“She was talking about her shampoo again, and something else about a dress being moved. I completely brushed her off.”
Boone squeezes my fingers, which are still clutched in his hand. “You can’t blame anyone for what happened other than the person who did this to Hayzel. You never could have known what was going to happen.”
“I still could have listened to her,” I argue. I can’t count how many times since her death I’ve thought something was out of place or missing. It forces me to think about how hard it must have been for her to keep trying to tell me, considering my unconcerned reaction. I haven’t even told Livy about my own concerns because I don’t want her to think I’m going crazy.
His lips thin in a way that makes me think he has something else to say on the matter, but instead he prompts me to continue with my story. “She didn’t answer at ten. What happened after that?”
“I finished my shift, clocked out at 11:37. I only know the exact time because the police showed me my time sheet when they were questioning me. Anyway, I drove straight home when I left work. I think it was probably a fifteen minute drive, give or take, depending on traffic.
“I called 911 at 12:03. I got that from my phone log. It felt like it took them forever to show up, but the operator made me stay on the phone with her the whole time, and my call history says the call to emergency only lasted nine minutes. I can’t tell you what I did in those nine minutes. It’s all a blur. You might be able to gain access to the recording, but they won’t release it to me since the case is still open.”
“Tell me about when you arrived home. Was the door locked? Was anything out of place?”
I pull my hand from Boone’s and lower my head in shame. “No, the door wasn’t locked. It rarely was. So stupid, I know.” I don’t try to validate the ignorance in any way. It was naïve andlazy. There were times when I would get irritated at Hayzel for locking the doors because I would have to dig through my bag to find my keys. It makes me hate myself a little.
“What about the rest of the house? Any signs someone had been there?”
“I didn’t notice anything until I got to her room. The door was open, and her door was never open anymore. If it hadn’t been, I might have just walked right past to my room and…” I can’t bring myself to say that I might have gone to bed with my sister lying in bed on the other side of the wall in a pool of her own blood.
“I remember being relieved for like half a second, thinking that maybe she went out with friends, and she was getting better, but then I got closer to her door, and the smell hit me.” I shake my head, wishing I could forget the overwhelming scent, slightly sweet like raw meat that had been left out on the counter for too long and the strong odor of metal. My brain recognized something was wrong way before I put the pieces together. I couldn’t figure out why my hand was shaking when I covered my nose and mouth before I called her name and flipped on the light.
Boone’s stool makes a creaking sound when he adjusts in the seat, thankfully pulling me back to the lakeside condo and away from the house that’s often present in my nightmares.
I clear my throat, realizing I’m no longer crying, though my face still feels damp. Voice flat, I continue, “I dropped my bag on the floor. I know that because I had to go back to find my phone a few minutes later. She was still warm when I grabbed her hand, but I already knew she was gone. I still screamed her name and begged her to wake up, even though her eyes were wide open.”
“Her time of death was estimated to have occurred between ten thirty and eleven thirty. Are you sure the killer wasn’t still in the house?”
I blink. No one has ever asked me that before. It takes me a second to think about his question before I can answer it, and when I do, it scares me. “He could have been standing right behind me, and I doubt I would have noticed him. I didn’t even hear the police come in. They had to pull me out of the room because I was just standing there.”
“The timeline is pretty tight, and there was no mention of the police clearing the house until much later, after it was established it was a crime scene,” he says with a clear note of contempt in his tone.
“I’d never thought of it that way. I was too focused on thinking that if I’d left work just a little earlier, I could have stopped it.”
“I think it’s more likely you would have become another victim.” He shuffles the papers again then gives me his full attention. “I don’t have full access to the case, specifically the lead investigator’s notes, but I don’t necessarily agree with some of the preliminary findings that have been noted.”
“Like what?” I peer down at the papers, wondering if he would be willing to let me read through them.
“Well, to start, they noted the fact that there wasn’t any evidence of forced entry three times, but there’s no mention that the door was often left unlocked. That could be something the lead investigator took into consideration, but without his findings, it’s hard to say.” He shuffles a few pages to the side until he lands on another. “And from the dates on this report, they didn’t bring a forensic team in for nearly four days.”
“Yeah, and during that time, the roommates and I don’t know who else was in and out of there.”
“Come again?”
“They didn’t lock it up or put any of that tape over the doors like you see on TV, and both of our roommates pretty much moved out during that time. Nobody wanted to stay there afterwhat happened, which I totally understand, but I don’t think they should have been able to get in and take their stuff out, not until it was checked for evidence.”
Boone shakes his head and mutters a harsh curse.
“When I asked what the delay was and why they were allowed to remove things from the house, I was mostly dismissed. When I pushed, one of the officers finally admitted there was a little snafu with jurisdiction. The house was technically on campus, so the police had to get some kind of paperwork before they could get in and do a full investigation.”
“That takes hours, not days.” He sounds just as frustrated as I felt at the time.
“Yeah, well, I don’t think either one of them were in a big hurry to get it done. I think they both would have liked to pretend it never happened. A dead girl, amurderedgirl, isn’t good for property values or college admission rates.”
He flicks the papers away from his fingers before falling back into the stool. “That seriously complicates things.”
“I thought so too.”
“You didn’t mention any of that at the podcast.” I can tell he’s questioning why. I’ve thought about it, thought about going to the media and blasting both the school and the local police department, but if there’s one thing my granny taught me, it’s that you get more flies with honey than you do vinegar.
