Текст книги "The 9th Girl"

Автор книги: Tami Hoag

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

31

“Dana Nolan, on special assignment, coming to you live from outside the residence of missing Minneapolis teenager Penelope Gray. Sources inside the Hennepin County Medical Examiner’s office are confirming that the New Year’s Eve murder victim known as Zombie Doe has been identified as the missing Performance Scholastic Institute student. An AMBER Alert was issued last night for the missing teen, whose mother made a public appeal for her return this morning along with Minneapolis Homicide captain Ullrich Kasselmann.

“No official statement has yet been made by the Minneapolis Police Department either confirming or denying the identification of Zombie Doe. Speculation has run rampant that Zombie Doe may in fact be yet another victim of the serial killer law enforcement has dubbed Doc Holiday, due to his penchant for committing his crimes on or around holidays.”

“Doug Irwin here, Dana.” The guy from the newsroom broke in. “There seems to be some activity going on there. Can you fill us in on what’s been happening in the past few minutes?”

“Yes, Doug. One of the homicide detectives working the case was just seen arriving here at the residence and going into the home, presumably to convey some information to Julia Gray. I’ll be coming to you live for NewsWatch with any breaking information as things develop. Until then, back to you at the studio, Doug.”

Fitz smiled, almost like a proud uncle. He felt a connection to Dana Nolan that truly did border on familial. He had handpicked her, after all, like one of his flea market finds. She was a little diamond just waiting for polish and the perfect setting.

He was so pleased he had chosen her, especially now that she was getting an extra opportunity to make a name for herself by covering this case. There was a wonderful poetry in that. He had chosen her because of her initial reporting of the story of Zombie Doe, the alleged “ninth victim.” Fate was allowing her to rise to the attention of the audience because of the ninth victim. And her greatest fame would ultimately come in being a victim. What a beautiful irony. It filled him with pride to be the architect of this story.

She stood there in front of the camera, so wide-eyed and earnest, her cheeks rosy with the cold. So young. So . . . wholesome. She didn’t understand what tragedy was. She didn’t know what it meant to feel real pain or experience true loss. She observed others and tried to guess what that must be like. Or she tried to relate her own small version of personal catastrophe to these incidents. Maybe she had lost a kitten as a little girl. Maybe an elderly grandparent had died.

She had so much to learn about genuine suffering.

And he would be the one to teach it to her.

Soon.

32

“When I told you to take up cage fighting, I was being sarcastic,” Kovac said, looking at his partner.

Her left brow was a red, swollen ledge. A couple of small stitches closed the cut Julia Gray had opened.

Liska made a face. “I guess I need to start joining Kyle at his kickboxing lessons.”

“Muay Thai,” Tippen said, striking a martial arts pose. “The deadly art of eight limbs.”

“Tinks is deadly enough with four,” Kovac said. “And that’s not counting her tongue.”

“Fuck you, Kojak.”

“And there it is.”

They had gathered again in the conference room. Someone had picked up Chinese takeout, and the boxes littered the long table. Kovac found the beef with broccoli and helped himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a real meal.

He looked at his partner. “So she just wigged out on you?”

“She was ready to snap when I got there. She saw bad news coming, and she didn’t want to hear it.”

“All her chickens are coming home to roost under a big media spotlight,” Kovac said. “Her daughter is missing. Her daughter is an embarrassment. Her daughter makes her look like a bad mother. Now her daughter is dead.”

“That’s not entirely fair,” Liska said. “You’ve never given birth. You can’t know what it’s like. You get this perfect little being, and then life happens, and suddenly you feel like you don’t have any control anymore. And you screw up and they screw up, but they’re still your kid. I don’t ever want to know what Julia Gray is feeling now. I’m sure she’s reliving every mistake she ever made.”

“No more do-overs,” Kovac said, wondering how much of a mess he would have made raising his kid if he’d gotten the chance. It was probably better not knowing.

He looked to one of his borrowed uniform cops, a burly kid named Adams. “What do the neighbors have to say?”

“We canvassed the neighborhood twice—first thing this morning and at the end of the day. Nobody saw anything out of the ordinary. Even the closest neighbors don’t have a clear view of the Grays’ driveway because of the way the house is situated. One close neighbor has a security camera on their garage that might catch some coming and going, but they’re out of town. The security company needs a release from the owners to give us access to the video. They’re working on that.

“Also, one of the neighbors had a New Year’s Eve party with a lot of cars parked on the street. That was the thing everyone remembered. No one could really recall the night before that.”

