Everything We Didn't Say(86)
“It’s why I’m here,” Juniper admitted. “Cora says you’re finishing up your master’s in psychology.”
“Abnormal psychology with an emphasis on behavioral neuroscience,” India said, pouring Juniper a glass of wine. “I’d love to be a psychological profiler for the FBI, but…” She shrugged, gesturing to the trappings of her domestic, small-town life and the wicker basket of toys in one corner of the hearth room.
“Life gets in the way?” Juniper suggested, taking the glass India offered and swallowing a mouthful of what tasted like cherries and cloves.
“Exactly. I’m not complaining. And we’ll see what the future holds. Besides, I have to finish my coursework first.”
Juniper felt quite sure that the capstone project wouldn’t be a problem for India. There was clearly much more to India Abbot than her pixie cut and casual demeanor suggested. Her chic nail polish and the impressive collection of braided bracelets on her left wrist almost seemed like decoys.
“Thanks for meeting with me,” Juniper said. “Cora speaks so highly of you.”
“And you. She adores you, you know that, right? You’re like a daughter to her.”
Juniper wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she took another sip of her wine and followed India to the couch. They sat on opposite ends, and India pulled her legs up beneath her.
“So…” she said, drawing out the word. “What exactly can I do for you?”
“I need help.” It practically burst out of Juniper. “I’m sorry, India, but I read your blog—”
India laughed.
“—and I know that there are many people around here who still think that my brother killed Cal and Beth Murphy.”
“You don’t?”
Juniper was stunned silent. “He’s my brother.”
“Ted Bundy was someone’s brother, too. That didn’t stop him.”
Juniper opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“Look.” India set her wineglass down on a natural-edge coffee table and leaned forward with her elbows on her crisscrossed knees. “I don’t think Jonathan killed them either.”
“You don’t?”
“He doesn’t fit the profile, and his actions after the murders would either classify him as a sociopath—which neither of us believes is true—or point to the fact that he didn’t do it. That he couldn’t do it. I don’t think for a second that he would kill Calvin and Elizabeth in cold blood over some free labor. Did they fight about it? Was it something he complained about often? Did he stop going over and running errands and doing odd jobs for them because he felt taken advantage of?”
Juniper realized that India was waiting for an answer. She shook her head.
“No,” India confirmed. “And what did he do the second he realized they had been shot? He called 911. Who does that? You’d be hard-pressed to find a case study where the killer called in his own crime and then stuck around to be arrested for it.”
“So, who?” Juniper could hardly choke the words out, her throat was so tight.
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Of course, we have all the usual suspects.”
“The Tates,” Juniper supplied, and India tipped her head in acknowledgment. “Weighted equally?”
“No.” India grabbed a tablet off the end table behind her and flipped through a couple of screens until she found what she was looking for. “I wrote up psych profiles on the entire Tate family. Of course, this is all speculation, considering I’ve never interviewed them about it and all I have to go on is hearsay and reputation, but it’s better than nothing.”
Juniper put her wine down on the coffee table.
“The way the murders happened would indicate a crime of passion,” India said. “There was no forethought in this—at least, I don’t believe it was premeditated.”
“What makes you say that?”
“It’s far too sloppy to be planned out. First of all, it happened outside, well after dark, on a holiday. Whoever killed the Murphys couldn’t have known that they would be awake or even home on the night of the Fourth. If the murders had been orchestrated by some criminal mastermind—or even a newbie hack—he would have chosen a different date and time. Why not wait until the following night when he knew they would be in bed together? Why not learn their patterns and schedules and make a safer choice?”
Juniper’s Reddit profiler had said something similar, but it was fascinating to hear how much thought India had put into everything. She knew Jericho. She knew the people who lived here. Juniper felt adrenaline spike in her chest.
“No,” India continued, “whoever shot the Murphys did it spur of the moment. Something set him off. Something compelled him to make a terrible choice.”
“Him?”
“Statistically speaking,” India said matter-of-factly. “Is it possible that it may, indeed, be a woman? Sure, but I doubt it. So let’s talk about bullet trajectories. The first bullet hit Calvin in the shoulder.” She reached out to put a single finger to the place on Juniper’s shoulder. It was just below the bone in the soft meat at the far edge of her collar. Juniper stifled a shiver. “Could have been a lethal shot, but it missed the axillary artery by a couple millimeters and exited out his back at a downward angle. What does that tell us?”