We spend a couple of hours at Kelsea's house.
We go through clothes left behind by previous owners and stuff that she has that she doesn't want and before long we have two big trash bags of clothes for me.
Two bags more than I've owned in years.
We stall, taking longer than we need to. I think we both enjoy the stolen time to not think of killers and police and putting off going back to that house that all of this now centers on.
But after she's forced me to eat a little and we have all of her things we need, it leaves no more time for shutting the rest out.
"I'm worried." I admit as we gather the things to leave.
Kelsea huffs. "Which part?"
"Aries." I tell her, standing on the porch while she locks up. "You don't think we should have heard from him by now?"
She glances at her watch and frowns. "I mean, it has been a while, but I don't really know how long is a normal amount of time to get questioned in a murder investigation."
A murder investigation.
It even disgusts me to think it.
To think of any of us getting questioned over something so heinous while the real killer is out there stalking his next victim makes me sick.
We wake Dallas as we get back into the truck and I quickly fill him in on the information from Mrs. Statham while he eats the sandwich we brought out for him.
"Who would even have access to that?" He asks around a big bite. "Does she have an office in town or does she keep everything in her house?"
"She has a small office in town but my file and her set of keys were at her house." I point out. "That's why she thought I'd taken them."
That, and I'm a known thief.
"So someone who is close to Mrs. Statham?" Dallas asks. "It would have to be someone she knows and trusts enough to let into her house."
I'd rather believe someone broke in.
Thinking someone close to her would also kidnap and murder her niece just seems such another level of evil, but we don't really know what we are up against here.
Giving this person any type of humanity in this situation is a mistake. Anyone who can do the things they've done has to be a monster.
"She has people coming and going literally all the time." Kelsea says. "She's never alone."
"She's very popular in town." I agree. "I'm so mad this is happening to her."
Dallas looks down into his lap. "She was the only one who still talked to me after Dad got arrested." He says quietly. "She doesn't deserve this."
"No one does." I say and he meets my eyes with a sigh.
"You're right." He relents. "But especially not her."
I take a deep breath to try to clear the image of her tears out of my mind.
"Do you want to try calling Aries?" Kelsea asks, turning out of the driveway.
I pull my phone out of my pocket. "Do you think I should?" I ask. "I don't want to bother him or anything, I'm just worried."
"It can't hurt." She says, drumming her fingers across the steering wheel.
I don't get the chance to call though.
Before my fingers can fumble through the phone for his number, the screen lights up with a call from an unknown number.
"Hello?" I place the phone to my ear while I can feel Dallas and Kelsea glancing at me.
"Missouri Jacobs?" A man's voice booms into my ear.
"Speaking."
"This is Detective Mayfield down at Faulkner PD." He says and my heart starts racing. "We need you to come in as soon as possible. When can you be here?"
I glance nervously at the other two in the truck, Dallas mouthing what to me.
"Um, what's this about?" I try to hide the quiver in my voice, but I can tell by Dallas's worried expression I'm not doing a good job.
"I just need you to come in." He replies cooly. "I can send a squad car to your place if you-."
"No." I cut him off. "That won't be necessary." I quickly say. "I can come...I just, can you tell me why?"
"We can discuss everything when you get here." He tells me.
"Is this about Aries?"
"We can discuss everything when you get here, Ms. Jacobs." He repeats more slowly. "Just let the front desk know when you arrive and they'll bring you back."
"Ok." I chew the sore spot inside my cheek. "I'm on my way."
"What the hell was that?" Dallas demands as soon as I end the call and shakily place the phone into my lap.
"The police." My mouth is dry and bitter. "They need me to come in right now."
Kelsea slows the truck. "Why?"
"They wouldn't say."
"Don't freak out." She says, straightening in her seat. "I'm serious," she glances at me. "Don't freak out." She repeats. "We went over everything, ok?"
I nod slowly.
I'm trying not to freak out.
But, let's be honest, I'm freaking out.
All of my run ins with the police have been unpleasant. If I were to make a list right this second of things I don't want to have to do, sitting in a police interrogation room again would be sitting pretty far at the top.
"Just drop me off." I tell her, trying to borrow some of her confidence as I sit up straighter in my own seat. "But...but can you guys wait for me? Somewhere near by. I don't want either of you to be seen or anything, I just want to know you're close."