“Elwood, what about the girl’s Facebook friends?”

“I tracked down a few who live in the area. It seems they didn’t really know her that well. They said she came and hung out at a couple of coffeehouses they all frequent. They liked her poetry, but she’s a lot younger than most of them.”

“So she was building up those relationships that she didn’t really have to the kids at school to make it look like she was cool somewhere, if not with them,” Liska said.

Elwood nodded. “That’s how it looks. A couple of them let her sleep at their places when she was on the outs with her mother. But they’ve got alibis for New Year’s Eve.”

“I would rather come back in my next life as a sewer rat than have to be a teenager again,” she muttered.

Kovac set his plate aside and sighed. “And we’ve got no legit sightings of the girl’s car?”

“Do you know how many black Toyota Camrys there are in the Twin Cities?” one of the young detectives asked. “To say nothing of other makes that resemble the Toyota Camry. The majority of people don’t seem to know one car from another. We’ve got every agency available checking the tips. It’s not a needle in a haystack. It’s a needle in a pile of needles.”

The lack of progress was tiring. They were expending tremendous amounts of energy and manpower with no reward. As much as Kovac had wanted the opportunity to renew efforts on the rest of the Doc Holiday cases, the effort was spreading them too thin. He had detectives reviewing the old cases with new eyes, but now he would have preferred to have more attention on the case at hand. A cold case wouldn’t get any colder, but the window of opportunity on a fresh homicide was small.

The phrase be careful what you ask for kept playing through his head.

The blessing and the curse of the previous Doc Holiday cases had been in the fact that the victims were from other places, other states. Difficult to investigate, and yet without a great deal of complication from the victims’ family lives—at least on his end of the investigation.

If Doc had snatched Penny Gray, he could have done them all a favor by dumping her in Iowa.

Kasselmann stepped into the room—still looking crisp and together, wanting an update.

Calling on the energy induced by sodium and MSG, Kovac roused himself to go up to the whiteboard and conduct a proper review of what they had, what they didn’t have, what they wanted, and what they needed to do.

Bottom line: They had a whole lot of nothing that added up to a strong suspect.

The captain frowned and sighed. “Come see me in my office before you go, Sam.”

His frown deepened as he looked at Liska. “What happened to you?”

“The victim’s mother decided to kill the messenger,” she said.

“The Gray woman did that to you?”

“She’s stronger than she looks.”

“How about that?” Kovac asked when Kasselmann and most of the others had cleared out.

“How about what?” Liska busied herself clearing away the food cartons and paper plates.

“Julia Gray giving you that eye. You’ll be lucky if you don’t have a shiner tomorrow.”

“I’d probably lose it too, if I was in her place.”

“She hit you with her right hand?” he asked. “The one in the brace?”

“Yeah,” she said. “She wasn’t thinking clearly. Or maybe she wanted to feel physical pain too. You know? I’d rather hit my thumb with a hammer than feel emotional pain because of one of my kids.”

“Remind me to follow you home, then, and remove all the hammers from your house.”

She gave him the finger.

Kovac turned to Tippen and Elwood. “I don’t buy her story about falling on the ice. It’s too coincidental.”

Liska dumped the last of the trash in the garbage can. “I don’t buy the story about the girl falling off the bike, and the whole thing about the mom calling her doctor friend on a Saturday. Dr. Concierge setting a weird fracture instead of sending the kid to a specialist. That’s a malpractice suit waiting to happen. Why would he risk that?”

“What was the mother’s explanation?” Tippen asked.

“That the girl was on her way home from her therapy session with Michael Warner. She cut through some park, had an accident.”

“No witnesses,” Elwood said.

Liska shrugged.

Kovac scowled. “That’s funny. I asked Michael Warner about it. He didn’t say anything about having seen the girl the day that happened.”

“Julia made it sound like taking the girl to the doctor she used was a joint decision,” Liska said.

“That was back in the spring, right?” Elwood said. “She also told us a lot of her daughter’s rebellion developed over the summer.”

“If the girl didn’t fall off a bike, then what happened?” Tippen asked. “Some kind of precipitating stressor that set off the rebellion?

“I spoke with Penny Gray’s adviser at school,” he said. “She told me the girl’s writing had taken an angrier tone this school year. She said the girl had always been an outsider, had trouble relating to other kids, but she used to be more shy than aggressive.”

