“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” I say.
“It’s okay.” She gives me a smile, but it looks sad.
“Is it okay if I walk with you?” I ask.
She hesitates, then says, “Okay. If you want to.”
I fall into step with her, and we walk in silence. I try to think of ways to tell her her boyfriend is a killer. None of the ways I come up with seem right—not that any way is going to feel “right.” Suddenly telling her doesn’t seem like a great idea. Maybe when she breaks off toward her house, I’ll just walk home, grab the evidence bag, and go straight to the police station. Let Chief Walker be the one to tell her.
Amy says something I don’t catch.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I didn’t hear…”
“I wanted to thank you again,” she says. “For finding my necklace. I was convinced I wasn’t ever going to see it again.”
“Well then, I’m glad I did.”
Her smile can’t disguise the sadness in her eyes.
“I guess Greg was relieved.” Oh God. What a dumb thing to say. Especially since I know the answer.
She hesitates. “Yes,” she says. Suddenly, she’s crying. She tries to hide it by turning her head.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything. I’m just…” Again, she hesitates. “I just haven’t had a very good day. I guess sometimes God gives us challenges.”
I’m not sure how to respond. We start walking again, but after a minute, Amy stops again. Fresh tears stain her face. I take a chance. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She looks at me.
“I mean, if you want to, I’ll listen,” I add.
“You’re sweet,” she says after a minute. “But I…”
She falters yet again. “Oh, who am I kidding?” she says. “It’s not as if everybody doesn’t already know. Saw or heard about us fighting. My friends all say they want to help, but it feels like they’re crowding me. They’re more interested in just telling me what to do. Maybe talking to someone different will help.”
She sounds more like she’s talking to herself. I wait as she wipes her face and takes a breath. “Let’s keep walking,” she says. We start moving again and haven’t gone a block when she says, “Greg and I are…having problems. I’m afraid he might want to break up with me. And I don’t know why. Or what it is I’ve done.” Saying this causes her to choke up. She clears her throat. “Why do guys do stuff like that?”
How would I know? I’ve never even had a girlfriend.
As if she knows this already, she doesn’t wait for me to respond. “I’ve noticed there’s been something wrong,” she continues. “He’s been so distant. I’ve asked him if he was all right, but he just says he’s fine. He’s not though. Maybe he’s wanted to break up with me for a long time and doesn’t know how to tell me.”
Before I can think of anything helpful, Amy continues. “Since I got home from church camp, he’s been getting angry. Especially after the police talked to us about that prank phone call. Why would somebody do something like that? Usually, Greg’s so nice to everyone and so kind to me. But not the last couple of days. He doesn’t seem to understand why I was so upset about the necklace. How much it means to me. He said I was overreacting. But when I told him you’d found it, when I showed it to him, I thought he’d be happy for me. But he’s just as angry. Maybe more so. I don’t know what I’ve done. Or what I can do to make him happy again. Something’s bothering him, but I can’t help him if he won’t tell me what it is…”
Her voice trails off. I feel awful for her. I want to help her feel better, though I know what I have to tell her will only make her feel worse. Still, before I go to Chief Walker, for her protection, she needs to know.
She wipes her eyes, then looks at me. “I’m sorry,” she says. “You don’t even really know me. I shouldn’t assume you want to hear all this.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s my problem. I should just talk to Greg. Get the truth from him. Whatever it is.”
She straightens up, wipes her face one more time. “I should go home now. Thank you for listening to me, Ald—”
“I think I know what’s bothering him,” I blurt out.
Her eyes open wide in surprise. “Why would you know?”
I start with the least alarming offense. “Greg’s been cheating on you.”
She looks stunned. Any minute now, I expect her to start shouting that I don’t know what I’m talking about, I don’t know Greg, he would never do that to her.
But she doesn’t. Instead, after a long moment, she breaks her stare and turns away. “I think I’ve known for a while now that there was someone else. I kept telling myself I was wrong, that I was imagining it.”
Her voice seems hollow, her body half-turned from me as she stares at nothing in particular. It looks like she might start crying again, but she doesn’t.
I can’t just leave it at that; I have to tell her all of it. “Amy,” I start, but she suddenly turns back.
“How do you know?” she asks. “Did you see them together somewhere, holding hands, kissing? Do you know who it is? Is it someone who goes to Milton?”
I take a breath. Speak carefully. “No, she doesn’t go to Milton. Her name is…was…Alycia Beaumont.”
“I don’t know her,” Amy says after thinking about it. “But the name seems familiar… Do you know how long he’s been seeing her?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Did you see them together?” she repeats. “Wait a minute. You said ‘was.’ Did they break up?” This last part she said with hope in her voice.
“No,” I say slowly. “Something bad happened. Something—”
She cuts me off. “What are you talking about?” Instead of expecting a response, she changes gear. “Wait a minute. Why is that name familiar? Why—”
All at once, she stops. I study her face as her expression changes, a look of horror dawning on her face, her eyes widening in realization. “I heard it on the news. And I saw it on a poster somewhere. Alycia Beaumont. That girl from Carlson. She’s missing. But what does that have to do with Greg?”
