“Jake thinks he’s in love with you, and he’s a very controlling person. If he thinks he’s losing you, it’ll shake him, get him off balance,” Meyers explained.
“I’ve already broken up with him three times. It’s like he doesn’t hear it,” Brooke responded.
“I’m not talking about breaking up with him,” Detective Meyers said. “I’m talking about leaving his life for good. Committing suicide.”
Brooke exchanged perplexed looks with Alex and her mother. Huh?
“You think if she calls him and threatens to kill herself, he’ll somehow confess?” Alex asked, trying to put the pieces together.
“If she’s so despondent and guilty over murdering her friend that she can’t go on, he may talk her out of it by telling her the truth—that she didn’t kill Maddie,” Detective Linly said over the phone.
“He can’t do that. He has to know she’ll go straight to the cops.” Her mother shook her head, rejecting the idea completely.
“Not if he believes she’ll keep his secret the way he kept hers. It’s up to Brooke to convince him she would,” Meyers responded.
No one spoke. Brooke considered the plan. Could she really convince Jake she wanted to die for what she’d done? She’d failed miserably earlier, trying to get him to talk about his police interview and what happened the night of the murder. But there did seem to be one thing he wanted to tell her, though, about Maddie’s loyalty. His strange declaration that Maddie wasn’t her friend had caught her off guard, and she was sure there was something more to that he wanted to share.
“I think that could work,” Brooke said, breaking the silence.
Her mother’s head whipped toward her. “You said that last time, Brooke, and look how it turned out. If he’d gotten you into that car and alone, who knows what would’ve happened to you.” Alex put a hand on her mother’s shoulder.
“I don’t know what other choice we have,” Linly said over the phone.
“How about you do your job and get the evidence you need without using my daughter as bait?” Her mother’s voice was sharp.
“Mom . . .” Brooke whispered, shaking her head.
“Ms. Emerson, I know you’re scared, but right now we don’t have enough to arrest him. Until we do, he’s going to do whatever he can to be alone with Brooke. We can’t protect her. I don’t think you can either.”
The words rang in Brooke’s ears. She knew they were the truth. She had to get Jake off the streets, and until she did, he’d follow her every chance he got. It was only a matter of time before he became paranoid or jealous enough to do something terrible.
“Mom, she’s right. We’ve got to try it.”
Carley looked to Alex, who gave a slow, uncertain nod. She blew out her breath and her whole torso seemed to cave in. “If anything happens to her, it’s on you,” she said into the phone, punctuating her threat with a pointed finger. “Do you hear me, Detectives? I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
Thirty
Plan B in Motion
Night came and with it more snow, and Brooke sat by the fireplace, watching the drifts build on the windowpane. He’s probably watching me right now, she thought. He’s probably sitting outside in his car, waiting for me to turn off the light in my bedroom so he knows I’ve gone to sleep. Almost seventy-two hours had passed since Maddie took her last breath in that upstairs guest room at Riley’s house, and Brooke had not slept for most of that time. The sweet smell of cedar logs burning in the fireplace made her eyelids feel heavy. I need to call him, she thought. I need to make sure he thinks I could really do this.
Brooke found Jake’s number on her phone and dialed. He answered after only one ring. “Hello?” he said, as if he’d been waiting for her call.
“Hi,” she said softly, making her voice sound hollow.
“How are you doing? You sound upset.”
“They arrested the wrong person. Tryg’s getting blamed for what I did.” She tried her best to keep her voice steady and calm and dismal.
“I drove by his house. He’s home.” How did he know where Tryg lived anyway? She wanted to call him out on it, but she knew it would make him defensive and she had to stick to the plan.
“I know. His dad got him out on bail.” It was a complete lie. Brooke wasn’t even sure if it was possible to get out on bail the same day someone was arrested, but she said it with enough confidence that Jake seemed to buy it. “That should be me.”