Kovac got up and went to the board, looking at the timeline they had started. He picked up a marker and extended the line far to the left, then added the date of the alleged bike accident. He made a notation about the changes in the girl’s appearance over the summer, and the date of the violent incident with the father’s new wife at the open house. He made note of Julia Gray’s alleged fall that had injured her wrist.

He stood back and looked at what he’d written. A suspicious injury. A dramatic change in appearance. Escalating violent outbursts. He thought about the comment Christina Warner had made regarding Penny Gray’s change in sexual preference—that she said she was through with men . . . a girl who hadn’t had a significant boyfriend as far as anyone knew.

“You know what this looks like,” he said.

“That our precipitating stressor could be sexual abuse,” Tippen offered.

“What do we know about Dr. Feel Good?”

“That he is a man above reproach,” Elwood said.

“That makes him a bastard, for sure,” Kovac muttered.

“He’s got nothing but accolades in the press. Awards out the wazoo for community service and so on.”

“That makes him a man with a lot to lose,” Kovac said. “Big reputation. Big ego. Big ambition. Dig deeper on him. And I want another talk with him—preferably with Julia Gray present. We’ll twist those screws good and hard.”

A knock sounded on the door, and Sonya Porter stuck her head in, small oval rhinestone-crusted glasses framing her eyes.

“Welcome to the nuthouse, Sonya,” Kovac said, waving her in. “Come have a seat. I don’t think you’ve met Elwood. Elwood Knutson, this is Sonya Porter—Tip’s niece.”

Elwood got up and made a little bow. “I’m so sorry.”

Tippen made a disgruntled face. “Why is no one sorry for me? She’s mean!”

Sonya batted her eyelashes at Elwood as she shrugged out of her coat. She wore a peacock-blue sweater with a keyhole cutout in the chest, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of her tattoo.

“Do you have anything for us, Sonya?” Kovac asked. “Anything coming in from the blogosphere or the Twitterverse or whatever the hell it is? A confession would be nice, but I’d settle for an eyewitness.”

“I can’t make your job that easy,” she said, taking the empty seat next to Elwood. He held the chair out for her. “A lot of sensational rumors about the zombie. Some unpleasant comments about your victim.”

“Such as?”

“She was a whore. She was a lesbian. She was a lesbian whore,” she said dispassionately. “Everybody hated her, and nobody cares if she’s dead.”

“Charming generation you’ve got there,” Kovac mumbled.

“Kids have opinions,” she said. “They’re not shy about sharing them on social media.”

“No,” Tippen said. “It’s more like a shark feeding frenzy. Rapacious animosity hidden behind the faceless mask of anonymity. Cyberbullying is rampant. The physical disconnect from the victim gives the bully the false sense of freedom to say whatever they want.”

“Their computer isn’t going to punch them in the face for typing something hateful,” Liska said.

“Just because people have the right to freely express themselves doesn’t guarantee they’ll have something nice to say,” Sonya said. “Ultimately, a lot of people just suck. With social media we get to see instantly who those people are.”

“That’s my niece,” Tippen said. “Always looking for the silver lining.”

“There is no silver lining,” she returned. “Just the reflection of abject disappointment.”

“I prefer to shine a light in the darkness,” Elwood said nobly. Sonya looked up at him with her head cocked to one side like a curious little bird.

“I’m with Sonya,” Kovac said. “People suck. Shine your light on that, Elwood. Get with Sonya and figure out who the cyberbullies are.”

“I was also thinking we might be able to put together a clearer picture about what was going on in Penny Gray’s emotional life by looking more closely at her poetry,” Elwood suggested. “Poetry is a fingerprint of the soul.”

Tippen picked up a file folder off the table. “The girl’s adviser gave me access to all the work Penny Gray has turned in this school year. She sent me the whole file electronically. I printed out the poems. There are also some video pieces of her performing.”

“If she’s into visual media, she’ll be on YouTube and Vimeo,” Sonya said.

Elwood took the folder from Tippen and opened it. Kovac watched him frown as he looked over the first of the poems of Penny Gray.

“Share with the class, please, Elwood.”

The big man cleared his throat and read the poem aloud, the words of a girl who believed no one wanted to hear her. She could never have imagined that she would find her audience among the people trying to solve her murder.

“Silence”

Silence is golden, I hear people say

But words rot inside you

Your heart will decay

They don’t want your trouble, they don’t want to care

You’re just inconvenient

They don’t want you there.

I’ve learned to stay silent on matters like this

Absolve them of burden

Give ignorant bliss.

And still I’m more bother than I ever was worth

I’m nothing but trouble

Since the day of my birth.

