by Janae Marks
“Then why aren’t you fighting harder to get out of prison?” I asked. My heart began to race. What if I couldn’t convince Marcus to give me the name? I wouldn’t be able to figure out the truth, or get the chance to ever be with him.
“So you can see me,” I added after a breath. “So you can be my dad.”
“Oh, Zoe,” Marcus said. “I love you so much, you know that? I would do anything—” His voice broke, and he paused. “I would give anything to be there with you, to be your dad.
“And I want you to know that I did fight,” Marcus continued. “I fought really hard my first few years here. I filed for an appeal and everything. But it didn’t work. The court still thinks I’m guilty. I can’t go through that again. I decided a while ago to accept my fate and try to make the best of it in here. In another thirteen years, I’ll be eligible for parole. I’m holding on to hope that I’ll get out then.”
I’d be twenty-five years old in thirteen years. Even if he could get out of prison then, that was a very long time from now—especially if he was innocent. I couldn’t wait that long. I wanted to fight for him.
“Please,” I begged. “If you really love me, if you’d really do anything, then this is the one thing I’m asking for. Please just tell me her name. I need to know.”
Marcus sighed heavily into the phone, and then there was silence for a few moments. For a second, I thought the call had gotten disconnected.
But then Marcus finally said, “Okay. Her name is Susan Thomas.”
I exhaled with relief and wrote down the name Susan Thomas in big, bold letters in my journal. Then I underlined it a couple of times. “Grandma said you met her at a tag sale.”
“Right. The day before it happened, I saw her ad on Craigslist. She was getting rid of a bunch of stuff at her house in Brookline and I wanted to check out her futon. I called her and we set up a time to meet the next day—the day Lucy was killed.
“The problem is,” Marcus continued, “she was about to move. That was why she was getting rid of stuff. I don’t know where she was moving, but I don’t think she’s at the old address anymore.”
If I looked her up, I could probably find her new address. “What do you remember about her?” I asked. “How old was she? What did she look like?”
“She was white with straight brown hair and brown eyes. She had freckles on her face, that part I remember. I don’t know how old she was, maybe in her early thirties.”
I wrote everything down. I racked my brain and tried to think of what else I would need to know. “Anything else? Do you know what her job was?” If I couldn’t find out where she lived, I might be able to track her down through her job, if she was still there. Or even if she moved.
“She mentioned students at one point,” Marcus said. “I don’t know for sure, but she might’ve been a teacher. We talked for a few minutes when I went to check out the futon. I know she was married, and didn’t have any kids at that time. But I didn’t really learn much else about her. I was there to buy stuff from her. And when I told my lawyer about her, he said he’d look into it, but then he never found her. That’s all I remember, Zoe.”
“Okay,” I said. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I really don’t want you getting involved with this,” Marcus said. “Please, just live your life and be happy, okay? That’s what I really want for you.”
“I will,” I said. After I find your witness.
We talked for a few more minutes, and I asked him if he ever got to watch basketball in prison.
“Sometimes,” he said. “When I’m lucky.”
A few more minutes after that, he had to go. I didn’t know when we’d get to talk on the phone again, but we agreed to keep writing letters.
When I got off the phone, I stared at all of the notes I took in my journal. Susan Thomas, wherever you are, I’m going to find you.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“What was that all about?” Grandma asked.
“What?” I looked up from my journal.
“You told Marcus you were going to look for his alibi witness?”
“Oh. Yes.” I had no idea where Susan Thomas lived, but I figured I could track her down online first, and then figure out how to get to her later.
Grandma frowned. “That’s not a good idea.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “You said yourself that you think he’s innocent. I want to know for sure.”
“But you can’t go looking for a stranger.”
“Why not?”
Grandma narrowed her eyes at me. “You know why not. It could be dangerous.” Then she said, “You know, I’ve been thinking that it’s time to tell your parents what we’ve been up to. It’s not good that we’ve been lying to them for this long.”
Panic shot up my spine. “You can’t!”
If Grandma told my parents now, the letters would end, and I’d definitely get in trouble for lying. I wouldn’t be able to keep getting to know Marcus, and I’d never find out whether he really was innocent. I couldn’t let either of those things happen.
How could I get Grandma to change her mind?
“Please,” I told her. “I promise I’ll forget about the alibi witness, okay? But please let me keep writing to Marcus. Mom won’t let me if she finds out, I know it. And then that’ll be it.”
I watched as Grandma considered this for the longest ten seconds of my life.
Clasping her hands together, she finally said, “Fine. You can keep writing to him. But no more talk about this alibi witness, okay? And we have to come clean to your parents at some point soon.”
Phew, I thought, but I kept a straight face. “Okay.”
“Good.” She smiled. “Want some tea? I still have some of that pink lemonade one.”
“Sure,” I said, and Grandma left me in her living room.
There was no way I could forget about Marcus’s alibi witness, especially now that I had her name. If Grandma wasn’t going to help me, I’d have to find her on my own, without anyone finding out.
There was an icky feeling in the pit of my stomach when I thought about lying to Grandma, the one person who’d helped me keep writing to Marcus—even talk to him on the phone. But I had to find Susan Thomas. I had to.
