Chapter 21
Nicole
“I’m sorry. That’s just not a case I’m willing to take on right now,” Mr. Bolter said.
Anger rose in my chest. A slow burn at first, then sharp.
I couldn’t take one more generic “Sorry, good luck” from any of these slimy lawyers.
Not one more. They all wanted five hundred an hour but didn’t want to do the slightest work for it.
They all just wanted drunk driver cases, the sure bets, the easy cash.
Besides that, people working in the system knew by now that the AG had put a target on my daughter’s back.
And nobody wanted to risk their relationships at court.
Not to uphold laws.
Not for constitutional rights.
Not even for the truth.
Like everything else, the court system seemed like another corrupt shit show designed for the rich.
So I hung up on slimy Mr. Bolter and stared out the kitchen window. The glass had a crack from one of the kids playing ball in the yard. Afternoon sunshine made its way inside. Outside, the trees in the backyard looked sad without their leaves. It was the kind of winter scene that matched my life.
The kids were playing upstairs with Dylan, thumping around like usual. It was good to hear their lively noises when everything else around me seemed dead.
I sank into thought, staring at nothing, when the phone rang.
Unknown caller.
My heart jumped as I picked up.
Brian walked in at the same time, rubbing his hands, as Detective Nolan’s voice came through the phone.
“Nicole?”
“Yes,” I said, locking eyes with Brian.
“I have some information on the license plate.”
Hope and fear grabbed me all at once.
“The car belongs to a man in Peabody,” he said.
“He lives in a run-down trailer with his wife and kids. Says a guy he knows sometimes borrows his truck every few months or so. They’re estranged friends from a construction job they did together about ten years ago.
He said this friend just shows up out of nowhere and pays him a thousand in cash to borrow his truck.
Then he uses the truck for a day. Returns it, then leaves. ”
“Does this guy from the trailer have an alibi for himself?” I asked.
“He does.”
“Let me guess: his black-and-blue beaten wife?”
“No. Security camera. He has them inside the house and at his doors. I pulled the footage directly from the security company. He was home all night during Zach’s murder.
And that man he talked about really did show up.
Matched the guy from the gas station. But he was wearing a COVID mask and a hoodie.
Just like in the gas station footage. All we have on him is a disconnected phone number. And a first name.”
“Which is?”
“I can’t tell you—” He huffed, frustrated, like he already knew I wouldn’t drop it.
“Ah, fuck it. His name is John Myers. That’s all we have.
The truck owner’s story is thin and not enough for charges.
It’s not against the law to rent out your truck as long as you have no knowledge of a crime being committed with it. ”
“So how do we find this Myers?”
“We don’t,” Nolan said.
“What do you mean?” My voice rose sharply. “We have to arrest him. Put a warrant out for him or something.”
“Based on what?” Nolan said. “We have nothing. For all we know, this man could have been hunting, and the blood on him was from a deer. Or he cut himself on a jobsite. Hell, what if Myers says it was paint?”
“Paint?” I said. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nicole, I’m not sayin’ I like any of this.
But I’m speaking through the eyes of the system here.
Every accusation needs evidence. Everything has to be proven in the eyes of the court, checked off like boxes on some shopping list. And, so far, we have nothing here.
Literally nothing. Just theories and gut feelings. ”
“If we need evidence, well, what about DNA, then? Sweep the truck. There has to be something. Zach’s DNA or something.”
Nolan sighed, long and exhausted. “I … tried. But the judge denied the warrant, stating there’s not enough evidence for that.”
My jaw tightened.
Thomas Harlow.
My chest pinched with that old familiar burn of hate again. In the corner of my eye, I caught Brian rubbing the back of his neck, pacing up and down in the cramped kitchen. Another fire I had to put out. Another mess waiting for me.
“Listen,” Nolan said quietly, “I’m sorry.
I know this is not what you want to hear.
But there’s nothing else I can do. The AG shut me down.
There isn’t any more evidence to support pushing this lead.
All we can do now is wait until this … Myers shows up again.
The man from the trailer said he’d call me when he does. It might take some ti—”
“I don’t have time,” I cut him off, fingers pressing into the bridge of my nose as if that could stop the pounding inside my skull.
“I know. I’m so sorry, Nicole. I did refer Lacey to a somewhat decent public defender in the state. Figured you’d have a hard time finding someone willing to take her case. He said he would take it. Sean Holt. He’ll call soon.”