"We aren't going anywhere, Miss." Dallas promises. "You're gonna be fine."
I try to believe those words as we pull into downtown. I try to fill myself with good thoughts only, but the problem is, I don't have a lot of those to pull from.
Kelsea let's me out a little ways up the road from the police station and I do my best to not look back at either of them as I begin the walk away.
One look at their worried faces and the fake smiles I'm sure they wear to hide it, and I'll lose it.
"Missouri Jacobs for Detective Mayfield." I tell the man at the front desk and he nods, getting up from his desk to go into the back.
I go ahead and wait by the side door.
I know the drill at this point.
It buzzes and a tall black man in a suit opens the door, looking down at me through his dark tan glasses.
"This way." He says by way of greeting.
I follow him up the hall and into the back where there is another hall of doors. We stop at the first one with a big number 1 posted above it and he holds the door open for me to walk inside.
He closes it behind us and offers me a seat on the other side of the table from his spot where he has files and a laptop waiting.
"What's this about?" I finally speak, sitting in the uncomfortable metal chair while he pulls out his seat. He lets the metal drag across the hard floor and I flinch at the sound.
"Just some questions I have for you." He says nonchalantly. "I'm detective Mayfield, we spoke on the phone." He introduces himself, pulling his file over into his lap to open where I can't see it. "Can you tell me where you were the night of the 12th, Ms. Jacobs?"
Fuck.
I don't even know what today is.
"Can you be a little more specific?" I ask quietly. "All the days kind of run together being back here and not working or anything."
That and the pills.
He smiles, one that doesn't touch his eyes. "Sure," he nods. "I can do that."
I wait for him to go on but he lets the silence drag out.
"Ok?" I prompt and he glances back down at the file.
"I'm sure you remember the 12th." He says. "You came in to speak with Officer Gillians?" He reminds me. "You wanted to tell him where he could find Jasmine Vines's body. That ringing a bell?"
I bounce my foot under the table to try to release the anxiety building in me. "Yes, sir." I nod.
"An interesting visit to make, don't you think?" He grins. "And this was after your visit to the library, correct? Where you looked up articles on the deceased?"
Of course they would know about that.
Big brother is watching.
Apparently the only thing you can get away with Faulkner is murder.
"It's not like what you're trying to make it sound like." I say calmly, trying to keep my head from spinning out of control.
"And what am I trying to make it sound like?" He asks, leaning back in his chair to look at me over the top of his glasses, a coy grin on his face.
"Like I-." I stop myself before falling right into the trap he's laying. "Like Officer Gillians knows, I researched the recent cases to see just how similar they were to my fathers. I came in trying to help."
He sits back up a little straighter. "Right, right." He nods, looking back down at his file. "Because you knew that Jasmine Vines would be found in that field."
"I suspected." I correct. "Because of how things played out the first time."
I don't like the way my answer brings another grin to his lips. "Speaking of the past cases, and your father." He sticks a pen behind his ear as he tilts his head to scrutinize me. "How did your father pick his victims?"
His question throws me.
"I don't know what you mean." I say cautiously.
"I'm just curious," he smiles. "about how he chose them, you know? Like were they random? Or did he specifically pick and stalk his victims?"
"I wouldn't know that." My cheeks grow hot and I can feel the flush running down my neck.
"Right." He tilts his head a little. "I mean, I just wonder, like I'm sure everyone does." He goes on. "It seems like he had to have some sort of process, right? All killers do. Your father never divulged much information though."
I blink hard, trying to keep my eyes on his as he stares me down. "I don't know what you're getting at." I tell him. "Like you said, he didn't give much on that part of things and I wouldn't know either."
"But you knew we'd find Jasmine in that field, didn't you?"
"I said I suspected that it would be the next place." I say again, trying so hard not to let my frustration show. "I was trying to help."
"What else do you remember about the night of the 12th?"
"What?"
He gives me a look like I'm an idiot he's having to slow things down for.
"The 12th?"
I take a deep breath, my mind struggling to keep up with his line of questioning but it's all over the place.
I wrack my brain for information from that day but it's all so hard to shift through. So much has happened since I've been home that I can't pinpoint exact moments on a dime like this. I'm not sure anyone could, even without being on drugs.
