Page 41 of Girl, Remembered

‘This is… strange.’

‘Strange? Mia, I thought you’d be as pissed off as I am. What if Dever has been a part of this the whole time?’

She felt almost absurd saying it, but she couldn’t deny the evidence, circumstantial as it was. Dever had been quick to insert himself into this investigation. He’d done very little to actually help catch Doyle. He’d known about the tracker inside Ella’s pistol. He’d been quick to try and label the three homicides this morning as unrelated to Doyle. He seemed to forget certain details of the case – like Ella’s hair being used in the original murders, and two of Doyle’s disciples killing themselves – at convenient opportunities. Ella had labelled it as stupidity, but perhaps it was by design.

‘Dark, I hate the guy. I really do. But this is pure tinfoil hat. Dever’s an idiot who failed upward. He’s not part of some conspiracy with America’s most wanted fugitive. Why would he do that? What would he gain? The man is just thanking his lucky stars he’s got a job.’

‘Then why didn’t he mention this? Call me crazy, but saving the killer you’re supposed to be chasing when they were a kid seems like the kind of thing you’d mention, right?’

‘Well, yeah, but Dever has the memory of a goldfish. He might not even remember. Doyle might not even remember. You don’t remember the names of cops who save you, especially when you’re – what, twelve?’

Ella didn’t like the holes Ripley was poking in her theory. Even so, theorizing could only take a person so far. Ella wanted answers, and only two people could give them. One was currently hiding somewhere, and one was apparently at his house.

‘Dever’s address,’ she yelled. ‘Do you have it?’

‘No. Why would I have it?’

‘Isn’t it on the system anywhere?’

‘No. He’s not a criminal. And I’m not sure if you noticed, but Dever doesn’t exactly invite me to his birthday parties.’

Ella’s attention caught on the sentence. He doesn’t invite me to his birthday parties.

‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Yes he does.’

‘What?’

‘He does invite you. He invited both of us to his birthday at his house back in April. We didn’t go because we were on a case. Remember?’

‘No?’

‘Check your email.’

‘I’m checking my email, Dark, give me a second, I don’t live in my inbox like some people.’ A pause, keys clattering somewhere on Ripley’s end, the small tinny sound of a browser tab loading. ‘Okay. I see it. April fourth. Terrance Dever is fifty, apparently. Burgers, beer, bring nothing.’

‘That’s it. Is there an address on it?’

‘1417 Coppice Way, Great Falls, Virginia.’

‘Great Falls? I know it well.’ Ella pulled over and jabbed the address into her GPS. It was eighteen miles out, according to the little blue line that redrew itself the second she hit enter, curling off Pennsylvania Avenue and out toward the Beltway, away from every direction she’d actually been driving. ‘I’m headed there now.’

No response from down the line.

‘Mia? Are you still there?’

‘Yeah, it’s just…’

‘Just what?’

Ripley said, ‘Dark, I’m coming with you.’

‘No, don’t. You nearly killed him this morning, and that was before all of this. God knows what you’d do if he confessed.’

‘Seriously. I’m just looking at these emails now and… people sent pictures of the party. After it happened.’

Ella wasn’t following. ‘And?’

‘And just behind Dever’s garden. There’s a pond. About fifty feet wide.’