33

“Are you okay to drive?” Kovac asked.

They walked toward the parking ramp, flurries coming down like fine powdered sugar. It was later than she wanted it to be. Again. Her head was pounding. She was cold and tired and weighed down by the heaviness of the case and everything else in her life. She felt as if she were made of lead.

“I’m fine,” she said. She could feel him looking at her.

“Seriously? You don’t have a concussion?”

“No. It’s just a cut. I got hit by a girl, not Mike Tyson.”

“You’re a girl,” he pointed out. “I don’t want you coldcocking me.”

“Yeah, well . . . What did Kasselmann want?” She had watched him go into the boss’s office after their session in the war room had ended. He had come out with a dark expression on his face.

“Nothing important.” He shrugged it off but then said, “I’m coming home with you.”

She looked up at him, surprised. “What? Why? I’m fine.”

His mouth twisted a little in that way that told her he was figuratively chewing on something he didn’t like.

“I have to confiscate your hammers, remember?”

She waited for the other shoe to drop.

“I need to speak to Kyle again,” he said. “I don’t think we have the whole picture of what went on at the Rock and Bowl.”

Nikki narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “You’re leaving something out.”

“You’re reading something in,” he countered. “I just want to clarify a few details, that’s all. A couple of the kids today made comments I want to follow up on.”

“You know those are the kids Kyle doesn’t get along with.”

“I know.”

“That Fogelman kid,” she said, her protective instincts rising. “He’s a spoiled, entitled little shit.”

“I know.”

“Did he say Kyle did something?” she asked.

Kovac looked annoyed. “Will you relax?”

“No,” she said, stopping in her tracks. “I won’t. Tell me what’s going on.”

Kovac turned around and sighed. “Don’t flip out on me.”

“You might as well say ‘Flip out now.’ What the hell is going on?”

“Kasselmann called me in to let me know the Fogelman kid’s father is connected and that he made some noise to an assistant chief that maybe Kyle is getting preferential treatment because he wasn’t included in the group I questioned this afternoon.”

“Fuck him!” Nikki snapped. “And fuck Kasselmann too! Why didn’t he call me into his office? Why didn’t he speak to me?”

“I can’t imagine,” Kovac said sarcastically. “Fear of death? Conflict of interest? Take your pick. I told the boss there’s not a problem. I explained the situation. Everything is cool for now. I’m just dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s. So let’s just get on with it.”

Despite Kovac’s assurances, she worried all the way home. It was becoming her default state of being—worrying about the boys, that she was missing out on their lives, that she wasn’t giving them what they needed; worrying about Kyle in particular, that he would lose his scholarship, be expelled from PSI, get so deep into something that by the time she found out about it, it would be too late to stop something bad from happening.

Marysue sat at the dining table, addressing wedding invitations while R.J. grudgingly did his math homework. Nikki bent over and kissed the top of her son’s tousled head. The usual pleasantries were exchanged, the cursory “How was your day?” small talk that seemed so ridiculous when she was knee-deep in a murder investigation. Kovac joined in, as much a part of the surrealism as anyone.

The samurai warrior greeted them at the door to Kyle’s room. Liska looked the fierce image in the eye and tapped her knuckles against the door.

“Kyle? It’s Mom. I need to talk to you. Sam needs to talk to you.”

No sound came from the room, no TV, no music. She held her breath and listened, resisting the urge to knock again too quickly. She could hear him moving around. He opened the door and looked from one of them to the other without saying anything. He looked tired and sad. The bruise on his cheek was dark purple against his pale skin.

“Hey, Kyle,” Kovac said. “Sorry I have to bother you again, but I need to ask you a couple more questions about the other night at the Rock and Bowl.”

“Gray’s dead, isn’t she?” he said flatly.

Kovac nodded. “It looks that way. I’m sorry.”

Kyle moved back into his room and sat down on his desk chair, bent over with his forearms resting on his thighs and his head down.

“How did you hear?” Nikki asked, struggling against the urge to touch him.

“Someone texted me.”

She didn’t scold him for being on his phone. What had seemed so important that morning seemed petty and foolish now. Whatever he had done, whatever trouble he had gotten himself into, at least he was alive.

Kovac sat down on the foot of the bed and, consciously or not, mirrored Kyle’s pose.

He began with a sigh. “I’ve talked to everyone who was there that night Gray went missing. There are a couple of holes and discrepancies I think you can help me out with, Kyle. But here’s the deal: no more fucking around, okay? I ask you a straight question, you give me a straight answer, no bullshit. You don’t shade the truth and you don’t leave things out. Man-to-man time, okay?”

