by Cate Ashwood
“What time was that?” Andy asked, his attention now squarely on Matt.
“He dropped me off around five or so.”
“That doesn’t help, then. There was plenty of time for John to get to Chloe,” Andy said.
Matt stared at Andy, disbelieving the words coming out of his mouth. He really thought there was any possibility John could be the killer? It was absurd.
“Except that I hadn’t seen Chloe since she left for Pensacola.” John let out a heavy breath. “Or that she was supposed to be in another state by then.” A hint of a tremor ran through John’s hands, and he clasped them in front of him on the table again. “Or the fact that I’d never do a thing to hurt her, not for anything. And you know it. Whole damn town knows it.” John grit his teeth, his eyes taking on a steely glint. “You’re wastin’ your time, and whoever the hell did this is out there somewhere.”
Andy sat quietly while John spoke, then leaned close, looked John in the eye. “Here’s the thing, John. This is what I’m dealin’ with.” He placed a picture from the crime scene, a picture of Chloe, in front of John. “I loved her just as much as you did, but I’m the one’s gotta figure this shit out. Am I wasting my time, or are you?”
John stared at the photo for a long moment, as if he’d frozen in his place, frozen all the way to his bones. Then he turned the picture over, facedown, and slid it back toward Andy. There were tears in his eyes as he said, “Best get on with it, then,” defeat falling with the words.
Seeing him like that pushed Matt to his breaking point. He stepped forward and placed his hand on Andy’s shoulder. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Andy nodded but didn’t take his eyes off John as he backed out of the room. Matt closed the door behind them and dashed across the hall into one of the meeting rooms.
“What is it, Kinsley? What did you need to talk about so desperately it couldn’t wait until after?”
Matt rolled his eyes. “That suspect you were questioning is John. John Turner. You’ve known him practically all your life, haven’t you?”
“Yep. I have. But I still gotta make sure he didn’t do this.”
“You honestly think he’s capable of it? You think he could kill his fiancée?” The words tasted like ash in his mouth.
Andy sighed. “You know as well as I do that anyone is capable of anything, given the right motivation.”
“And what on earth could possibly motivate him to do something like that?” Matt was becoming more and more agitated. He’d thought Andy was on John’s side. He’d seemed so understanding, but the more time that went on, the more it seemed Andy might not be so sure.
“In cases like this, usually ends up bein’ one of two things. Sex or money.”
“Cases like this?” Matt asked incredulously. “And exactly how many cases like this have you seen during your long career at the MRPD? Murder happen a lot around these parts?”
“More often than you might think.” Andy scowled and Matt knew he’d hit a nerve, but that was just fine with him. “Listen. I know you think I’m some backwater hick who don’t know his ass from a hole in the ground, but I’ve seen enough to know. John has a temper, and given the right circumstances, given the right conditions, yeah, maybe it’s possible. Do I think it’s likely? I sure as shit do not. But it’s my job to question him anyway. He was at the scene. He had a relationship with the victim. You’re tellin’ me that if he was anyone else, you wouldn’t be draggin’ him in here and doin’ the same damn thing?”
Matt’s stomach dropped. Andy was right. As awful as it was for John to be subjected to questioning, ultimately, it would be what eliminated him from the suspect pool.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Matt admitted.
“It’s okay. I get it. I know you two are friends. We’ll prove he didn’t do this, but we gotta do it through the right channels. When this goes to court, everything’s gotta be legit. We gotta cross our t’s and dot our i’s and all that shit, or it’s gonna be a million times worse.”
The sick feeling was back, but Matt stood aside so Andy could walk past him and into the interrogation room.
He pushed the door open but didn’t bother holding it for Matt, who was right on his heels. John was just as they’d left him minutes before, his posture and expression unchanged.
Andy sat at the table across from John and launched right back in to the questioning. “I need to know if there’s anything else. You two ever fight about anything?”
