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Two months after the murders, Dan Holland arranged for Geneva to submit to a polygraph. It was just a one-sentence line in the report. It could mean so many things. But as I ran my finger across the page and tapped on four words typed in bold, I read them out loud.

“Polygrapher’s Conclusion: Deception Indicated.”

“She failed,” Dad said. “Good lord, Mercy. Geneva Bell failed a polygraph.”

Chapter

Twelve

A client update. That’s all this meeting was supposed to be. Geneva knew I’d flown out to meet with Dan Holland. Did she have any idea Holland felt so strongly about her role in the killings?

She had to. He’d submitted her to a polygraph. A detail she failed to mention to me every other time we spoke.

Now, Geneva sat in my office looking even more scared than the first time I met her. She fidgeted with her skirt. Smoothing it out, dusting off a piece of lint. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“How are you?” I asked. If she told me she was fine, I knew she’d be lying. What else had she lied to me about?

“I’m falling apart,” she said. She pulled out her phone and opened her voice messaging app. She showed me three new voicemails from an unknown caller. She played the most recent one.

“You’re still beautiful, Geneva. Atrō te benedicto. What’s dead cannot die.”

“The others are in the same vein,” she said. “I don’t like to leave the house. The other night when I went to the post office for my dad, I felt like someone was watching me. There was this man on the sidewalk. I couldn’t see his face. He wore a hoodie pulled tight around his head. Then, later, when I came out of the library, I saw him again.”

“You can’t tell me what he looked like? Did he say anything? Did he approach you?”

“No,” she said. “I know it sounds crazy.”

“If you feel unsafe, we need to get the police involved, Geneva.”

“No,” she said quickly and sat upright in her chair.

“Why?” I said. “Is there a reason you’re afraid of the cops? If there’s anything you’re keeping from me, you need to come clean about it now.”

“There’s nothing,” she said. “I swear. But what are you keeping from me? I know something’s different. You didn’t call me the day you said you were getting back from Florida. You said you would. What did Detective Holland say about me?”

An odd way to phrase it. She didn’t ask me about the case. She asked me whether he’d said something about her specifically.

“What was your impression of him, Detective Holland?” I asked.

“I don’t really have one. He was blunt, I guess. But I suppose he had to be. He thought I could help him. I wish I could have. At least more than I did.”

“Geneva, why didn’t you tell me you took a lie detector test?”

She blinked.

“I have a copy of the official police file on the Deadwater Lake case. It’s all in there. You submitted to a poly.”

“I did? I don’t remember that. I talked to so many deputies and agents. They all asked the same questions. It’s a blur.”

“A polygraph isn’t like a regular interview. You would have been strapped with sensors. Machines. You’re telling me you don’t remember that?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I mean, maybe. I know they wanted me to talk to a counselor. I did that too.”

Was this a convenient lapse in memory from a trauma survivor? Or was this an outright lie as well?

“You failed it,” I said, my tone flat.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember that. Are you saying Detective Holland thinks I was lying? About what?”