminary findings that have been noted. ”
“Like what?” I peer down at the papers, wondering if he would be willing to let me read through them.
“Well, to start, they noted the fact that there wasn’t any evidence of forced entry three times, but there’s no mention that the door was often left unlocked.
That could be something the lead investigator took into consideration, but without his findings, it’s hard to say.
” He shuffles a few pages to the side until he lands on another.
“And from the dates on this report, they didn’t bring a forensic team in for nearly four days. ”
“Yeah, and during that time, the roommates and I don’t know who else was in and out of there.”
“Come again?”
“They didn’t lock it up or put any of that tape over the doors like you see on TV, and both of our roommates pretty much moved out during that time.
Nobody wanted to stay there after what happened, which I totally understand, but I don’t think they should have been able to get in and take their stuff out, not until it was checked for evidence. ”
Boone shakes his head and mutters a harsh curse.
“When I asked what the delay was and why they were allowed to remove things from the house, I was mostly dismissed. When I pushed, one of the officers finally admitted there was a little snafu with jurisdiction. The house was technically on campus, so the police had to get some kind of paperwork before they could get in and do a full investigation.”
“That takes hours, not days.” He sounds just as frustrated as I felt at the time.
“Yeah, well, I don’t think either one of them were in a big hurry to get it done. I think they both would have liked to pretend it never happened. A dead girl, a murdered girl, isn’t good for property values or college admission rates.”
He flicks the papers away from his fingers before falling back into the stool. “That seriously complicates things.”
“I thought so too.”
“You didn’t mention any of that at the podcast.” I can tell he’s questioning why.
I’ve thought about it, thought about going to the media and blasting both the school and the local police department, but if there’s one thing my granny taught me, it’s that you get more flies with honey than you do vinegar.
“It seems counterproductive. The last thing I want to do is piss off anyone who is connected to Hayzel’s case.”
“It could have gotten you more attention and a closer look into everything.”
“I don’t want more attention. I just want her case solved.”
“I understand, but it’s been over a year, and as far as I can tell, they haven’t produced a single suspect—hell, even a lead. It might be time to shake things up.”
“That’s exactly why I agreed to do the podcast. If that doesn’t work…” I shrug, because I haven’t allowed myself to think about what comes next, but there will be a next. I won’t stop until this is over.
Boone’s eyes narrow a little as he stares at me. I almost fidget, but the question on the tip of my tongue has my muscles locked down tightly. “What about the report from the medical examiner? Did they find anything? DNA? Fingerprints?”
His brows lift just enough to let me know my question caught him off guard. “I don’t know the results, other than her death was ruled a homicide. They didn’t even note the cause of death.”
“She was stabbed,” I supply immediately.
“I’ll see if I can get my hands on the official report,” he tells me, but the way he says it makes it seem as if I’m missing something.
“What aren’t you saying?”
Boone’s lips flatten before he inhales slowly. “I’d just like to see the report.” I hold his gaze, letting him know I’m not buying it. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer, more consoling. “Just because she was stabbed doesn’t mean that is what killed her.”
I inhale sharply. All this time, I thought I knew what killed her, but he’s right.
She could have been shot, strangled, or even beaten to death.
The ugly feeling of disappointment settles over me.
When will I finally know the truth, and will it ever be enough to not feel guilty about everything I didn’t know?
Boone pushes the papers back into a pile, then he slides them into the folder—a cue that I’m not going to learn anything else from the details inside tonight. I almost ask him to let me look at the papers, but the knot in my throat stops me. I don’t think I’m ready for that right now.
When he places the folder on the empty stool next to him, out of my sight, and begins to rise, my suspicions are confirmed.
There won’t be any more talk of what is in there tonight.
Following suit, I slide my foot off the lower bar and stand at the counter.
“Thank you for doing this. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. ”
“Please save your thanks for when I actually do something. Mind if I use your bathroom?”
“Oh, sure. Down the hall on the right.” I point toward the powder room.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t taken aback by his sudden shift.
After he disappears behind the door, I move away from the island and the temptation of the folder.
I’m not excited about him leaving. It’s been nice not being alone for a little while, but I will admit I liked his company more than I liked not being alone.
It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed the companionship of a man without wondering about their motives for being with me.
I turn on the TV just in time for Boone to exit the bathroom.
The home screen displays all my recently watched selections, outing me and my obsession with true crime.
There’s a part of me that wants to flip the television off because it’s kind of embarrassing, like I’m glorifying murder the way some crazy fans of serial killers do, but that’s not the case.
I would much rather have never heard of Ed Kemper and Dennis Rader.
“What are you watching?” Boone saunters over as if he may join me on the couch. I adjust in my seat, giving him a little more room in case he does.
“Nothing yet,” I reply, ignoring the screen and all the squares showing crimes series. He lowers himself to sit, and my heart rate picks up. I thought he was preparing to leave.
He lets out a long sigh once he relaxes back into the cushions. “It’s been ages since I’ve watched anything. Mind if I join you?”
“No, I mean, sure,” I answer a little too quickly while snagging the remote to select the Netflix app. Again, a bunch of crime shows pop up, but I scroll down to the new releases. “What’s your pleasure?”
Boone clears his throat before answering, “I’m not picky.”
I scan the options, quickly dismissing romance and horror immediately. “Comedy or action?”