All of the lying was wrong, I knew that. But maybe it was okay to do something wrong if you were doing it for the right reason.
I didn’t know how much time I had, how long Grandma would wait before finally telling my parents about my communication with Marcus. All I knew was that I needed to find Susan Thomas fast.
And then I remembered. I wouldn’t have to do this on my own after all.
I picked up my phone and texted Trevor.
Susan Thomas. It was such a simple name, and also a pretty popular one. When I typed it into the search browser, over 150 million results popped up. There were photos of girls and women of all different ages, professional websites, personal blogs, social media pages, and more. When I skimmed through some of the sites, I saw that they were all over the country, and some even lived abroad. Lots of them had brown hair and brown eyes, and many of those Susan Thomases had freckles.
When I changed my search to “Susan Thomas Brookline MA,” the results went down to one million. Which was better, but not good enough.
I was over at Trevor’s house so we could search together. When I’d texted him to ask for his help, he immediately agreed. It was both weird and super familiar to be back in Trevor’s room, which was really neat, as always. His bed was made, and there was a new basketball poster above his desk, plus even more novels on his bookshelf. We sat next to each other at his desk in front of his computer.
“I might never find her.” I frowned at the computer screen. How would I narrow down all of these results to the one Susan Thomas I needed to find?
“We just started looking,” Trevor said. “We’ll find her, even if we have to message every single Susan Thomas.”
“That could tak
e forever.”
Trevor shrugged. “My dad’s always telling me I have all the time in the world to do things.”
“But if Marcus is innocent, he doesn’t have all the time in the world,” I said. “I hate thinking of him in there, surrounded by criminals, if he’s really innocent. He said he has friends there, and not everybody in jail is bad, but I think he was only saying that to make me feel better.”
“Did Marcus say that he remembered anything else?”
I glanced at my journal again. Underneath Susan’s name and physical description, I’d written “students.” “Right! Marcus said he thought she was a teacher, because she said the word ‘students’ when they talked.”
Trevor pulled the keyboard closer. In the search box, he typed in, “Susan Thomas Brookline MA teacher.” Within the top results was the website for Brookline Elementary School.
“Click on that,” I told him.
When he did, a page popped up showing the staff at the school. In the middle of the page was a picture of a Susan Thomas, who was a second-grade teacher. She had brown hair, though it was pretty light, almost blond. Her eyes were definitely brown, though. I couldn’t spot any freckles, but it looked like she was wearing makeup, so maybe she’d covered them up. Marcus had said she was in her thirties back then, so she was probably in her forties now. I couldn’t really tell how old this woman was.
“Maybe that’s her,” I said. “What do you think?”
Trevor shrugged. “She’s a teacher in Brookline, and she pretty much fits the description.”
“Okay!” I smiled. “But wait. Marcus said she was moving. Why do you think she’s still living in Brookline, then?”
“Maybe she just moved to a different house in Brookline,” Trevor said.
I nodded. “That makes sense. This was super easy.”
“We had good clues.”
I nodded, but part of me wondered if it’d been too easy. If Susan Thomas was this easy to find, why didn’t Marcus’s lawyer bother to look for her? Grandma’s theory that he didn’t care what happened to Marcus seemed even more likely.
Susan’s email was listed on the school’s website, next to her bio.
“I guess I’ll send her an email, and see if she remembers Marcus,” I said.
“Good idea,” Trevor said.
I opened up my email in a new browser window and started typing.
From: Zoe Washington
To: Susan Thomas
Subject: Do you know Marcus Johnson?
Dear Ms. Thomas,
I’m looking for someone with your name, who met my dad. It was 13 years ago, and he came to your house in Brookline to buy some stuff at your tag sale. Could that be you?
I attached his picture. Do you recognize him? I really hope you do.
This is really important, so please write back soon.
Sincerely,
Zoe Washington
Marcus’s picture was tucked inside my journal, so I took it out and snapped a photo of it with my phone. It was taken when he was still in high school, so a couple of years before the crime happened, but I thought that it was better than showing Ms. Thomas his mug shot or pictures from the trial. I didn’t want her to see him that way and get it in her head that he was guilty.
I emailed the picture to myself so I could open it on Trevor’s computer. Then I attached it to the email to Susan, read it one more time, and clicked Send.
I leaned back into my seat and looked at Trevor. “What do we do now?”
He shrugged. “I guess we wait to hear back from her.”
I’d already waited twelve years to speak to Marcus. How much longer would I have to wait for the truth?
Chapter Twenty-Four
I started checking my inbox constantly for an email to come in. I even put a special notification ringtone on my phone that sounded like birds chirping. Trevor and I also searched for other Susan Thomases who could’ve possibly met Marcus, but the only other person who seemed like she could be a match now lived all the way in California. I sent her an email too, just in case. She got back to me right away, saying that she never had a garage sale when she lived in Brookline. So it had to be the teacher we’d found.
The only thing that kept me distracted from my inbox was baking. I spent all of Thursday afternoon working on my cereal cupcake recipe.