She faces me, hands on hips. She knows what I’m about to say. I can see it in her face. Because, maybe, the new angry Greg has made her see something in her boyfriend she’s never seen before. Something that scares her, that might make her believe he could hurt somebody.
How did I get myself into this situation? What made me think I should be the one to tell her this?
A good investigator knows when to make the tough choices.
“She isn’t just missing.” My throat is so dry I don’t sound like me. “She’s dead. Greg killed her.”
“Greg killed…” She stares at me. “No.” Her voice rises. “Greg would never do something like that. Why would you say that?”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She starts backing away. “This is…cruel. I’m leaving. I’ve got to get home.” She turns, takes a couple steps, then suddenly turns back to me. “How do you… No! Don’t. Just stay away from—”
“I saw him do it.”
There. Now it’s out. I wait to see how she’ll react.
A good investigator knows when to face the consequences of his tough choices.
“You’re lying,” Amy says after a moment. “Where did you see him?”
“Miller’s Park,” I tell her.
“Miller’s Park?” she echoes back in disbelief. “What was Greg doing way out there? How did you see him?”
Do I tell her I was following Greg? What reason would I give her?
“I was just…walking by.”
A good investigator knows when to fudge the truth.
“Are you sure it was Greg?”
“Yes. I thought t
he girl was you. Alycia Beaumont looked a lot like you, especially from a distance. She had the same red hair as you do. She was even wearing a blue jacket like the one you wear sometimes.”
A new realization crosses her features. “You’re the one who made that call about me and Greg. The cops said it was a prank.”
“It wasn’t meant to be. I really thought he’d killed you.” The emotion in my voice surprises me.
“But it was really this Alycia Beaumont you saw him kill?”
“Yes.”
“You were wrong about her—you could be wrong about him.”
“I’m not.”
Amy shakes her head. “Greg’s being angry doesn’t mean—”
“I have proof,” I interrupt.
“What kind of proof?” She looks at me as if I’m lying.
My back straightens. “I can show you.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s at my house.”
“Your house?” Amy sounds suddenly wary.
“Yes,” I say. “I’ve got it hidden there.”
“You live with your uncle, right?”
I nod.
“Will he be there?”
“No. He’s still at work. I don’t expect him home till later.”
“Is this some kind of cheap trick to get me alone with you in your house—”
“No! God, no, I’d never do something like that!” I’m horrified she would think that. “I just want to show you what I have.”
She studies me. “That’s all? Do you promise?”
“I promise.” I hold up my hand.
“Okay. Let’s go.” She says this last with a tremble in her voice. She doesn’t want to look at it anymore than I want to show it to her. But she needs to hear the truth so she knows Greg for what he really is.
My heart pounding, I lead the way to my house.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Just like I told her, Uncle Bill is not home. Once inside, I notice her glancing around, checking things out. “Do you want something to drink?” I ask her.
“No, thank you,” she says. “Where’s your proof?”
“I’ve got it hidden upstairs in my room.”
“Your bedroom?” Amy sounds more wary. “Can’t you bring it downstairs?”
“I don’t want my uncle to see it if he suddenly comes home.”
“I thought you weren’t expecting him till later.”
“I’m not. But I can’t be totally sure.”
She glances around the house again.
“I guess I could bring it down,” I say, heading toward the stairs.
“No, that’s all right,” she says abruptly.
Amy follows me upstairs to the second floor, and we head down the hall to my room. She keeps looking left and right, as if she expects someone to jump out at any moment. When we reach my room she waits for me to go in first, then, moving cautiously, she follows me in. As she looks around I feel embarrassed at how barren my room looks. Most teenagers would have posters on the walls, pictures on desks and tables, something. Except for the single photo of my parents, I have nothing. It looks more like a prison cell than a bedroom.
“I’ve got it over here.” I head into the closet and come out with the bag. Without thinking about it, I sit on my bed. Amy hesitates, then pulls out my desk chair and sits on it, keeping a fair distance between us.
Before opening the bag, I tell her, “I’m sorry about this. I really am.”
“Just show me what you have,” she says, looking grim and a little scared.
I take a deep breath. “When I realized Greg had killed you…I mean her…I panicked. I ran home.” No need to tell her Charlie had any part in this. “I called the police, anonymously. I used a pay phone. I didn’t mention you or Greg then, just that a girl had been killed. But the police didn’t find anything. Not a body, no sign of an attack, nothing. The next day, I went back and looked around. That’s when I found your necklace. At the time I thought it confirmed it was you he killed, but now I know Greg had it. It must have fallen out of his pocket while he was killing her or maybe when he was getting rid of her body.”
Amy cringes at that.
After a few seconds, I continue. “I think he hit her with his backpack. It was filled with books, and he swung it at her.”