“No it shouldn’t, Brooke. Tryg’s a piece of shit. This is the best thing that could’ve happened to you.” He doesn’t care at all that an innocent person could be in jail for murder. This guy has absolutely no soul.
“I miss you,” she said longingly. “I wish we were sitting in that restaurant in New York City right now, drinking cosmopolitans and looking out at the lights. Do you think it’s snowing there?”
“I can take you there any time you want,” he answered mildly. “I wish you were here right now, lying in bed with me, looking out at the night sky. I want to make love to you so bad. Have you ever had sex before?”
Brooke swallowed, not certain how to respond. It was none of his business if she’d had sex before and she wanted to stick to the plan. Tomorrow, she needed him to believe that she was going to commit suicide and she needed to bring his attention back to her unstable state of mind.
“No,” she said truthfully. “I’ve never done it.”
“Come over here and let me help you forget about everything.”
“Nothing is ever going to make me forget what I did to Maddie. Nothing.” She let the words slip out slowly and purposefully.
“Don’t say that, Brooke. Time heals.”
“Not something like this.” She waited a beat before continuing. “I’m going to go now, okay? I need to be alone.”
“Brooke, no. Stay on a little longer. I can cheer you up. Let’s talk about the wedding. I know, let’s fly to Paris next week and pick out a wedding dress for you.”
“Maybe. I gotta go now. Good night. I love you.”
“I love you too, beautiful girl.”
Brooke ended the call and set the phone down. She felt dirty playing his game, pretending that she loved him, knowing that he was imagining their naked bodies intertwined under his sheets.
The thought stuck with her as she drifted off into a deep sleep, the first time since the night of the party. She dreamt they’d just finished having sex and she looked over at him. His body was still, his chest rising and falling gently with the sound of his breath.
Brooke got out of bed. She was nude and she didn’t care at all about covering herself up as she crossed the moonlit room and stood in the window, where she peered out at the round, golden face of the clock. She watched the minute hand jerk upward toward twelve, a little at a time.
That’s when she suddenly felt a presence behind her, something evil and dark and cold. She turned around to see Jake standing there, fully dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his expensive watch glinting as his arms swung lazily at his sides. Brooke gasped and looked over at the bed, where Jake, or at least the one she had made love to, slept soundly. She looked back at Jake, knowing she was staring at something heinous—something that looked like Jake, but wasn’t human.
Suddenly, he grabbed her by the throat, slamming her against the glass over and over. With each hit she thought her skull would shatter, the sharp pains shooting through the base of her head, pounding through the soft tissue of her face. Her teeth rattled and she heard a horrific crack. Was it her skull? Had he finally broken it open?
Brooke opened her eyes and sat up in bed. The back of her pajamas were wet with sweat and clung to her body. Kicking off the blankets, Brooke lay back down. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of Jake, to escape into a fantasy world of slumber where he didn’t exist and Maddie was still alive. But somehow, he’d managed to infiltrate her dreams and haunt the only peaceful place she had left.
Brooke looked over at the alarm clock. 12:36 a.m. Soon h
er phone would ring and she would hear Detective Meyers’s voice on the line telling her to make the call to Jake.
Brooke set her feet on the cold floor and stood up. This is my last chance, she thought. If I blow this, it’s done. She took the pill bottle from her nightstand and shook out one pill into her hand. She’d been so tired, she couldn’t remember if she’d taken one before bed. She assumed she hadn’t. In the bathroom, Brooke gulped it down with a handful of water from the faucet and looked up at her reflection. I look empty, she thought. Like a zombie. The events of the past three days had taken their toll.
After twisting her hair up into a knot, she slipped off her pajamas and put on a pair of track pants. Then she stretched her bra around her rib cage, clipped it closed, and ducked into a sweatshirt. It was what Detective Linly had told her to wear. Putting on her socks and running shoes, Brooke stopped at the door on her way out of the bathroom. The engagement ring sat on the counter where she’d taken it off. She hoped it was the last time she’d ever have to look at it.