“Nothing you say will be used against you by me,” Nikki said, drawing a glance from her son.

“Kyle, did you ride to the Rock and Bowl with Gray and Brittany that night?”

He nodded.

“Tell me what happened between Gray and Christina.”

“Christina had made up this stupid poem about liars and lesbians and how Gray is a walking freak show and shit like that. Gray got pissed and said some things back.”

“What did she say?”

“Like how Christina is such a stupid bitch because she thinks everybody loves her, and nobody loves her at all because she’s a fake, egotistical c-u-n-t.” He glanced up. “Sorry, Mom. Sam said not to leave anything out.”

“It’s okay.”

“She said something like you think you’re living this Barbie doll dream life with your perfect everything,” he went on. “And you think your dad’s a fucking Ken doll. Stuff like that.”

“And at some point things got physical between them?” Kovac said.

Kyle nodded. “Yeah. Gray kind of leaned in and said something I couldn’t hear, and Christina went ape shit and lunged at her.”

Kovac sat up straighter. “Christina lunged at Gray?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, Gray fought back, but Christina started it. Then Aaron Fogelman got between them and he punched Gray about here,” he said, bringing his fist against his upper left chest.

“And then?”

“And then I got between them. I mean, you can’t hit a girl!” Kyle said, offended by the very idea. “I shoved him back; then he took a swing at me,” he said, pantomiming the bigger kid’s knuckles grazing his cheekbone. “And then I popped him in the mouth and busted his lip,” he said, reenacting his overhand right.

“And where was security during all of this?” Nikki asked, unable to bite her tongue any longer.

Kyle shrugged. “It happened really fast. And then I turned around and Gray had left, and by the time I got to the front door, she was driving out.”

“Did you see the others leave?” Kovac asked.

“No.”

“How did you get home?” Nikki asked.

“There’s a bus stop a couple of blocks down.”

“And you didn’t talk to Gray or hear from her after that?”

He shook his head. “I texted her a bunch of times, but she never answered. I even tried to call her, but it went straight to voice mail.” He thought about it for minute, the terrible realization dawning. “I guess she was already dead, huh?”

Kovac sighed. “She might have been, yeah.”

“Britt said a serial killer got her. Is that for real?” he asked, incredulous. “That’s crazy! That’s crazy movie shit!”

“We don’t know what happened,” Nikki said. “That’s a possibility.”

“I don’t get it,” Kyle said, emotion straining his voice. “Why does somebody do that? That’s so insane! She never hurt anybody. All she ever wanted was to be . . . was for people to just accept her. Why did somebody have to do that to her?”

Nikki stroked a hand over his bowed head and gently pulled him to lean against her. Looking down, her gaze fixed on his bruised cheek. Her mind went back over what he had said.

Penny Gray had gone missing the night of the thirtieth. Kyle’s altercation with Aaron Fogelman had happened on the thirtieth. Yet, she hadn’t noticed the damage to her son until New Year’s Day. How was that even possible?

She thought back, sorting through the blur of work hours and overtime. They had caught a homicide the night of the thirtieth, a domestic dispute that had turned deadly. The whole thing had been complicated and had dragged on, and she hadn’t gotten home until late. The boys had been in bed by the time she got home. They had still been asleep when she left for work the next morning, the morning of New Year’s Eve, and in bed by the time she got home from the callout to Zombie Doe’s scene.

She had lost an entire day without even realizing it. Her son had been hurt a full day before she had even noticed.

She thought about Julia Gray, who hadn’t known her own daughter was missing. How irresponsible that sounded. How uncaring. What a rotten mother.

She thought of Penny Gray and the possibility that she had been snatched off the street while her mother was too busy out with her boyfriend to know where her daughter was.

In her mind’s eye she watched the video from the Holiday station play out across her memory. Penny Gray—a kid the same age as Kyle—alone, headed for the door, seeing someone out of camera range, hesitating, turning back, then walking out into the night to never be seen alive again.

Leaving Kyle to his thoughts, she walked Sam back downstairs. Marysue and R.J. had fallen asleep on opposite ends of the couch. The television whispered to itself.

Nikki was silent as they stood in the hall at the front door and she listened to Kovac run through his thoughts on Kyle’s chronology of events, what he wanted to clarify, who they needed to talk to. He wanted to go back over all the video from the Rock & Bowl, from the Holiday station. He wanted to speak again to Christina Warner, but he knew Michael Warner wouldn’t allow it. He wanted to know what Penny Gray had said that had flipped Christina’s switch.

