All the Dark Places(96)

Chase hesitates for just a moment. Then hands me the folder. “Yeah. Right. Good idea.” He stops in the doorway. “See you tomorrow, Rita.”

When he’s gone, I open the folder. The little Arndt girl’s autopsy results. I say her name aloud, as I do all victims that I come across.

“India Marie Arndt.”

Four years and ten months old forever. But she existed. She was here.

I sigh and head down the hall.





CHAPTER 76


Molly


I SQUIRM IN MY CHAIR AND TELL MYSEL I’M READY. MY LAST SECRET fear, so far hidden in my brain, I never told anyone, not any of my therapists, not even Jay. But I’m strong enough now.

If Indie was smothered, as Keith said, I need to know. That doesn’t mean that he didn’t do it himself. Certainly, no one believed at the time that I was responsible. And I pray with my whole being that I wasn’t. But I feel like I owe it to Indie to know the truth, as much as possible, of what happened to her. I have no recollection of it, and that hurts as well. I don’t remember what happened to my little friend.

I hope Detective Fuller gets here soon before I lose my nerve. The door opens, and Detective Myers walks in.

“Hi, Mrs. Bradley. Sorry to keep you waiting. Detective Fuller needed to get home. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No. That’s fine,” I say, although I’d rather have had him here now. She intimidates me.

Detective Myers lays the file folder on the table in front of me, and I reach for it with a shaking hand.

“Mrs. Bradley,” she says. “It’s okay.”

I find strength in her icy blue eyes, nod, and open the folder.

The page blurs in front of me, and I blink to clear my tears. I skim the notes, searching for the answer I need. Pain rises in my chest, like a heart attack, as I see it in the conclusion section. Keith was lying.

Indie died from an overdose of the sleeping pills he put in our soda.

I choke out a sob and lean my head in my hands. The room is quiet, and I clear my throat and peep up at Detective Myers. There are tears in her eyes too.





CHAPTER 77


Rita


THE EVENING COMES IN DARK, QUIET LIKE THE SNOW ON THE TREES outside my office window. There’s still paperwork to clear up on the Bradley case, but the heavy lifting is done for now, and everyone in the department is working silently, heads down, computer keys clicking.

I take a deep breath. Check my phone. My brother Danny’s left me a message. I haven’t talked to him since I got caught up in the Bradley case, and we usually talk once a week at least. Of all my family, he and I are the closest. I make a mental note to give him a call. Maybe I’ll drop by his place on my way home.

Joe raps on my open door. “I’m going to head out,” he says.

“Thanks for your help, Joe. It’s been great having you here every day.”

He nods and walks over to where I stand near the window. “Newburyport isn’t that far, Rita.” He brushes my hair back over my shoulder. “Why don’t you come up some weekend.”

I take a deep breath. I’d really like that, but then what? “Cold place in the winter.”

“Sea air will do you good. There’s a really nice pub in town, historic. Great wine list.” Joe and I’d made plans to get together after that first case, but something always came up until the plans faded away and we got lost in our separate lives.

I smile. “I’ve been to Newburyport once. A long time ago. A friend and I stopped there on the way to Maine.”

“Well, you haven’t been there with me.”

“Okay, maybe.”

“I’ll take maybe.” He draws me into a hug, and I can’t help but relax against him. This case has taken more out of me than I’d like to admit. “Let’s not let six years go by, Rita. Life’s short, as the cliché goes.”

“That’s the truth.”

He lets me go and heads out the door.

I turn on the little radio I keep on the windowsill. The young cops think it’s quaint and hilarious that anyone would still listen to the radio, and on a radio no less. True, there aren’t many good stations left, but I like my classic rock station. I sing quietly along with the Doors’ “L.A. Woman,” a song that always makes me feel blue. I stand at the window and watch Joe throw his backpack in the passenger’s side of his truck. I stay put until his taillights fade into the night.





CHAPTER 78


Molly


September





FALL IS IN THE AIR. THE FIRST CRISP DAYS ARE UPON US. SADIE AND I sit on the back porch. She pants at my side, while I snuggle under a quilt and sip tea out of one of the old cups from Grandpa Wright’s house, one of the few things my parents didn’t throw away.

I started seeing Dr. Blanton in February, with low expectations. My first impression of her wasn’t good. Young, sleek blond ponytail, perfect makeup, and a designer dress with matching stilettos, a two-carat diamond on her left ring finger. My first thought was this pampered princess can’t help me. I should’ve known better than to judge people.

All my previous therapists had declined to tell me anything about themselves, saying that their experiences were irrelevant. That always made me suspicious. How could they empathize with me? But Dr. Blanton had no such reticence. She told me that she’d grown up in Philadelphia in a poor rundown neighborhood. Her mother was a junkie, and she had no idea who her father was. When she was eleven years old, walking home from school, she was gang-raped by some local thugs. After that, her mother gave up her parental rights, just gave her away. She ended up in foster care, where she aged out without being adopted. Her mother had died, and Dr. Blanton applied for scholarships and put herself through college. She swore to live a better life than her mother had. There’s nothing so horrible that you can’t pull yourself past it, she said. Survive and flourish, that’s her mantra. I believe her, and our sessions have been going well.