Chapter Thirty-One Talia
Chapter Thirty-One
Talia
Sitting in the police station, Talia feels numb.
Her home—the fruit of her labor—is gone, burned to a crisp before her eyes. All because some unstable bitch couldn’t let Talia have something of her own.
Next to her, Townsend squeezes her hand, and she squeezes his back.
He’s already offered (multiple times, even) to let Talia live with him for as long as she needs, which she appreciates, but it isn’t what she wants or needs to hear right now.
Moving in together should be a momentous step, not a temporary fix.
But at this point, she may not have a choice.
Talia closes her eyes and lets her head fall to her chest for a moment, but not a minute later, Townsend is shaking her shoulder. She sits up to find Detectives Harris and Burrows—the same detectives who visited Townsend’s condo back in June to ask about Amanda—looking down at them.
“Ms. Danvers,” says Harris, “I’m going to have you come with me. Mr. Fuller, you’re going to go with Detective Burrows.”
“Wait.” Talia looks back and forth between the two of them. “Why can’t you speak to us together?”
“We’d prefer to speak to you both separately.”
“But . . .” For the second time that night, Talia feels like things are completely out of her control. “I’m not in a good place right now. I’d really like to stay with Townsend.”
Harris gives a tight smile. “This won’t take long.”
Talia can tell from Harris’s expression that she’s not budging on this. Could they possibly still suspect Townsend of hurting Amanda? Doesn’t her harassment campaign prove that she’s alive and well? “Fine.” She gives Townsend’s hand another squeeze and then stands. “Where are we going?”
“Follow me.”
Harris leads Talia down the hall to an interview room, complete with a bare table, two chairs, and what Talia imagines to be a one-way mirror, like they’re on the set of a police procedural drama. The detective settles into one chair and gestures for Talia to take the other.
“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
Harris shrugs in a way that seems to say Suit yourself. “Listen, Ms. Danvers. I know you’ve been through a traumatic experience tonight, and I don’t want to take up too much of your time. For that reason, I’m going to get right to the point.”
Her heart beats wildly. Please, please don’t say you suspect Townsend of doing anything wrong, she thinks.
“How well do you know Meera Ratnam?”
This isn’t at all what Talia expected to hear. “Meera? We’ve worked together for over three years.”
“Would you consider her a friend?”
“I’d consider her my best friend.”
“Okay.” Harris takes a deep breath. “You’re probably not going to want to hear this, but we think Meera might be responsible for what happened tonight.”
If her home were not a pile of ash and charred wood right now, Talia might have laughed. “You think she set my house on fire?”
“We suspect that she’s responsible for a lot more than that, actually. All those threatening text messages and emails? The slashed tires on your car? The note in your bathroom? The brick through Townsend’s window? We believe Meera may be the architect behind all of that.”
“The dead bat in my office desk drawer?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Never mind.” In her distress, Talia may have forgotten to report that one. She shakes her head, then leans forward, cradling her skull in her hands. “This doesn’t make any sense,” she murmurs to the floor. Then, looking up at Harris, she says, “Amanda Reade. She was the one who—”
“We’re not convinced that Amanda Reade is still alive.”
“What?” Talia’s heart climbs into her throat.
“We think Meera may be responsible for killing her.”
Talia opens her mouth, but no words come out. She tries again, and a single word escapes: “Why?”
Feeling more numb than ever, Talia listens as Detective Harris walks her through the chain of events that led them to this conclusion.
It isn’t a surprise when she’s told that Meera crossed paths with Townsend years before Talia met him herself—she knew this much, at least—but when Harris mentions a summer romance, her jaw drops open in shock.
“There’s no way Meera and Townsend ever hooked up. She would have told me. He would have told me. Plus, she hates him.”
“Well, it sounds like things didn’t end well between them,” Harris says, “which is probably the reason why she hates him. And why she’s been obsessed with him all this time.”
Talia’s temples throb. “I think I will take that water, actually.”
After Harris sticks her head into the hallway to request a bottle of water, she joins Talia back at the table, where she continues to outline her evidence.
The IP address from some of the threatening emails matches Meera’s work laptop, she explains.
And during their search of Meera’s house, they found a black-and-white modeling shot of a topless Amanda—the eyes gouged out with a knife—hidden under Meera’s bed.
Their theory: Meera killed Amanda in a crime of passion and used her as a scapegoat during her campaign of harassment, all in the hopes of getting Talia to break up with Townsend.
