Appendix T—Facebook Post
News 8 San Diego
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The remains of a human body were found in a burning Ford Taurus on Fiesta Island early Monday. Used matches found at the scene suggest the blaze was premeditated. Police are investigating a possible connection to a severed arm discovered Sunday morning two miles from where the car was found.
CHAPTER 34
What had Emmett been thinking when he submitted that health journal?
Perhaps some part of him wanted to be caught, to be taken off the streets before he could hurt someone else. To relieve himself of the anxiety that churned through him like a stomach bug, sending him running to throw up several times a day.
Frankly, Emmett was surprised the police hadn’t yet connected him to the car or the charred fragments of bone and teeth they’d found inside it. Before dumping the car, he’d done everything he could think of to make it untraceable—removed the license plates with a screwdriver from home, destroyed anything that contained his name—but surely he was missing something. Surely it was just a matter of time before the police came beating down his door, and then what would he say to Lizette?
He sensed she already doubted his story of having gotten into a car wreck leaving work and miraculously walked away with just a few bruises. She bombarded him with questions the moment he walked in: Why hadn’t he texted her as soon as it happened? Why hadn’t he called her to come pick him up? Where was his car now?
“What? You’re not even gonna have a mechanic look at it?” she said when he told her it was being towed to the scrapyard.
“I did.” Emmett opened the fridge, mostly to avoid her scrutiny. “The mechanic said it was totaled. Do we have anything to eat?”
“You said you came straight home.”
“Lizette!” He slammed the door. “I’ve just been through a traumatic experience. Why are you giving me a hard time?”
“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to understand what happened.” She sighed and pulled him into a hug, not even complaining that she could feel his bones. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Want me to drive through somewhere?”
He nodded, childlike.
She picked up Mexican and they ate it on the couch watchingFriends. It felt surreal, the mundane, momentary relief of it, given all that he still had to do.
Six hours later, while Lizette slept, Emmett took her keys, drove her SUV back to the island, and finished the job.
He’d only left the car parked there, in the dirt shoulder along the bay on the south side of the peninsula, where no one would notice the smell or the flies. Upon returning, he packed in the bloody clothes, bed linens, and cleaning supplies he still needed to get rid of from earlier; doused them and the body in cooking oil and paper towels (a suitable substitute for lighter fluid, he read in incognito mode); and tossed in a flaming match before jumping back into the SUV. The tires kicked up a dust cloud as he peeled away from the blaze in the rearview mirror.
That took care of the evidence—all but the bloodstains in his bedroom carpet, which he hid under piles of dirty laundry and got out the following day with a rented carpet cleaner. But even then, Emmett felt far from safe. He had half a mind to pack a bag and skip town, maybe even cross the border. But if the police were looking his way, surely running would make him only more suspicious?
Also there was Aaron to think about, and the museum job: the promise of his new life glistening on the horizon, so close he could almost reach out and grab it.
He couldn’t throw all that away. He would carry on as if nothing was wrong. Perhaps in time he might start to believe it himself.
Assuming this doesn’t keep happening.
Pushing the thought away, he texted Aaron about his conversation with Rick and his immediate separation from Target. Perhaps there was a chance Emmett could start at the museum immediately. The sooner his life got back to normal, the safer he’d feel.
A minute later his phone buzzed, but the message was from Lizette.
WTF is this??? Are you lying to me? You better not be fucking lying to me
Attached to the message was a link to a News 8 Facebook post, the preview photo showing the smoking husk of Emmett’s burned-out Taurus.
Fuck!
The phone began to vibrate. Lizette was calling. Dread trickled through him, greasing his insides like an internal hemorrhage, but there’d be hell to pay if he ignored her.
He answered. “Okay, just listen—”
