Halligan escorts us from the interview room and pushes open the door to the still-empty lobby. “Thank you for coming at such short notice,” he says. “And let’s keep this under wraps for now.”
“Of course,” Logan tells him. “But we’d love to hear your take on it.”
“I’d say what we’ve heard is critical information. If her story checks out and she’s correct about Ruck, it puts him not simply in the area that week but a short distance from Pebble Creek Park and on the prowl for potential victims ... I’ll follow up with you when I know more, okay?”
“Can you just tell me,” I say. “Did Riley ever get to go back to college for a degree?”
“No, that wasn’t in the cards for her. But she’s the manager of a small insurance agency in Buffalo, and I sense she’s worked hard to put her life back together.”
We nod sober goodbyes and depart. As we cross the parking lot toward the car, Logan lightly clasps my arm, a gesture of support, and I’m too unsettled right now to shrug it off.
“So, what do you think?” he asks as soon as he’s navigated the car out of the parking lot.
“You first,” I tell him.
“Well, as Halligan suggested, it seems to confirm that Ruck was on a killing spree in Cartersville, making it easier to assume that Mel was one of his victims—and that he was lying his ass off when he told David Schmidt he didn’t do it. I’m pissed, though. What happened toRiley Reynolds is horrific, but Christ, if she’d reported the crime at the time, the police here wouldn’t have spent nearly a month spinning their wheels—and Amanda Kline might still be alive.”
“I know.” The truth of that has just started sinking in for me.
“Your turn now.”
“Okay ... I’m having trouble with her story.”
He jerks his head so he’s got me in his line of sight. “You think she’s wrong about Ruck?”
“Maybe. All I know is that something felt off to me.” And then, right there in the car, I put my finger on why. “She looked away a couple of times as she was sharing information—like she was being evasive.”
Logan’s in profile now, but I see his brows shoot up in surprise. “Wait, are you saying sheliedto us?”
I shrug, at a loss. “At certain moments, it seemed that way. Remember that time Mel’s senior year in high school, when you and I went out of town one Saturday night, and her friend Hadley was going to stay over, and we came back to find Mel had broken her foot? She told us this whole saga about how she and Hadley were moving the couch and it slipped out of their hands. But there was something evasive about her, and it turned out she’d thrown a party that night, and someone had dropped a case of beer on her foot. That’s what today felt like—though I can’t imaginewhyRiley would lie.”
“A desperate need for attention?”
“That would be pretty darn desperate.”
I glance out the window. We’re on the highway now, and I let the cars and signs all fuzz together, losing myself in the blur. Another memory suddenly stirs.
“What if she’s having some kind of mental health crisis?” I say. “Years ago, I edited a book on false memories—it was around the time when there was all that backlash about people claiming things about their parents that weren’t true—and I remember the author, a shrink, saying that people who suffered from PTSD or depressionsometimes created false memories after they became exposed to certain information, like a news story.”
“Meaning she mightbelieveit happened to her even if it didn’t.”
“Right. Let’s say something horrible occurred when she was in college, so devastating that she felt the need to drop out of school, and she’s never really dealt with the trauma. Then she sees that Mel’s case might be reopened, and from there she reads up on the trial and what the women experienced, and she starts imagining she’s a victim of the same kind of crime.”
“We should run that by Halligan.”
I appreciate Logan hearing me out, keeping an open mind, but at the same time I know I’m grasping at straws.
“Of course, maybe I just read Riley the wrong way. I—I was in a bit of state, hearing all those horrible details and thinking about Mel.”
“I know, me too,” he says grimly. “And Riley might have seemed evasive only out of shame or embarrassment. On the other hand, that doesn’t mean you should totally dismiss what you’re feeling, Bree. Who knows, maybe you’ve got some kind of mother’s intuition going on right now, and you need to pay attention to it.”
I press a hand to my cheek, caught off guard by the comment. I’m not sure how to reply.
“Hmm” is all I manage.
“At least Halligan sounds like he plans to check out her story.”
“Right. And I think I would be fine if I just had some kind of corroboration.”