“This is ridiculous.” Talia squeezes the plastic bottle in her hand so hard that it folds in half with a loud crunch. “Meera isn’t capable of any of this. She’s my best friend. She can’t be a killer.”
“Obsession can drive a person to do things they’d never imagined themselves capable of,” says Harris. “Especially if they believe they’ve been wronged.”
“But . . . how could she have been posing as a stalker all this time? And why would she pretend that Amanda was still alive?”
“To cover her tracks.” Harris gives a wry half smile. “You can’t be accused of murder if no one knows the victim is dead.”
A tingle races down Talia’s spine. Looking back, it’s shocking how her best friend so perfectly fits the role of suspect.
“The texts, the emails, the tires, the sticky note, the dead bat—almost every time I found some new threat, Meera was right there next to me,” she says.
Thinking out loud helps; Talia can see the puzzle pieces sliding into place, creating an image she doesn’t like but that at least makes sense.
“And those photos Meera received of Gracie playing in the park? Those could have easily been faked.” She pauses, almost afraid to ask her next question: “What’s going to happen to her? ”
“Well.” Harris interlaces her fingers. “Until we can find a body, we don’t have enough evidence to make an arrest.”
“So Meera is just running free right now?”
“We sent officers by her house an hour ago. She isn’t there, and her ex-husband and daughter haven’t seen her either. We think she may be hiding.”
“Oh, my God.” Talia buries her face in her hands again.
“We just need you to lay low. We’ll continue our search, and we’ll be checking in on you along the way. You and Townsend both.”
Talia perks up a bit at the sound of his name. “Can I see him now? Townsend?”
“I can check to see if Detective Burrows is finished speaking with him.” Harris stands. “You stay safe, okay?”
As unsettled as she feels, Talia knows this: She’ll always feel so safe, so long as Townsend is by her side.
Later that night, they sit on Townsend’s living room couch, both still shaken from their visit to the police station. But while Talia is eager to talk, to act—it’s been Meera all along! They need to get away from her!—her fiancé seems reluctant to even meet her eye.
“Are we really just going to stay here?” Talia finally asks. “Like sitting ducks?”
“We haven’t slept,” he says. “Before we do anything, I think we need to get some sleep.”
Talia stares at him, incredulous. “How are we supposed to sleep right now?”
“Because we’re safe here.”
“But Meera knows where you live.”
“Yes, but we spoke to security, and they’re not letting her past that front desk. We’ve locked the door. We’ve set the alarm. We’re safe here.”
Her eyes well up. Before she can stop them, the tears begin to spill. “I thought I was safe in my house too,” she says. “But now it’s gone. Now I don’t feel safe anywhere.”
Townsend takes her hand. “We’re safe here,” he repeats. “You’re safe here. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me?”
“Not on purpose.”
She doesn’t want to pick a fight, not now. But she needs to ask: “Then why did you never tell me that you and Meera dated?”
“Because we didn’t. We hooked up a few times more than two years ago. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning, because it literally meant nothing.”
“It meant enough for Meera to burn my house down over it.”
Townsend sighs, almost sounding annoyed.
“She didn’t send those messages and make those threats and do all that shit she did because we dated.
She did it because she’s a fucking insane person, okay?
Had I known that, I never would have hooked up with her, just as you wouldn’t have spent the last three years being friends with her. ”
He’s tired, she tells herself. It’s been a long day. He’s not angry with you. He loves you. “You’re right,” she says after a moment. “I know you’re right. I just feel so . . . betrayed.”
“I know you do. I do too. Now please”—Townsend slips off the couch, tightening his grip on her hand—“can we get some sleep?”
She doesn’t budge. “What if we just leave? We could throw some stuff in a bag, take my car, and just drive. Townsend, please.” She can feel herself getting worked up, basically asking him to run away together like two reckless teenagers.
“Shhh.” Townsend rubs her arm with his other hand, but the gesture feels forced to Talia. “The police are working on locating a body. Once they find Amanda, they’ll be able to get Meera, and then we’ll be free of this nightmare. Until then, we should do as we’re told and stay here.”
“Fine.” Giving in, Talia follows him to the bedroom. She needs him to believe that she trusts him—and she does trust him. She just wishes he’d agree to pack a bag and run away with her, to some place where they could get a fresh start. A place where the ghosts won’t be able to follow them.