“It was the way she was acting. She seemed nervous on the ride to the high school.”
“Maybe because you’d asked her to break into her workplace.”
“No, it wasn’t that. I thought she was meeting a
guy. I figured he was in the study group.”
Since the alleged study group had never been located, no one knew who Abby went to meet that night. A lot of people hadn’t believed Shane’s story; they’d assumed that Abby had meant to meet him all along.
Lauren shook her head, feeling even more confused. “I don’t know what to think.”
“If what I omitted would have helped the police find Abby’s killer, I would have told them,” Shane said forcefully. “But it didn’t have any bearing on what happened to her.”
“I’m not sure you can truly know that,” she said, feeling another wave of anger. “Maybe one of the lawyers got mad that she let you into their offices. Maybe you took something and they thought she did it, and one of them killed her.”
“I didn’t take anything, and no one saw us.”
“Mrs. Markham saw you.”
“On the street, and the ice cream parlor was right next to the law building. She assumed we were there.”
“Did Abby know what you were doing in the law offices?”
“No.”
“So why did she do it? She was risking her job. Why would she help you?”
Shane shrugged. “I don’t know.”
He might not, but Lauren did. “Abby liked you. She had a thing for you. Everyone thought so.”
“They were wrong. Even at eighteen, I could tell
when a girl wanted me. Abby didn’t.”
“Abby told me there was someone she liked that she couldn’t have. Who else would it have been but you?”
“I don’t know, but there was nothing between Abby and me—not even the most casual flirtation. I was your boyfriend. She was your sister. I wasn’t interested in her. Abby didn’t betray you.”
She wanted to believe that more than anything. “It wasn’t up to you to decide what was important and what wasn’t. Your first instinct should have been to help me, not protect yourself or whoever it is you care about more than . . .” She stopped, realizing she now had a decision to make. “You took a big chance, confessing to me. It’s not too late for me to go to the police.”
He nodded, his gaze holding hers. “No, it’s not. Was I wrong to tell you, Lauren?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know yet.”
Two hours later, Lauren walked into the Angel’s Bay Police Department and asked to speak to the chief of police. After her trip to the beach, she’d changed into dry clothes and checked in with her dad, who was absorbed in a card game at Dina’s Café, and then headed down the street to the police station. She was still debating what she wanted to say when she was ushered into Joe Silveira’s office.
Chief Silveira hadn’t been in Angel’s Bay when she was growing up, and she liked the fact that he was a recent hire. She needed an objective perspective.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Jamison.” The chief waved her into a chair in front of his desk. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
That wasn’t particularly reassuring. Had Mark Devlin shared his theories with the chief ? “Really? From who?”
“Your father. We both like to have our morning coffee at Dina’s,” he said with an attractive smile.
Joe Silveira was certainly better looking than the last chief of police, with his olive skin, jet black hair, and dark eyes. There was intelligence in those eyes that inspired confidence. Maybe he could help figure out who had killed Abby.
“There’s a movie that’s going to be made about my sister’s murder,” she said. “I’d like to know if the police department is planning to release my sister’s files to this movie producer, or if you’ve done so already.”
“We’re considering what information we might be willing to disseminate.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“Why don’t you tell me what you’re concerned about?”
“I’m worried about my father having to relive the worst night of his life, and my sister’s reputation being shredded by unfounded speculation. I spoke briefly to Mark Devlin and it’s obvious he has a vivid imagination. I want answers, but I want the police to find them—not some Hollywood writer who’s willing to make up whatever scenario will sell the most tickets.”
“I understand your concerns, but Mr. Devlin can make any movie he wants and call it fiction.”
That’s what she was afraid of.
“I’ve read through your sister’s case files,” Joe continued, “and I spoke with Warren Laughton, who was one of the investigating officers. Unfortunately, the chief of police at the time, Howard Smythe, passed away five years ago.”
“Did you learn anything new? Was anything done incorrectly? Were clues overlooked? Were there leads that weren’t followed?”
