Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
He doesn’t ask me to stay when I turn toward the door. I would tell him no, needing to lick these freshly opened wounds in private, but I am hit with a little disappointment.
The living room is filled with people when we leave the conference room, but I lock my eyes on the front door, refusing to look at them. No one sneers at me or stops us to question why the cop that ruined their camping trip is here. Conversations don’t even pause as we walk past.
Maddox takes my hand before I can climb into my car, but I still can’t manage to make eye contact with him. There’s something about the way he listened to every word I spoke, not once interjecting an opinion or arguing with my suspicions like everyone else always has. He never once made me think he was just biding his time until I left because I was insane and so close to my sister’s case that I couldn’t make unbiased conclusions.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says, squeezing my hand.
After a half of a second, he releases it, and I feel a little bereft.
“Be safe.”
I nod, climbing into my car when he opens the door.
I don’t know how to feel. I’m torn between being appreciative for him listening and still offering to help, but when I drive away, I also feel like maybe he was doing what a lot of people do when faced with someone they believe is crazy, just nodding and agreeing until they have a chance to escape.
By the time I make it back to the police department, I’ve already determined that Sawyer Maddox is no different from anyone else I’ve asked to help me truly solve my sister’s case. He just happened to do it in the most manipulative way ever, and somehow that’s worse than if he would’ve told me to fuck off right to my face.
Chapter 16
Ugly
I’ve lifted my eyes to the damn door every time it has opened for the last two hours, but Lennox hasn’t been the one to step through. Yesterday was the same.
I could tell she needed some time alone to lick the wounds reopened after telling me everything about her sister’s case. I could also tell that she expected me to repeat what everyone else has told her in the past, to let it go, to move on, that Niers didn’t have an accomplice, that he wasn’t mentally well.
I’m torn, wanting to look at the case file firsthand rather than it being relayed through her no matter how well versed she is with the details. I don’t want to be too quick to agree or disagree. I know what it’s like to have a gut feeling about something with no real evidence to back it up. Those instincts have saved my life more than once, and I’d be a fool to argue that she isn’t capable of having them herself.
Staying away yesterday and all day today was purposeful. I had my own wounds to lick. I knew she only came to me because her boss has shut her down so many times and she doesn’t feel as if there’s anyone in her department willing to use the energy it would take to come to the same conclusion she has. Then again, there’s the very real possibility that over the last fifteen years, someone else has determined exactly what everyone keeps telling her and she just can’t accept the truth. It’s possible there are questions that will never be answered because the rest of the truth died with Niers in that jail cell.
The idea pains me for what it means for Lennox because I doubt she’ll give up, no matter what evidence she’s presented with that would prove the evil man worked alone.
I agreed to help, but I doubt I can. I’m not a cop. I wouldn’t even know how to investigate a crime that happened over fifteen years ago. I don’t know that there’s anything anyone can do that hasn’t already been done, but the chances of Elizabeth Burr’s murder being connected have to be slim, right?
If someone killed two women that long ago and got away with it, what are the chances they came back to the same damn town and started doing it again?
I’m lost in my head for hours, the beer I ordered when I got here now warm and undrinkable. I stick around after closing just like I’ve done every night Rochelle has been left to work alone. I questioned Drake about the schedule the other night, wondering why she’d be the one to close, but he argued that she wants to close. Tips at closing are better than when folks come in and have a drink or two then leave. I begin to wonder how a little more money could make such a big difference when her safety could be in danger, but her choices aren’t my business. All I can do is make sure the woman gets home safely like I’ve been doing.