John snorted a bitter laugh. “All the damn time. Fight about her friends I don’t like, me not wantin’ to go out, what kinda music I listen to in my truck, what I wear…. We fight about stupid little shit every day, just like everyone else.” Then, on a whisper, John said, “Fought.”
With barely a second for John to take a breath, Andy asked, “I know this is awkward, but, how were things between you otherwise?” When John only looked at him curiously, Andy added, “Sex life? You ever step out on her?”
John rolled his eyes and leaned back, but he looked like he’d been expecting the question. “Never once, but….”
“Yes?” Andy said. “Go on.”
“I’m gay, Andy.”
Andy’s eyes widened, and Matt’s heart skipped a beat. Of all the times, all the ways Matt had hoped for this, he never would’ve imagined it’d be in an interrogation room over a murder case.
“Since when?”
Matt couldn’t tell if Andy was asking as a friend or a cop. Maybe both.
“Since always.”
“And Chloe found out? You two fought about that?”
John let out another sigh, as if he’d let go of a weight he’d been carrying around. “About a decade ago. She’s always known.”
Andy looked like he found a missing piece to his puzzle but still didn’t know where to put it. “She threatened to out you?”
“Chloe? Jesus, Andy. It’s like you don’t know her at all.” John stared him down. “Chloe never did a damn thing to make me angry with her, never woulda hurt me for anything.”
Andy squared his shoulders, looked closely at John. “I’ve seen parents sell their damn babies on the internet. Seen mothers turn their daughters into whores for meth. Fathers rape their kids. Boyfriends beat their girlfriends because they wanted pizza for dinner and the girl brought back burgers.” He let his words sink in and then said, “One thing I’ve learned from this job, John, is that I don’t know anyone at the end of the day.” When John didn’t say anything, Andy added, “And you just proved it, boy.”
“Bein’ queer don’t make me a murderer, Andy.”
“No, but it makes you a liar. Known you damn near all my life and never really knew you, did I?”
The anger was back in John’s eyes. “Fair enough.”
Andy stood abruptly. “You’re free to go, but stick close. I’m sure we’ll have more to talk about soon.”
Wordlessly, John stood and walked out.
Once the door clicked shut behind him, Andy turned to Matt and said, “Let’s get back down to the crime scene. I wanna look it over one more time before we lose the light.”
THEY PARKED at the edge of the pullout in the same spot they’d used that morning, just minutes before everything had changed. The tire tracks from John’s truck were still pressed into the mud, just one more reason to suspect him. Matt knew the truth, deep in his gut, and he was more determined than ever. The sun would set soon, but they had an hour or so still.
They walked toward where Chloe’s body had been found. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds as it started to dip lower on the horizon, heat still spiking despite the evening hour. Strips of police tape and markers on multiple sets of tire tracks were the only blemish on an otherwise perfect picture.
Andy and Matt ducked beneath the black-and-yellow plastic, carrying their kits to the edge of the clearing. Sadness pierced right through Matt. The day before, he’d felt like the place had been just theirs, as though the distance from the highway to the water was
enough to shelter them from the world and the minutia of their everyday problems. The trees had guarded their secret, and now, only a day later, they harbored something much more sinister.
The ground where he and John had lain, wrapped up in a tangle of limbs, oblivious to anyone but each other, was now marred with blood. Red flashed across his eyes, and he thought about her final moments. He wondered if she’d known she was going to die, if she knew the person who killed her.
The wondering, the what-ifs… he couldn’t fixate on those right now. Instead, Matt channeled his anger into a singular focus. He had a job to do. He pushed aside the queasiness and laid out the numbered markers beside each drop of blood, dark red splotches against the dusty gray ground. He photographed each of them methodically. He couldn’t afford to miss something.