“Not that I’ve seen so far, but it’s never a bad idea to review a cold case. After a period of years, people remember things they didn’t think were important at the time, or are simply more willing to talk. Unfortunately, the crime scene provided little forensic evidence. There was no evidence of sexual assault, no DNA, no fingerprints.”
She swallowed a knot at the mention of sexual assault. She’d heard that before, but it was nice to have it confirmed. “What about the materials collected at the beach near the Ramsay house?”
“The encampment had remnants of a fire, some food items, no discernible prints, but certainly evidence that someone had camped in the area during the hours related to your sister’s death. Apparently that led to the conclusion that a drifter might have been responsible.”
“That’s what they said, but it never made sense, because Abby wouldn’t have gone to that house alone. It was big, isolated, and creepy.”
“Yet I understand that the local kids used it as a party venue.”
“That’s true, but no one ever went there alone.”
“Your sister wasn’t there alone,” the chief said.
Realizing what he meant, Lauren frowned. Her sister’s killer had been with her. “If Abby went to the house with someone, then she knew the person who killed her. I have a difficult time believing that
anyone who knew Abby would have wanted her dead. She was a young, sweet girl. She had a lot of friends. There was no reason for anyone to kill her.”
“What about your boyfriend, Shane Murray? He was the main person of interest in the case. What can you tell me about his relationship with your sister?”
At her hesitation, Silveira’s gaze turned speculative. “Is there something you want to tell me about Mr. Murray?”
“No,” she said, making an impulsive decision to protect Shane, at least for now. She was probably being a fool, but old habits died hard.
“What about any other male friends your sister might have had?” Joe asked.
“Abby didn’t have a boyfriend that I knew about.” She didn’t like the direction of his questions.
“According to the autopsy report, your sister did not appear to be a virgin.”
Her jaw dropped. “Are you sure?”
He picked up a piece of paper and handed it to her. She skimmed through the scientific jargon, pausing over the words “no hymen present.” She glanced back at the chief. “She never told me that she had sex. She was only fifteen.” She glanced back down at the report, her stomach turning over as she realized just how thoroughly Abby’s body had been examined. She set the paper down with a shaky hand. “I didn’t need to read that.”
“I’m sorry. I should have prepared you.” He gave her a compassionate smile. “What can I do to help you, Ms. Jamison?”
“Refuse to help Mr. Devlin make this movie. Can you prevent him from seeing the files?”
“I can, but to be frank, there’s little in the case files that Mr. Devlin couldn’t find on his own. Your sister’s murder was a rare and tragic occurrence in this town. The newspaper covered the story every day for months. People talked about the case, and a lot of those people still live here.” He paused. “It’s also possible that a reenactment of the crime might provide new leads. Are you sure you want to shut down that possibility?”
She wasn’t sure about anything anymore. “I want justice, but I don’t want my sister’s murder splashed across a movie screen. If you don’t give Mr. Devlin the police file, maybe he’ll lose interest and go away,” she said hopefully. “It would take him twice as long to get the information, and surely there must be easier movies to make.”
The chief gave her a wry smile. “Believe me, I’d love for Mark Devlin to leave town, but I doubt that will happen. I’ll give him a summary of the information, but not all the interview notes. I will also continue to look into the case myself. In fact . . .” He dug through some papers on his desk. “Something did make me curious.”
“What’s that?”
“Your father made a cash deposit into your sister’s account the day of the murder—eight hundred dollars. I noticed that he did not make a similar deposit in either your account or your brother’s.” Joe
looked back at her with a question in his eyes, a question she couldn’t answer.
“I—I didn’t know that.”
“Did Abby work for your dad?”
“No. She liked to fish with him, but neither one of us worked at the bait shop. And Abby was too busy with school, the volleyball team, her friends. Plus, she had another job.”
“That’s right—at a law office,” Joe said. “They always paid her by check. I asked your dad about the deposit, but he said he didn’t remember.”
No? Or had he been unwilling to admit he’d been padding Abby’s bank account? And why would he have done that?