The library, here, leaving...
"The night Aries was arrested." I finally say and Detective Mayfield nods, lightly smacking a hand on the top of the table.
"Ah, good, you do remember." He says. "What's your relationship with Mr. Carter?"
"We don't have a relationship." I tell him. "We were close for a while in high school and then we drifted apart."
That's the nice way of putting it.
"Right." He says again, like he's getting a five dollar bonus every time he uses the word. "Right about the time your father got arrested and he skipped town?"
I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Yeah I guess."
"And now you're friends again, right?" He shrugs. "Reconnected recently?"
"I've seen him a few times since I've been back in town, yeah." I fold my hands tightly in my lap.
"And you know he's connected to the Tolbert case, right?"
I narrow my eyes. "I know some people saw him downtown where at least dozens of other people were." I say indignantly.
"So I guess you also know that he's being charged, right?" The smile on his face turns my blood cold.
"Charged?" I gape. "For being seen around town?" I grip the side of the table. "That's ridiculous!"
"No." He shakes his head. "Because of the boots."
"Lots of people wear those boots!"
"Do lots of people, as you say, all have the exact same missing chunk out of the tread in the heel?" He looks down at the file and pulls out a photo, sliding it across the table.
I look down at the crime scene photo he's laid out in front of me. A little yellow block with a number 2 on it sits beside a thick boot print in the sludge right in front of the dumpster where I can see Courtney's hand sticking out slightly.
I'm ready to tell everything, to admit I was the one there and he was only in the alley looking for me, but...
But he never came all the way into the alley, all the way to the front of the dumpster where Courtney's body laid.
"That's not right." I shake my head, looking away from the photo over to the door.
"What about this one?"
I turn as he slides another photo over.
Only this one isn't from the alley.
This photo is of a print made somewhere in the mud, the dark lighting and the flash of the camera showing this one was taken somewhere at night.
"I don't understand." I say, staring at the second photo beside the first.
"Have a look at this." He slides a third photo over.
A picture of the bottom of a man's boot. It wouldn't look like anything special if it weren't for the small sliver of tread missing from the back left side of the heel.
A missing chunk that would leave a crescent like mark in the prints, just like the other two photos on the table.
"This one is from the alley." He points to the first photo. "But this one," he lets his pointer finger linger on the second photo. "This one is from County Rd 256." He lets that sick information marinate for a moment. "I'm sure you're familiar with that one, seeing as your boot prints were all over that scene as well."
The room is starting to spin.
"You have his boot prints at both scenes?" I ask slowly and he nods.
"Interestingly enough," he grins. "We have both. Yours and his."
The edges of the room go soft, everything getting blurry before my eyes.
This cannot be happening.
The mantra rings in my mind over and over.
I'd been so stupid.
So incredibly stupid.
How had I not thought of this? Of course they didn't need to find my hidden boots. They already had my prints from the night I'd stumbled across the very first crime scene.
Which means they knew already that I was at the second one as well.
They've just been waiting...
"So back to your father, Ms. Jacobs." Detective Mayfield is grinning from ear to ear now. He knows he's got me. "Is that how he did it too?"
"D-did what?" My voice doesn't even sound like my own in my ears.
"Stalked his victims." He replies. "Like you and Mr. Carter do?"
My mouth drops open. "I do not have anything to do with this!" I shout, all attempts at composure flying out the window. "I swear I had no idea-."
"Take a look at this." He cuts me off, pulling the laptop over to him. "Maybe this will make you remember a little more about the night of the 12th."
I listen to his fingers clicking across the keyboard before he turns the laptop to face me, a video playing full screen.
I stare at the back of my own head on the screen as I walk into the diner and move around the tables to sit in a booth in the back by the window.
I watch as I sit there alone, messing with something in my lap before the waitress comes over and I jump.
"You know who that is, don't you, Ms. Jacobs?" I hear his question but I can't stop watching the video play out. "You went to that diner and talked to her first. You made yourself a familiar face to her. Maybe so that when you and Mr. Carter abducted her after her lunch shift the next day she'd go with you willingly?"
I blink passed the tears as I look up at him, his words finally bringing with them realization.
That waitress...
The one with the curly hair and chipper voice...
She was Amie Farmer.
And I'd talked to her before she died.
"I think I need a lawyer."