My phone sat untouched for twelve hours. I never considered what it would mean if it showed nothing. No movement. No activity. A complete dead zone. That in and of itself seems like a red flag.
Another form of proof that works is a witness who would testify they were with you when the crime was committed. All the legal sites I visited actually consider this the weaker form of evidence, since the witness’s character comes into question, like whether they’re a reliable witness or have anything to gain from giving the alibi.
I have this.
Kinda.
My housemates were with me in the earlier part of the day but what they were helping me do wouldn’t make any of us look good. Any of them, especially Deacon, would lie and say I was home that night, but since I basically live with a house full of criminals, I’m not sure anyone would believe them. And I don’t want to drag them into this in any more than I already have.
I can show proof I visited Angola. But there’s a problem there too. First, Ben was still alive while I was there, so it doesn’t really help. Plus, given that I was there to visit Paul and who Paul was to me and what I believe Ben did, it only adds to motive for me, not alibi.
And then there’s the issue of Chantilly’s. Silas Everett was there too, and he would one hundred percent say he was there with Camille, not me.
I’m so screwed.
“You look like you’re up to no good.”
I spin around quickly and let out a squeak of surprise when I see Deacon standing a few feet behind me.
“You scared me!” I decide to ignore his comment.
He comes closer and now we’re both standing side by side, looking down at the laptop. “Do I even want to know what you’re doing right now?”
“I’m being proactive. I’ve been googling Ben ever since Camille showed up at Doug’s. I even mapped his address and which bus would get me closest to their house before I decided to confront her outside her Junior League meeting. So I’m going to destroy the laptop so no one ever knows. You know, in case someone comes looking.” We both know that “someone” would be the cops.
Deacon is quiet next to me. I’m expecting him to tell me this is another dumb idea, but he surprises me. “How are you thinking you want to do it?”
I let out a laugh. “What I’m thinking is about all the ways the internet says people mess up trying to destroy stuff like this. It’s harder than you think to get rid ofeverythingon a computer. And now I’ve got that on my internet search history too.”
He crouches down and studies it like it’s some bomb ready to explode. “What if we lit it on fire?”
“I thought of that, but what I read said even if you burn it, there’s still a chance of partial recovery. We would have to incinerate it. Like they do dead bodies when they’re cremated.” I turn to look at him. “You know anyone in the funeral home business?”
Now it’s his turn to laugh. “No, sorry, can’t help you there. What about water?”
I shrug. “Some sites say there could be partial recovery there as well. Apparently, retrieval technology is badass. I don’t want to do anything where I risk partial recovery. And before you say it, I know I’m overthinking this. I should just go throw it in the river but I can’t. That seems…too easy and therefore not good enough.” I pause a moment, then add, “The only thing I found that seemed promising is to somehow shred the inner components, especially the hard drive, into itty-bitty pieces.”
He looks at me, giving me a crooked smile. “Then we’re going to need a big hammer.” Deacon gets up then turns around, walking to his vehicle while I follow behind him.
“Do I want to know why you have a big hammer in the back of your car?”
He shakes his head. “No, you probably don’t.”
Deacon opens the back door and I spot a large toolbox next to a black duffel bag.
“I probably don’t want to know what’s in that bag either,” I say.
He turns toward me. “You’re really thinking the worst of me today,” he says with a laugh. “I’m not driving around town collecting dead bodies.”
“I don’t know what you do!” I gesture to his overall physique. “But I do know you use this big body to scare the shit out of people and you know it too.”
Deacon chuckles…actually chuckles at my description of him. “Okay, fair.”
He grabs a hammer that’s about three times the size of a regular one and walks back to where the laptop is waiting.
“Oh, I can do it. I wouldn’t want you to be an accessory.”
Deacon rolls his eyes. “An accessory? To what? An extreme amount of internet searches?”