It was possible finding Chloe’s killer would come down to the smallest detail. For that reason, Matt took his time, scouring every millimeter of the scene, not once, but twice. He gathered every shred of evidence he could find. He took a thousand photos of things that had already been photographed. The scene had already been processed; broken twigs and blood-spattered rocks, fibers and stray hairs that could’ve been from anyone or anything had already been bagged. They had logged everything with meticulous care, and all he could hope for was they’d be lucky enough to have gathered a scrap of evidence from her killer.
Handling of the crime scene was something CSU had taken care of back in California. They were highly trained. They knew what to look for. Processing scenes like this one was just a regular workday for them, but Magnolia Ridge was such a small community, there just wasn’t the manpower to warrant a specialized unit. It was up to local law enforcement to take on the duties of every aspect of the investigation.
As he swept the scene, he worked from one side to the other. He stared at the ground until his eyes ached under the strain, but there was nothing. No new shred of evidence they’d missed—nothing that could clear John of the crime.
His mind was clouded with a fog of frustration so thick he could barely see through it. There was nothing here. In that instant, he understood why some cops planted evidence. The need to prove something he knew with such certainty was overwhelming.
Anger overtook him, coiling in his chest, tighter and tighter like a steel spring primed to snap.
“Goddammit,” he hissed, the spring snapping as he momentarily lost control, his fist connecting hard with the trunk of the tree next to him.
Andy’s voice came from behind him. “Take a walk, Kinsley.”
Matt was about to argue when the dull ache began throbbing in his knuckles, his skin damp with blood where the rough bark scraped away the skin. Without a word, he turned and walked from the scene, heading into the thick woods to the west.
He walked for what felt like ages, through growth so thick it blocked out almost all light from above. The earth below his feet was damp, and the loamy scent of soil floated up around him as he trod through. He wanted to put enough distance between himself and the image of Chloe’s body that it became amorphous, like the mist that rose from the swamp in the early mornings.
He rolled his shoulders and let his eyes fall shut, but the tension clung mercilessly. Several long moments passed, and when he opened them again, something caught his gaze several yards away. The ground was bathed in shadows, the dirt blocked from the sunlight by the dense trees and hanging moss, but there was something pale in the shade.
Matt stepped closer to get a better look. Cradled in between the roots of one of the large trees was a splay of flowers. Their petals, once pristine white, were now crumpled and browning, blood making them look sinister rather than delicate.
There was nothing natural about the grouping, and no sign of where they’d come from. None of the trees around sprouted flowers. They were an abstruse exhibit of light against dark.
Matt reached for his radio without looking up. “Andy… you’re gonna wanna see this.”
“Where are you?”
“Maybe a half mile west of you.”
“Be right there.”
Several minutes later, Matt heard Andy’s footsteps as he approached. He stopped in his tracks when the scene came into view.
“What the fuck?” He sounded as confused as Matt felt. Nothing about this made any fucking sense, but this threw another element into things, and the blood on the petals meant this was almost definitely connected to Chloe’s death.
“My thoughts exactly,” Matt said, waiting to hear Andy’s take on it.
Andy stepped closer and bent down to get a better look. “Magnolias. Looks like most of the blood is concentrated in this area.” He gestured to a section in the center. “If this isn’t connected to Chloe’s murder, something insanely fucked-up is going on.”
“It’s fucked-up no matter what way you look at it,” Matt said.
“Good point. You get photos?”
“Was just about to.”
Matt adjusted the settings on the camera to make sure everything was visible in the images despite the dim light and photographed the scene from every possible angle.
Andy’s eyes locked on one section of flowers as he pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves. “Looks like this is where she was dumped originally,” he said as he looked closely at the ground. “Looks like a gator maybe drug her down to the water….” He pointed at the tracks, at the scuffs in the mud. “Critters probably had all night with her, and then she ended up on the shore farther down.”
“Yeah. There’s somethin’ else here.” Matt snapped a photo before Andy picked it up and dropped it into an evidence bag he’d retrieved from his back pocket. There was dried blood crusted to the blade, and at the sight of it, Matt nearly threw up. He knew that knife. The last time he’d seen it, though, it had been spotlessly clean.
