Have You Seen Me?(47)

“Had you ever taken that shortcut before?”

“Only with my mom, and only a couple of times.”

“You discovered the body along the shortcut?”

“Uh, not exactly. It was a little farther away. I guess I’d wandered off the path by mistake and I was trying to make my way back. That’s how I ended up trampling through the pile of leaves.”

“And the day you reported what you’d found was . . . ?”

Why isn’t that in her notes? Was she not writing everything down? I’m suddenly remembering fragments of my sessions with the police years ago, when they repeated the same questions again and again.

“Friday. I told my parents before dinner and the police came to the house a short while later.”

She flips back another page, squinting as she scans it.

“Is there any chance you actually found the body the day before and don’t recall correctly?”

I shake my head. “Definitely not. I remember two nights of lying in bed and worrying and then finally getting up my nerve to talk to my mom and dad.”

She nods and taps the open page of her notebook. “Great. I think I have the timeline down. Just a few more questions.”

“Sure,” I say, relieved she’s almost done. “Any way I can help.”

“Do you recall if the body was fully covered with leaves before you stumbled on it?”

“I think so. I only knew something was there when I hit the body with my foot. And then I kicked more leaves off so I could see what was underneath.”

“And did you recognize her?”

Her question, which I hadn’t anticipated, makes my heart skip.

“No. Like I said, at first I thought it was a doll, and even after that, I didn’t realize it was her.”

“You knew Jaycee, though?”

The police must have asked me the same thing years ago, but I don’t have any recollection of it.

“I didn’t actually know her, but I’d seen her in the yard of her house. She lived a couple of houses down from a friend of mine.”

I remembered feeling so sorry for her as she played with a stick in the dirt, dressed in ratty clothes. She seemed to be totally ignored by her family. And one day I’d seen her mother plop her down so hard she cried.

Corbet leans forward, arms on the table. Her face is pinched in concern.

“What happened to Jaycee, do you think? Why do you suppose she was killed?”

This question startles me even more than the last one. How does she expect me to have an answer?

“I have no idea. When I was a little older, I heard that the mother and her boyfriend had been suspects at some point.”

“Do you think someone might have simply lost their temper and hurt her without really meaning to?”

My heart’s racing now, like it wants to burst out of my chest. Where is she going with this?

“God, I don’t know—but to me it doesn’t make any difference. It was a horrible, evil thing to do, no matter what.”

Against my will, my eyes well with tears. and I have to brush them away.

“I’m sorry,” Corbet says. “It must be upsetting to relive this. We’re almost done now. I know it was a long time ago, but is there anything else you recall that may be relevant? Did you notice anyone in the woods that day?”

“No one,” I say, trying to regain my composure. “I remember looking behind me. And then I ran. I was scared.”

“What about the spot where the body was? A piece of evidence that could have blown away by the time the crime scene unit arrived two days later?”

“Nothing comes to mind, unfortunately.” Please, I think. I’m dying to be released from this windowless room. “I only remember leaves. And then seeing her. She was so pale. And her leg . . .”

A memory wiggles through, not visual but tactile: the rigidity of her flesh as my foot made contact. “I’m just remembering this now,” I say. “Her leg. It felt hard when I touched it with my shoe. Stiff.”

And when I leaned down and felt it with the tips of my fingers. But I don’t add that.

I sense Corbet go on high alert, and she and Nowak shoot each other a look. It takes me a second to realize the meaning of what’s spilled from my mouth

The body was hard to the touch. I know next to nothing about forensics, but I’m aware of what rigor mortis is. The stiffening of the muscles that occurs for a short time after death, then dissipates.

All this time I’ve been holding a clue about Jaycee’s murder, maybe a critical one. And I’ve kept it to myself.





19


Is it significant?” I ask, hating how weak my voice sounds. Of course it’s significant. But I need Corbet to tell me how much.

“Hard like what?” she asks, ignoring my question.

“Uh, like something frozen maybe.”

“Are you sure you’re remembering correctly after all this time?”

“Yes, I’m positive.”

“Do you recall if you told the police this years ago?”

“No, not in those words. I’m pretty sure I related the same thing I said to you earlier—that at first I thought I’d come across a doll. But I probably didn’t explain that was partly because her leg was so hard. . . . Is this something that could really matter?”