I decided to do what I’d learned at Ari’s Cakes—make a few small batches of cupcake batter, each with different amounts of sugar. I also wanted to experiment with the amount of cereal flavor in the milk, so I let the cereal sit in some of the milk longer.
We only had one stand mixer in our kitchen and two mixing bowls for it. I made my first batch, and then scooped the batter into one row of my cupcake pan, using blue painter’s tape I found in the junk drawer to label which recipe it was. When I was done, I made my second batch, adjusting the ingredients a little. I had to clean the mixing bowls before I could make the next two batches. The whole process took even longer because I kept stopping to check my phone in between steps, to make sure my ringtone notification was still on and the volume was still up.
When all the batches were done and my cupcake pan was full of the different recipes, I put them in the oven to bake.
I leaned against the counter and checked my phone. Then I checked the oven timer. Then I went back to my phone.
Ugh, I needed to do something else.
I decided to get a head start on cleaning my baking mess, something I usually left until after my treats were out of the oven, cooling. I put all of my ingredients away, wiped down the countertops, mopped up the flour that had fallen on the floor, and cleaned all the bowls and utensils I’d used. Butternut came into the room, so I gave him a few treats.
Finally, the timer went off, and I took the cupcakes out of the oven. I let them cool for a few minutes, then started tasting them one recipe at a time.
There was a clear winner. The ones with less sugar and more-saturated cereal milk. It tasted delicious! It had the essence of the Froot Loops, without being too sweet.
I’d done it. I’d created my own cupcake recipe! I did a happy dance around the kitchen island, but froze when I heard my phone chirp.
An email. I opened up the notification on my phone. It wasn’t from Susan Thomas.
It was from Anthony Miller, Marcus’s lawyer. I’d started to think I’d never hear from him.
The email was only a couple of sentences. Mr. Miller apologized for taking so long to respond, but then gave his phone number and said I could call him with my questions about Marcus’s case.
I immediately called Mr. Miller’s office. My heart pounded as the phone rang.
Finally, it picked up. “Anthony Miller’s office,” a voice on the other line said.
“Hi, um, may I speak to Mr. Miller?” I asked.
“May I ask who’s calling?” the woman asked.
“Zoe Washington. I’m returning his call,” I lied.
“One moment please,” she said.
A minute later, a man’s voice got on the line. “This is Anthony Miller.”
“Oh, hi, Mr. Miller. I’m Zoe. Zoe Washington. I wrote to you asking about Marcus Johnson’s case, and you said I could call you with questions.” By the end of that sentence, I was sweating.
“Right . . . ,” Mr. Miller said, sounding skeptical. It made me second-guess myself for a moment. Had I called the right person?
“You’re the one who sent the email?” Mr. Miller asked. “How old are you?”
“I’m twelve.” What did that have to do with anything? “Yes, I sent you the email. I wanted to ask you about Marcus’s alibi—”
“Are your parents there?” Mr. Miller interrupted.
“Um, no,” I said. “They’re at work.” Grandma was in the living room watching a show.
“I see. Well, maybe you should have one of them call me back. I’m very busy.”
“I’m trying to find Marcus’s alibi witness,” I said. “Marcus already told me her name is Susan Tho
mas, but I’m having trouble finding her. Did you look for her during his trial? I thought you could help me. Or if you can share anything with me about the case, that would be helpful. Marcus told me he’s innocent, and I’m trying to—”
“Listen,” Mr. Miller interrupted again. He sounded exasperated. “I really don’t have time for this. The case is closed. You’re, what, Marcus’s relative or something?”
“I’m . . .” I swallowed. “I’m his daughter.” I’d never actually said those words about Marcus before.
“Oh.” Mr. Miller’s voice softened a little. “Look, I’m sorry, that’s gotta be really hard for you. I wish I had better news, but he already appealed his verdict and lost.” I heard him shuffling paper through the phone. “He could still get out on parole, though.”
My eyes filled with tears, but I tried not to sound like I was upset. “So that’s it? You can’t help me?”
“I’m sorry. I have another call right now so I’d better—”
I hung up the phone before he could finish.
I pressed my palms over my eyes as tears squeezed out of them. Mr. Miller probably still thought Marcus was guilty, so of course he wouldn’t help me. Maybe this was all a lost cause.
But there was a tiny voice in the back of my brain. It told me to remember what I read in The Wrongfully Convicted, and in my research about the Innocence Project. It told me that Susan Thomas was out there somewhere, and she still might’ve seen Marcus that day. It told me not to lose hope. Not yet.
Now that I’d gotten my cereal cupcake recipe right, it was time to experiment with the food coloring. On Saturday, I separated the batch into three different bowls and mixed a little gel food coloring into each one—red, blue, and green, to match the Froot Loops. The batter looked super vibrant. I scooped a little of each color batter into each cupcake pan before baking them.
The first batch came out pretty enough, but I realized I could’ve used a toothpick to swirl the colored batter a little so the finished cupcakes looked more tie-dyed.
I started working on another batch of cupcake batter so I could try that, when my phone chirped.
It had to be Susan Thomas! I wiped my hands on my apron and grabbed my phone.