I stop pacing and refocus on Greene. She says, “What was the sketchbook being used for? Did you or Ridgeway use it to draw Crosbie Mitchell’s face?”
Lasserio thinks before flashing a wicked grin. “What makes the stupid bitch think she’d get on some national killer’s hit list anyway? She think she’s that important?”
They hate me enough to do it, butdidthey? Did they draw me and have the smarts to put it on the web without the FBI being able to trace them? I have a sinking feeling that they didn’t, that the real CA is out there. The one who drew my face, my earrings.
“Does that mean you’re admitting that you guys copied the killer—that you and Ridgeway put out the sketch yourselves?”
He continues to smile slyly. “I think I’m done talking now. Don’t I get a phone call?”
Chapter 48
Thestupid bitchisn’t unhappy, but she’s nowhere near relieved, either.
This might all stem from Ridgeway and his men and not from the real McCoy CA, which would be a huge relief, but there’s still no way to know for certain. A wicked grin and a call to an attorney is no proof of anything.
Alderson and Greene tell me that Lasserio has alibis for both of the CA’s first two killings, that they are still doing a thorough analysis of those claims. They feel confident that Lasserio is telling the truth based on what they know already about his whereabouts on the key dates, but all this means is that they’re not the original CA. It doesn’t prove they didn’t copy the CA to scare me, to get away with murdering me and pinning it on the original.
My hands are bundled in tight fists as I listen. My shoulders taut. I hadn’t realized how much I’ve been clinging to the idea that my sketch came from Lasserio and Ridgeway.
Because it lets me off the hook.
But still, it doesn’t make complete sense. “What about the earrings?” I ask. “How could Ridgeway know about them? I only began working on this case this summer, and Fiona has had my earrings since the winter.”
“We found it on Fiona’s husband’s Instagram account,” says Alderson. “What’s his name? Trey?”
“Yes.”
“It was the same photo Fiona sold to the press. Of you at the banquet.”
“I searched my name’s images and nothing under Trey came up.”
“Different search engines produce varying results,” Alderson says. “Some turn up more options.”
I’m angry at myself for not checking more closely, but I exhale a sigh of relief. It could still be Ridgeway. “I searched Fiona’s and other friends’ accounts but didn’t check on Trey’s. I didn’t know he had one.” I pick up my phone.
“Don’t bother,” Alderson says. “He’s deleted it since, but it was a photo of you and Fiona holding up champagne flutes, your earrings sparkling. The press could have found it themselves with a more thorough search. And Ridgeway certainly could have, too.”
Could it really be this simple? That Ridgeway found the photo online? That I won’t have to confess? That the real CA isn’t after me and it’s just Ridgeway fucking with me?
If so, then why is my chest tightening like it’s in a car crusher? I’ve been moving closer and closer to the idea that I not onlyneedto unburden my conscience, but that I almostwantto, like it’s this looming, unbearably steep ridgeline that I must climb.
If it’s Ridgeway and not the CA, I could simply turn back now. My mind seesaws back and forth.
Not confessing at all no longer feels right. But fessing up hurts Jess. And lands me in jail.
I close my eyes, and when I open them, Alderson is watching me. “What?” he asks.
“Nothing.” But itissomething. The waffling subsides. A strong urge takes its place, hitting me square on, right in the middle of the county building in the interrogation room where I endured a follow-up inquiry about Coleman and Railes, where it all really began to go sour for me.
I need to come clean, even if I am only the target of a couple of idiotic copycats. I can’t go on living a lie, despite the consequences.
The possibility of going to jail sends my heart right to my throat, but it’s dawning on me that I might not have a choice in the matter if I’m to have any kind of a shot at a quality existence, or even a life at all if Ridgeway and Lasserio are not responsible for this and the CA is still after me. What would life be like for Jess and Sam without me around? Would it be better? Would it be worse for Sam if Jess falls deeper into depression with me no longer there to pick up the pieces?
It all breaks my heart in two, but it’s my last day. I have to quit wavering and make a choice. I need to hold strong. I decide none of it should alter my plan to confess. I commit myself to following through no matter how much I’m tempted to weasel out of it ...
Alderson tells me that they plan on having Greene stay the night at my house and upping the manpower to four deputies around my place instead of two, to be on the safe side. They tell me this is not a discussion, and I tell him that I’m more than happy for the extra security, still keenly aware of what happened to Deputy Zane.
Alderson looks at me with wide puppy eyes, wanting me to say something more, but he won’t ask if I’m going to confess. I know he won’t. He’s too respectful of my situation. He and Greene both.