“Think we’ve found the murder weapon.” Andy’s voice sounded like it had come from a hundred miles away.
It was John’s knife.
AS THEY drove back toward the station, Carl and Jay radioed through to let them know they were also heading back to town.
“Any luck with witnesses?” Matt asked, hoping against hope someone had seen something. Anything to lead the investigation away from John.
“No one saw a damn thing,” said Carl.
“You sure you talked to everyone?”
“Everyone we could find. It’s a Sunday. Most folk are at church or off visitin’. The next crew’ll be out all day tomorrow and into the evening to talk to those we couldn’t contact today.”
Matt couldn’t believe their search for witnesses had come up empty, but the killer had chosen a good spot. John himself had picked that place for him and Matt to spend the day together for the same reason—no one was around. Sighing, he let his head fall against the window as he shut his eyes. He needed to pull himself together. John needed him. Fuck, Chloe needed him. He could do this. He could be objective, not let his emotional response to Chloe’s death get the best of him.
“Don’t worry.” Andy’s words busted through Matt’s self-reassurances. “Won’t be long before people come forward with information. Not sure how useful any of it’ll be, but it’s a small town. If someone saw somethin’, we’re gonna know about it.”
Andy was right. Everyone was bound to have theories about how Chloe had ended up stabbed and facedown in the swamp, but Matt doubted very few, if any, of those theories would have a basis in actual fact.
Magnolia Ridge was ripe for gossip, and nothing fueled gossip faster than tragedy.
They just needed to weed through the speculation to find the truth. The idea that John could be in any way responsible for Chloe’s death was utterly ridiculous. He loved her—maybe more than anybody. He had no reason to kill her. The way John felt for Chloe was evident, plain as day, every time they were together. Matt simply couldn’t think through John being capable of it. Andy had to know that too. Hell, everyone in town had to know that.
Now he just had to prove it.
Chapter
Seventeen
JOHN DROVE home as slowly as he could. He hadn’t processed anything that had happened since Marty’s phone call. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it.
Chloe. Gone. Forever.
He knew he had other good things in his life, but at the moment, he couldn’t think of a single one. Not even the thought of Birdy brought him back into the light.
Leaving the station feeling like a criminal did nothing for him. Of course he was a suspect. Maybe even more so after outing himself to Andy and probably the whole damn police department.
Things were ugly, and they were set to get uglier.
All John wanted to do was crawl inside a bottle of whiskey and forget everything. Blot it all out until someone found a way for him to turn back time or bring people back from the dead.
Dead. It just felt so wrong, so impossible.
As he turned down his road and pulled into his driveway, he could already see his momma sitting on the front porch, probably looking for him. She carried herself down the steps and across the lawn so quickly, she seemed much younger suddenly.
“Tell me this ain’t true, son,” she said, breathless, her eyes puffy and red, concern written all over her face.
His father was only a few steps behind her, his hands in his pockets, expression stoic.
“It’s true.” John wondered if the rest of the world could see how empty he was, hear it in his voice. Maybe the devil was real after all. Maybe he’d finally had his way with John, culled him down to his bones so there was nothing left of him anymore. “She’s gone, Momma.” And with that, those three stabbing words, John did something he hadn’t done in decades. He collapsed into her arms and sobbed on her shoulder for a long moment, muttering things he couldn’t even understand, didn’t want to hear.
Ilene held him tight and stroked his hair, kissed the side of his head as she sniffled. John had to remind himself that his parents were grieving too. They both loved Chloe like a daughter. “You go on and cry now, baby. It’s all right to cry when we lose someone we love.” Her grip on him tightened, and she let out a small, wet sound. “Lord keep her in your loving bosom,” she whispered. Of course she’d pray. She’d probably been praying since she heard the news. John didn’t have it in him to pray. All he had was grief and pain.