The microphone wire tickled as Detective Linly taped it to Brooke’s bare skin. The detective’s face was so close to hers it was uncomfortable, and Brooke turned her head in the other direction. Linly adjusted the tiny microphone, then tapped it gently.
“Testing, one, two. Testing, one, two,” the woman said, stepping back. They both looked over at Detective Meyers, who raised his arm to the headset perched on his ears and gave them a thumbs-up.
“This is the same kind of mic they put on actresses,” Brooke said, noting the irony.
“I guess you could say this is the audition of your life.” Linly smiled.
“Of my life, for my life, same thing,” Brooke quipped back, trying to add some levity to a stressful situation. The older woman smiled.
A man in an all-black SWAT uniform entered with a box in his hand. He looked stuffed into his flak jacket, which made a swishing sound every time he moved. He set the box on the table of the interview room and opened it, pulling out a gun. Careful to keep the barrel pointed down, he showed it to Linly as if showing off some precious piece of jewelry.
“This is it,” he said in a gruff, masculine voice. “Three-eighty caliber, semi-auto.” He paused to press a small round button on the side with his thumb. The clip slid out into his other hand. “If you look, it appears to be loaded. But they’re dummy shells. And there’s no firing pin. So it can’t fire. Even if it did, there’s a catch in the barrel that prevents anything from coming out. But again, dummy bullets. Look real, though.” He pulled back the slide on the top of the gun and turned it so Brooke and the detective could see. “There’s one already in the chamber.”
Linly took the gun and examined it thoroughly. She aimed at the floor and pulled the trigger. The only noise was a click.
“Perfect,” she said, satisfied. “Thanks, John.” John nodded and left, swishing all the way out the door. It was just Brooke and the detective again. She held out the gun for Brooke to take.
“It’s heavier than I thought it would be,” Brooke said, feeling the weight of it in her hand.
“Everyone says that the first time,” Linly replied matter-of-factly. Brooke had never held a real gun before. Even holding this defective one was unnerving.
“He can’t shoot me, but what if he hits me with it?” Brooke asked.
“Duck,” Linly said and smiled. Brooke couldn’t help but laugh. Under so much stress, the joke seemed funnier than it probably was. They both just needed to break the tension.
“Seriously, if you do think he’s about to hit you, drop down. The snipers will shoot before he gets the chance.”
“I don’t want them to kill him,” Brooke said earnestly.
“Nobody wants him to die. But whether he gets shot or not is up to him. If it comes to that, I hope he decides to give up.”
Brooke nodded, wondering if she would have any influence on Jake when the time came. She hoped so. The detective pulled a little bottle of liquid from her pocket.
“Ready?” she asked. Brooke nodded. Linly twisted off the plastic cap and turned the bottle upside down. “It’s going to sting, but not too bad. And the sensation goes away in about ten minutes.”
Brooke straightened out her index finger and touched the flesh under her eye, pulling down her lower eyelid. The drops were to make her eyes look red, like she’d spent hours crying.
“Go for it.”
Detective Linly squirted a drop into Brooke’s eye. It burned like hell.
“What’s in that? Tabasco sauce?” Brooke asked as she tried to blink it away.
“I think there might actually be some sort of pepper. It’s all natural. Other one.”
Brooke pulled down the other eyelid and Linly let a drop plop onto her eyeball. Another hit of searing pain.
“God!” Brooke said and pressed on her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I think I’d rather get hit with the gun.”
“That’s because you’ve never been hit with a gun before,” Linly spouted back.
Brooke closed her eyes, but the tears began to slip out and roll down her cheeks. She opened her eyes and squinted up at the detective. “Have you ever been hit in the face?” she asked, curious.
“With a gun?”
“With anything.”
“Fist, yes, a couple times. And a booze bottle once.”
“You got hit in the face with a bottle?” Brooke was surprised at how tough Linly was. The detective pulled up her hair on the side of her head and showed Brooke the scar above her ear.
