To Catch a Killer(23)

“Erin, what the hell is going on?” Rachel’s voice is shrill.

I jump in front of Journey, waving my arms. “Everything’s fine. Nothing’s going on. Syd, put the gun away.”

Sydney reluctantly lowers her gun.

Rachel motions to the door. “Everybody downstairs.”

Journey and I exchange defeated expressions. He waits for me to go first. Rachel and Sydney follow us into the kitchen.

Rachel puts one hand on her hip. The other becomes a sinister, pointy finger. “I want to know what was going on up there and I want to know now.” Her jaw is so tight it’s a wonder the words can still leak out.

It looks bad: cutting school and getting caught with a boy in my bedroom. “It’s not what you think, Rachel. We weren’t—”

“You weren’t what—kidnapped? Murdered?” She looms in my direction. “Because when your principal calls to tell me you left campus with the same boy you identified running from a murder scene, that’s what I’m thinking.” She swivels, aiming a final angry glare at Journey.

I hang my head. This is really messed up. “He didn’t kidnap me, or hurt me or anything. We just came here because we needed to talk about what happened that night.”

Sydney’s back goes rigid and now she’s waving a pointy finger, too. “That is exactly what I did not want the two of you to do.” Her frustration resonates in the emphasis she places on each word. But at least she returns the gun to her holster. “Did I not expressly tell both of you: Do not talk about this with anyone?”

Journey and I glance at each other, then stare at the floor.

I weigh the odds and decide it might be worth it to come partially clean. “Syd, what if we know something you don’t?”

“That’s a huge red flag to me. I do not want a couple of teenagers thinking they know more about this than I do.” Sydney gestures between Journey and me. “I especially do not want you two comparing notes or having anything to do with this investigation.”

“But—” I say.

Sydney slices an angry finger through the air. “Hear this: As of this moment, you two are the closest things I have to suspects.” She begins to pace. “The only reason you’re not locked up, Erin, is because I know you.” Sydney gets right up in my face. Then she leans toward Journey. “As for you, I don’t have enough evidence to hold you … yet! But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop looking.” She steps back and appraises us with hands on her hips. “This behavior is way out of line. Trust me. If you two had anything to do with that murder, I will find out.” She looks up at Journey. “Are you a deranged kidnapper?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then hit it.” She motions to the door. Journey takes off. I listen while his steps fade down the stairs and across the driveway. I hear the van engine crank a few times, then catch. With a thunk of his transmission he’s gone.

Rachel takes a seat at the table and props her forehead against her hands. I’m rooted to the floor, afraid to move.

Sydney nudges Rachel’s shoulder. “I’m going to take off.” Rachel flutters her hand in a slight wave. Sydney moves past me, keeping an icy stare on my face for an extra-long moment. And then she’s gone.

I drop into the chair next to Rachel. Her head is down and she might even be crying. “I’m sorry I worried you … I’m…”

She puts up the palm of her hand. “Not now.”

I suck the inside of my cheek in between my teeth and clamp down. Things have never looked worse. We know things they don’t know and no one wants to listen to us.





13

You must combine physical evidence with witness statements and known facts in order to get a complete picture of what happened.





—VICTOR FLEMMING


Rachel’s furious. Instead of letting me go back to school, she sends me to my room. I spend the day reading and doing homework and putting away things that were moved during the police search. I stay there until she calls me down for dinner.

I smell meatloaf before I even hit the bottom of the stairs. I’m in for the lecture from hell, as well as some evil punishment, all of which I rightly deserve.

If it hadn’t been for friggin’ Principal Roberts being a snoop and calling Rachel, Journey and I would have been back in class before the end of first period. Our worst fate might have been a late slip.

Rachel has already set the table, which is another sign of the level of trouble I’m in since setting the table is usually my job. I can’t believe I got caught with Journey in my bedroom. So embarrassing. Even though what she thinks was going on wasn’t, I’d rather shave my head than have to explain it.

I slide quietly into my seat.

Rachel remains tight-lipped as she delivers plates of food and glasses of water to the table. When she finally sits down I begin to worry that we might go through the whole meal without speaking a word.

She pauses briefly, shifting a tired expression in my general direction. “Don’t ever let that happen again.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“I expect you to do detention for cutting,” she adds.

I agree enthusiastically. “I will. No problem.”

“If you continue to act out we will be going back to the therapist. Do you understand?”