I wanted to scream. But it wouldn’t change a thing. This was as far as Nolan was going right now. As far as he could go.
“Thank you,” I said and hung up.
“Not good, huh?” Brian asked.
“Well,” I said slowly, my thoughts racing in every direction. Something wasn’t right here. This Myers and his friend needed to be looked into more. “Your old buddy,” I said to Brian as an idea formed in my head. “The one who works at the DMV. Maybe you could ask him to do you a favor?”
“What?” Brian shook his head. Lost.
“I mean, I need the address of this man from the trailer.” The words rushed out of me, fast and certain. “I have the number of the plate, just not the address. I feel like if I could talk to this man myself—”
“Nicole, stop,” Brian said.
“No, wait.” I insisted. “Hear me out. This Myers from the footage—even if Detective Nolan didn’t get much out of this, there’s more to it. I know it. And we can find out.”
“Nicole. Stop!”
“I mean, people don’t talk to cops. Especially not if your friend committed a crime with your truck.”
Brian threw his head into his hands, shaking it wildly.
“Call your old friend. God, what was his name … Nick? Ask him if he still works for the DMV. You let him borrow money during his divorce, remember? That guy’s license plate is MA 443FD. If we can get the address and talk to this guy, it can help us find the real killer and—”
“What if she did it?” he snapped, cutting me off. Tears welled up in his eyes. He looked so tired. So broken.
“Wh-what?” I mumbled, thunderstruck. My mind went blank. Shock. I was in total shock.
Brian shrugged. Red eyes glossy. “What if she did it?” he repeated, voice shaking.
I stood in stunned silence. This man— After everything Lacey had done for him, he showed no backbone. No loyalty. Nothing.
“I mean,” he rambled on, taking advantage of me being frozen like an animal caught in headlights.
“All the evidence says she did. There are no other footprints. No DNA but hers. Everybody says she did it.” He threw his hands up as he broke down.
“So maybe she fucking did! Maybe Lacey fucking killed Zach!”
His trembling hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask. He took a long sip. Something about the motion felt unreal, like a shitty scene from a bad movie.
“Remember her pet hamster? Skibby?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as a bit of liquor slipped out.
My head jerked back. I didn’t see that coming. “Skibby?”
“Yeah. Fucking Skibby. Remember what Lacey did to him? In the backyard?”
“You’re drunk,” I growled. Furious.
“Oh yeah? Am I? Because I remember all too well when I came over to ride our bikes and saw Lacey bash Skibby’s head in with a rock.
Not just once. But over and over. Until the poor little thing was nothing but a ball of bloody fur.
So what if she did Zach just like she did Skibby back then?
What if she really was jealous of Amanda, just like the cops say?
The kids love Amanda almost as much as they love her.
Zach had all this money, and God knows Lacey and I weren’t doing so good. ”
“What a bunch of horseshit!” I barked, not even bothering with that jealous-of-Amanda nonsense.
“Skibby had been sick with cancer for weeks! Couldn’t walk.
Could barely eat. He was in so much pain that he squeaked every time he moved.
Lacey did it to relieve him of pain. She’d seen your dad do the same thing for a raccoon he’d hit on the road.
Lacey couldn’t stand hearing Skibby squeal anymore.
We’d tried to put him down, but the vet was on vacation that week.
So she took matters into her own hands. After she told me about it, we buried him under the rosebush with flowers.
She cried for weeks over that hamster. It broke her heart.
That same big heart that forgave you when she saw you and Amanda—”
“You piece of shit!” Dylan’s voice thundered before I could finish my sentence.
Brian and I spun around to the doorway. Dylan stood there, trembling, fists balled tight.
His shoulders squared as he stepped forward.
Right in front of Brian. Eye to eye. Dylan over six feet.
Brian barely taller than him at six four.
Dylan pushed his face into Brian’s. Provocative. Alive with rage.
“What did you just call me, boy?” Brian’s words slurred a bit, but his tone was sharp. He straightened his spine, squared his shoulders, and closed the last few inches between them until they were nose to nose.
I jumped forward, trying to wedge myself between them. “Stop it.”
“I called you a piece of shit,” Dylan repeated, ignoring me entirely. “Or do you prefer worthless drunk? Coward? Traitor? Or how about cheater?”
The first shove came from Dylan.