It was all just noise in the background. She felt as if she were hearing him from far away. A weird numbness ran through her like some kind of IV lidocaine.

Kovac finally hooked a knuckle under her chin and picked her head up. She expected to see irritation, but that wasn’t it at all. She saw concern and caring.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m sorry this is hitting where you live, Tinks.”

Pain shivered through the numbness. “It’s hard,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said. “Let me give you that hug you asked for.”

And she put her head against his chest and let him hold her for a long, quiet time.

•   •   •

AFTER SAM HAD GONE, Nikki went back up the stairs to knock once more on Kyle’s door.

He tucked his phone under his pillow as she let herself into his room. He sat on his bed, backed up against the headboard, looking forlorn. Nikki sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I’m so sorry about your friend,” she said softly.

“We weren’t really friends,” he said. “Gray didn’t really have friends like other people. She was kind of . . . alone . . . inside herself.”

Like you, Nikki thought. Locked up inside himself, careful not to let anybody in too far.

“I knew her,” he said. “We hung out sometimes. She was cool in a lot of ways.”

“Yeah? Like how?”

“With her poetry, and wanting people to just be who they are and let other people do their own thing.”

That would appeal to Kyle, she thought. He had always marched to his own drummer, even when he was small. He had always been sensitive to the feelings of other kids, had always spent much time in thought and contemplation.

He reached under his pillow and pulled out his phone. He tapped on the screen and navigated his way to what he wanted.

“She was always making videos with her phone,” he said. “She shot this one during the writer’s workshop and sent it to me.”

He touched Play and showed Nikki the screen. “We had to interview each other about what made us want to be writers.”

The camera focused first on Gray as she introduced herself and explained the purpose of the interview. Then she turned the camera on Kyle while he answered the question. He fidgeted and looked away and scowled, never liking to have his picture taken or to have the moment captured on a video. Gray came back on the screen while she answered. She spoke about how it made her feel to write a poem—like she was opening a window to her soul and letting the feelings escape. Sometimes they were good feelings, and sometimes they weren’t. Sometimes it felt as if she opened a vein and bled the words out.

Nikki watched with a sad heart, wishing she could have known this girl, wishing some adult in Penny Gray’s life would have cared enough to help her, to listen to her troubles and try to understand. She remembered herself at that age, feeling lost and misunderstood. It was hard to be sixteen, when every little thing seemed a matter of life and death, and the future was too far away to believe none of the immediate crises would mean much at all. She hadn’t gotten that kind of understanding from her own mother, and neither had Penny Gray.

She handed the phone back to Kyle as the video ended. “You know, I’m proud of you for sticking up for her the way you did that night at the Rock and Bowl.”

He shrugged one shoulder, looking down. “It’s not right to hit a girl. None of that was right.”

“The other girl, Brittany, do you know her very well?”

“I thought I did.” He sighed. “People are disappointing.”

“They can be. It’s not always easy to do the right thing. Sometimes it’s not so easy to know what the right thing is. Sometimes we just do the best that we can.”

He shook his head a little. “Sometimes people just do what’s easy or what other people want them to. For all the wrong reasons.”

She couldn’t argue.

“I wish I could have stopped Gray that night,” he said, his eyes filling with tears. “If I could have caught her before she drove out, maybe she’d still be alive.”

Nikki put a hand on his forearm and squeezed. “You can’t think that way, Kyle. A lot of things happened that night. That was just the last one that you know of.

“It’s like in a football game when the kicker misses that last-second field goal and everybody wants to blame him for losing the game. But there were a thousand things that happened before that moment that could have changed everything. Nobody thinks about those moments. A missed catch, a bad tackle, a penalty that shouldn’t have happened. All of those things were equally crucial. They just weren’t the last thing that happened.

“So maybe, yes, if you had caught Gray before she left, if you had gotten in the car with her, maybe she’d be alive today—or maybe you’d both be gone. But there are a lot of other maybes. Maybe if the girls hadn’t gotten into a fight. Maybe if your friend Brittany had made a better choice. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

“There are so many maybes,” she said. “Maybe if we could have solved this killer’s first murder or second. Maybe if he had turned left instead of right at an intersection he never would have met your friend. It’s not just about what you did or didn’t do, or what I did or didn’t do, or even what Gray did or didn’t do.