“Your father did tell me that he was saving money to send Abby to college,” Joe continued, “and that if he had put money in her account, it was probably because of that. I guess your sister dreamed of becoming a marine biologist.”
“Yes, Abby wanted to study the ocean and save endangered marine life. She was smart. I think she would have made it.” Lauren paused. “Why did the police look at the bank accounts?”
“Standard procedure.”
“To rule out what?”
“Irregular deposits or withdrawals.”
“But at the time, this deposit didn’t bother anyone?” she asked.
“Well, it’s not unusual for a father to put money into his daughter’s account.”
“Then why did it make you curious?”
“The timing, the fact that it was cash, and a one-time deposit. I went through the statements from the previous year, and I couldn’t find any other deposits to match. It seemed odd.”
“Abby must have done something on the side for my dad, or like he said, he just wanted to put some money toward her college.” The idea of her father giving Abby money on the sly bothered her. She’d been closer to getting out of high school than Abby. Maybe she hadn’t had the big college goals that Abby had had, but she’d had her own dream of attending culinary school. She wasn’t going to save the world’s sea turtle population, but did that make her goals less worthy?
She saw Joe’s speculative gaze deepen. The last thing she needed was for the chief of police to think she was jealous of her sister. That would play right into Mark Devlin’s theories. “What difference does it make if my father gave my sister money?” she asked.
“Maybe none. As I said, I’m just reviewing the facts.”
She thought for a moment, considering the new information. Joe Silveira wouldn’t have brought up the money if he didn’t think it meant something.
“I know your parents are divorced now, but I wondered what kind of relationship they had before your sister was killed?” Joe asked, breaching the silence.
“It was good, I think. I never heard them fight. They seemed to get along. It did bother my mother
that my dad spent so much time at sea or in the shop. He was often late for dinner and she felt he didn’t always put us first, but I don’t remember any big problems. After Abby died, they fell apart. They were so angry, and they took it out on each other. My dad refused to leave here. My mom couldn’t stand to stay in a place that had stolen her child from her, so she took me and my younger brother away. Abby’s death destroyed our family.”
“It must have been a difficult time.”
“You can’t even imagine.”
“Was Abby close to your father? Do you think she knew more about his activities than perhaps any of the rest of you did?”
She recalled the conversation from the previous night when her father had thought she was Abby and had referred to
one of their little secrets.
“Activities, as in what?” she asked the chief.
“Something he might have been doing that he didn’t want your mother to know about?”
Lauren suddenly realized what he was getting at. “You mean, like an affair?”
“I don’t mean anything. I’m just trying to get a feel for the family dynamics.”
“What do our family dynamics have to do with Abby’s murder?”
“Probably nothing.”
The
probably
part bothered her. “It sounds like you have doubts about my father.”
“I have doubts about everyone. That’s the only way I know how to investigate.”
“Would those doubts also involve me?”
“Do you have something to hide?” Joe asked.
“No.”
“Then we’re good.”
She got to her feet. “Thanks for your time, Chief. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“No problem. Do you know how long you’ll be staying in Angel’s Bay?”
That seemed to be the question of the day. She just wished she had an answer. “I don’t. I thought this would be a quick trip home to assess my father’s illness, but it’s turning out to be a lot more complicated.”
Charlotte had never imagined that she’d one day have to pack up her childhood home and move on. As she looked at her bedroom, she felt a little sad. The twin beds where she and Doreen had slept throughout their childhoods had been stripped. The dresser, closets, and bookshelves had been emptied. Even the carpet had been pulled up to reveal a hardwood floor she’d never known existed. There was only one thing left to do.
She moved toward the closet. Along the door trim were ink marks that represented every year of her life from the age of five up to fourteen. By fourteen she’d begun to rebel, to throw off the yoke of responsibility, of being the perfect minister’s daughter. Her parents, especially her mother, had set the bar high, and Charlotte had always fallen short. She
might be a doctor now and respected by her patients, but in her mother’s eyes, she was still the not-so-great screw-up of a daughter. She doubted that would ever change.