“You think?” Amy says.
“They were standing behind the dugout wall on one of the fields. I didn’t actually see him do it, but I heard Alycia cry out, then saw the backpack for a second, up above the wall then down, like he was swinging it. I heard the backpack hit her.”
“If you didn’t see all of it, how can you be sure?”
Without saying a word, I reach into the bag and pull out the backpack. She stares at it for a moment. With all the familiar sports patches on it, she knows that it belongs to Greg. “Is that blood?” she says in a timid voice.
“Yes. I found blood on the dugout wall. I think the force of the bag of books hitting her caused her to hit her head against the wall before she fell. Some of the blood must have splashed on Greg’s backpack. Or maybe Greg dropped the backpack after he hit her and her head landed on it when she fell, and that’s how the blood got on it.”
“He told me he’d torn the strap, which is why he hasn’t been using it the last few days,” she says in a distant voice.
“I walked around the edge of the wall,” I continue in as gentle a voice as I can, “and saw him holding it. Alycia was lying on the ground at his feet.”
“How…how did you get the backpack?”
I hesitate. “He was hiding it in his room.”
She looks at me. “You broke into his house?”
“Yes.”
I expect her to be upset about that, but she says nothing. Continuing, I reach into the bag again and pull out the smaller bag containing Greg’s bloody clothes. I take them out one by one and show each item to Amy. She gives a little gasp when she sees the shoes, which I show her last. Perhaps she recognizes them in particular, making it impossible for her to deny that the clothes, just like the backpack, belongs to her boyfriend.
“Did you break into his house to get those, too?” she asks.
“He tried to throw them away. I got them out of the trash can before garbage pickup the next day.”
She seems resigned to what I’m telling her. “You’ve been spying on him, haven’t you? For how long?”
“Since Saturday, the day after he killed Alycia.”
“Not before?” She stares at me.
I stare back.
“You were spying on him before Saturday,” Amy says. “You followed him. That’s how you saw him…hurt that girl. Right?” She takes my silence for a yes. “That’s kind of weird, you know. But I’ve heard that about you.”
“What?” My face is suddenly hot. “How did…”
“Rick Kellerman thought he noticed you spying on him, I heard. He’s pretty upset. ”
Suddenly, everything feels twisted. It looks like I’m not as good at this as I thought. If Rick Kellerman noticed, how many others have?
“Hey, don’t worry,” Amy says. “There are people who think I’m weird because I’m a Christian and I’m not afraid to say so. I won’t judge you for it. I know what happened to your parents.” She leans toward me. “I understand. I do. You’re trying to help people. You don’t want what happened to you to happen to anyone else. If you hadn’t spied on Greg, I wouldn’t know what he’d done. Who knows, he might’ve attacked me someday.”
I stare at her, awestruck. Amy really does seem to understand; she even appreciates it. She understands more than Charlie, my supposed best friend, who keeps telling me I should stop. Charlie, who, when I need her the most, isn’t here for me.
“Are you okay?” Amy asks.
“Uh…yeah. Thank you for that.”
She gives me the briefest of smiles, then turns serious again. “Is there anything more you have?” she asks. “You haven’t shown me anything that proves absolutely Greg and this Alycia were seeing each other.” Her voice becomes shaky. “Did you see them kissing before Greg killed her?”
“No. She kept trying to hug him, but he’d push her away. Then they were arguing.”
“Then maybe he wasn’t seeing her. Maybe it was something entirely different. Maybe he didn’t—”
“There is one more thing,” I say.
“What?”
Reaching into the backpack, I pull out the cell phone. Hoping there was enough power left after I’d turned it off before, I turn it on. After a split-second hesitation, the screen lights up. “He had this hidden in here. I found it by accident. It belonged to Alycia.” After the phone finishes powering up, I extend it to her. “I’m so sorry.”
At first, Amy does nothing. Then, slowly, as if I’m giving her a bomb that might explode at any moment, she takes it from my hand. “Go to the text screen,” I tell her. “You’ll see texts between them. They’re all places where they met. About once a week, it looks like. The last one shows they were meeting at Miller’s Park. The text date is the date she was killed.”
“Okay. So he was meeting her. That still doesn’t mean they were—”
“There’s a picture.” I don’t like telling her about it and wish there was some way I could do this without her seeing it, but she needs to know the truth. She deserves to know.
“Check gallery,” I tell her.
Amy touches the icon and brings up the only picture there. The selfie of Alycia and Greg together, Greg looking like he hadn’t expected the picture to be taken.
Amy’s face falls . “I guess this proves it.” She seems to be fighting tears. “Is that everything?”
She doesn’t need to see any more. I don’t want her to be hurt any more than she is. “Yes,” I answer, maybe a little too quickly. I stick my hand out for the phone, but she ignores me.
“Was there anything else on this thing?” she asks without looking up.
“No, nothing,” I say. “I’ll take that.” I fight to keep a sudden urgency out of my voice.
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