I’ve barely dropped the phone back in my purse when a tall man in a dark-blue suit and tie enters the living room and introduces himself as Detective Pendergrass. He’s about forty-five, a little husky, with blond hair styled in a buzz cut. Hilary quickly describes her relationship to Riley, our concerns when she didn’t respond to phone calls, and our efforts to save her. She offers up the reasons we both have doubts she took her own life, including the detail about the mugs.
Pendergrass nods, not giving anything away.
“I’ll need to speak to each of you at much greater length,” he says, “but it’s best if we can do it at the station. Plus, we’ll be better able to examine the scene once you’ve vacated the premises.”
Hilary’s body sags in frustration. She reiterates that she’s an attorney and nearly begs him to let us give statements at the house so she can call her nephew from here the moment she’s able to. She asks if the two of us can wait on the patio until he’s ready to speak to us.
The detective relents, and after Hilary grabs her coat, we exit through the main bedroom and take seats at either end of the patio. And then we wait—endlessly, it seems.Who did this to Riley?I keep asking myself.Will we ever know?
It’s twilight by the time we see Pendergrass again. He asks Hilary to come inside first and tells me he’ll be back in a bit. I’m left to hang out alone in the chilly air, staring into the darkening woods and doing my best not to lose my mind. Bas must be sitting down to dinner right now, with a fire blazing in the hearth. What a fool I was to come to Cartersville without him. I might have been a fool to come at all.
Pendergrass finally returns for me, shows me to a seat back in the living room, and opens his notebook. He’s courteous enough, but at the same time he seems slightly wary of me—and how can I blame him? Hilary must have explained who I am and why I showed up here. He starts by asking me to describe the scene in the den, what I touched, and what my CPR efforts consisted of. I answer carefully, trying to keep my emotions under control, but a couple of times my voice quavers.
As we’re speaking, Hilary’s voice suddenly intrudes from the bedroom. She must have been given permission to contact her relatives, and I overhear not only her anguished words but also faint cries of despair from the other end of the line.
Pendergrass plows ahead, now asking about my relationship with Riley, and I relate the reason I came today. I end by urging him to call Halligan, who, I explain, has been handling the investigation regarding Mel.
“Detective Halligan has no idea you showed up here today?” he asks, practically scowling.
“I hadn’t alerted him to my concerns yet,” I say. “It seemed premature.”
Finally, mercifully, Pendergrass says I’m free to go. Hilary has emerged from the bedroom, her face stained with tears, and as soon as I’m up from the couch, I approach her and ask if she’s going to be okay alone here.
“A friend is picking me up and taking me to her house for the night,” she says.
I nod and touch the edge of her sleeve, heartbroken for her and still churning with a vague sense of guilt. Is this somehow all on me? “Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” I say. Though I can’t imagine how I could possibly help.
Pendergrass leads me out, and I avert my gaze as we pass the corridor to the den. Stepping outside, I see that the ambulance is gone, though there are several police vehicles parked in the driveway. I pause on the lawn to take a breath and then call Craig, who miraculously says he can have a driver here in twenty minutes.
Next, I try Logan, who answers on the first ring. “Bree, please tell me you’re okay,” he demands.
“Yeah—just really shaken. I went to meet with Riley this afternoon, and Hilary and I found her hanging from a door.”
I choke a little over the last words.
“Christ. You’re still there?”
“Yes, but all done with the police now.”
“Let me come get you.”
“I’ve already ordered a taxi, and he’s closer than you. Have you reached Halligan yet? He needs to know about this as soon as possible.”
“I’ve left two messages, but I haven’t heard back yet. You really think this was a homicide?”
“Yes, and ... I think it could be related to Mel’s case.”
“How?”
“I’m not sure, but like I told you in the text, Riley lied about the date of her attack. It happened six days earlier.”
“So that’s why she seemed evasive to you.”
“Right. And she apparently told someone right after it happened—maybe a friend or someone with the school, and that person might have told people, too. Which means the details about her assault were out there four days before Mel died.”
He’s silent for a couple of beats, probably worried I’m still struggling to accept the truth.
“Are we talking again about a possible copycat? AboutJack?”
