Where One Goes(54)

It’s been three hours, and I’ve had four cups of strong, stale coffee when the door opens and a tall, dark-haired man enters wearing a light blue button-down shirt and khakis. He’s holding a folder in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

“Ms. Acres.” He nods in greeting. “I’m Detective Andrews with the Charlottesville Police Department.” I don’t respond as he pulls out the steel chair across from me and sits. “Bottled water?” he asks, holding it out toward me. I shake my head no.

Leaning his forearms on the table, he asks, “Do you know why you’ve been brought in?”

“The officers that brought me in said there was an APB out on me that had to do with the Casey Purcell investigation.”

Leaning back, he eyes me. “Did you know Casey Purcell?”

“Don’t answer anything yet,” Ike warns.

“Am I under arrest?” I ask.

“No. But you’re a person of interest. Your vehicle was seen at the nearest gas station to where Casey’s body was found.”

“And that makes me a person of interest? You think I had something to do with her murder?”

“Did you?” he asks simply, and I smile with disdain.

“Are you serious?”

“We know, at the very least, you’re the one that reported the whereabouts of her body,” Andrews replies as he flips open the folder. “Does this look familiar?” He slides a piece of paper in a plastic sheet protector forward. I recognize it immediately. It’s the anonymous letter I wrote.

Swallowing hard, I take a deep breath. “It’s a letter,” I state because I have no idea what to say. In an attempt to calm myself, or at least appear calm, I place my hands on the table and lace my fingers together.

He smiles sadly at me as if to say, You’re only prolonging the inevitable. “And what about this?” he asks as he takes the sheet before me back and places a photo in front of me. My heart stops. It’s a picture of the flashlight I dropped in the water that night. I could deny recognizing it if not for the ACRES written across it in bold letters. My father always had a thing about labeling our belongings. I’m an idiot. How could I forget about the flashlight?

“I’m working on a warrant, and I’m sure we can match the paper the anonymous letter was written on to maybe . . . a notebook in your possession.”

Pulling my hands back in to my lap, I shake my head. This is what I get for trying to help. “I think I’d like an attorney.”





Detective Andrews steps out and Charlotte immediately stands and starts pacing.

“Just tell the truth,” I tell her, but she shakes her head no. “There’s no one on the other side of the mirror right now and there aren’t any cameras in here. You can speak to me.”

“Who would believe me?”


“Charlotte, relax. I know you’re freaking out, but they have no proof you were there the night she disappeared. Just tell them everything you know, and maybe they can find the real killer.”

“And how do I tell them I know all of those details, Ike? Maybe they can’t charge me for murder, but it would certainly look suspicious.”

“George will get my father and he’ll help.”

“I’m not using your dad for this, Ike. I can’t. Not when I’ve lied to your family about us and . . . you,” she finishes.

“Then it’s time for you to tell my father,” I state. Stepping in front of her, she stops pacing and meets my gaze. “He’ll believe you. I’ll make sure he does.”

She hangs her head and sighs. “I’m not sure I’m ready to do this.”



An hour later, my father strolls in the room and immediately takes Charlotte in his arms. “Are you all right, dear? George is fit to be tied out there worrying about you,” my father says.

When Charlotte pulls away, her eyes are filled with tears. “Thank you for coming, Mr. McDermott.”

“I told you to call me Henry. Now sit. Let’s get this mess sorted out.” He leads Charlotte to her seat before rounding the table and taking his own seat across from her, pulling out a large, yellow paper tablet from his briefcase.

“Did you tell George what this is about?” Charlotte winces with the question.

“You asked me not to, and everything we discuss will be confidential. I’ve spoken to Detective Andrews briefly. Now I’d like to hear your side of the story.”

Charlotte’s gaze flicks to me, and I nod in encouragement. “Henry, I know this is going to sound absurd, but I found Casey Purcell’s body under the Ukon Bridge and reported it.”

“Okay. Did you have anything to do with her death?” he asks.

“No! I swear!” she rushes to assure him.

“Just tell him the truth. He’ll believe you,” I assure her, and she clenches her eyes closed. When she opens them, she glances at me so briefly my father wouldn’t catch it, but the look was long enough to tell me she’s already apologizing for not telling him the truth.

“I was driving through Charlottesville and my truck felt like it was pulling funny. So I pulled over near the bridge and got out to check my tire. When I got out, I took my flashlight but it was raining that night, and I slipped and my flashlight went down the bank. So I crawled down after it, but couldn’t find it. That’s when I found Casey’s body.” Charlotte finishes her lie and avoids eye contact with me. She knows I’ll be upset she didn’t tell him the truth.