“She wasn’t Erin,” I said quietly.
“No.”
I nodded once and stared down at my hands.“I know.I mean, I knew that.I saw enough to know.”
Push stayed quiet.
I appreciated that.
Some people tried to fill silence because it made them uncomfortable.Push didn’t seem uncomfortable with silence.
“What about the others?”I asked.“Any other women?”
“One.”
I looked up sharply.“One?”
He nodded once.
“Could she have been Erin?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
No hesitation.
No softening.
Just no.
I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or crushed that he’d answered so fast.
“How do you know?”
“She was identified.Girlfriend of another victim.Mick.”
The name hit something in my memory.“Mick,” I repeated, sitting up a little straighter.“I remember that.”
Push watched me.
“The news covered it,” I said slowly, trying to pull the pieces from the fog of the last few weeks.“Missing guy.Local.There was a woman on TV talking about him.His girlfriend, I guess.She said something bad had happened to him.”
Push nodded.“Yeah.”
“And then?”
His eyes darkened.“Then she was dead two days later.Pearl found her washed up on shore.”
“Jesus,” I whispered.
That image punched through me harder than I expected.
A woman on the news begging for answers and then two days later, dead.Washed up like she meant nothing.
I pressed my fingers to my temple and closed my eyes.“So she wasn’t Erin,” I said.
“No.”