“He was aiming for my nose, but I ducked.”
Brooke twitched her mouth up into a grin despite the tears that were still coursing down her face. “Thanks for believing me,” she said, not fully realizing she’d said it. Brooke heard the words for the first time as she said them. Linly studied her.
“If this doesn’t work, it’s not your fault. Keep that in mind, okay?”
“You should have more confidence in me than that,” Brooke said, standing up.
“It has nothing to do with you. Let’s go do this.”
When Detective Linly’s car pulled into the gas station parking lot, Brooke saw that her own car was already parked near the back of the building, away from the pumps.
“I guess they don’t want to accidentally shoot the pumps and blow us all up,” Brooke said, motioning to the distance between.
“These guys don’t miss,” Linly assured her. “You could hold up a quarter and they’d hit it ninety-five percent of the time.” It was in that moment that everything felt real. There were really SWAT team members stationed on the roof and up on the hill, ready to kill Jake if it came to that. This was the last chance to get him to admit what he’d done, and it all rested on the shoulders of a girl who couldn’t control her own rage without therapy and pills.
“Okay, once you’re inside, test the mic again.” She stopped the car and Brooke got out with the fake gun. The icy wind sent leaves scattering over the pavement as Brooke hurried to her car and got in. Pulling the door shut, she rubbed her hands together to warm up.
“Testing, one, two,” Brooke said in her normal voice, mimicking what Detective Linly had done back at the station.
“We hear you loud and clear.” A male voice that she didn’t recognize came through a speaker planted somewhere in her car.
“Okay.” It was awkward to talk to someone when she had no idea where he was. She assumed he was somewhere inside the gas station, in the back office maybe, but wasn’t certain.
Brooke looked through the back window and saw Linly drive away. Please don’t go too far, Brooke thought as the detective’s taillights disappeared around the building. She was starting to question her ability to pull off the ruse.
“Okay, Brooke. When you’re ready,” the voice said. Brooke inhaled deeply and exhaled. She squeezed her burning eyes shut and did it a few more times, thinking about Maddie. Picturing her best friend at their graduation, sitting side by side, in their caps and gowns, she could feel t
he real tears begin to come. She’ll never get to walk across that stage, Brooke silently told herself. Her mother will never get to applaud her daughter’s accomplishment. I’ll never see my best friend again.
The tears began to roll down Brooke’s face and she opened her eyes. She looked down at the prop gun in her lap. She pulled out her phone, switched to speaker, and dialed Jake’s number. This was it. Showtime.
“Brooke? Hi.” Jake’s voice was loud on the line. She could tell he’d been asleep and was overcompensating to make it sound like he wasn’t. She hesitated, sniffling. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this anymore,” Brooke said, letting the tears flow freely.
“Do what? Calm down. Talk to me.” His voice was soothing now, more genuine.
“It’s all I think about. What I did to Maddie . . . I can’t sleep, and when I do, I dream about it. Horrible dreams of the night I killed her.” Brooke choked back a sob.
“Don’t do that to yourself. It was your IED that caused it, not you.”
Brooke could feel the anger begin to build inside her, replacing the sorrow. Don’t get mad, she warned herself. Make him think you believe him.
“But I’m responsible for her death! She’s gone because of me! Everyone at school thinks I did it now.” Brooke sounded tortured, even to herself.
“Who cares what those idiots think?” Jake said. “I know you, Brooke. I know you’re a good person.”
Of course you do, asshole. I’m not the killer here. You are.
“But I’m not. I’m horrible. Even the police think I did it.” Was that the right thing to say? The conversation was unfolding so quickly, she felt like she was losing control.
“The police don’t have any evidence. Don’t let them put pressure on you.” His voice was solid, unwavering. Brooke knew she needed to take it up a notch soon, get him to emote, or she was going to lose him.
“Jake, I’m done.” She said it with such finality, it surprised even her.
“What does that mean?” he asked. She could hear his pitch change; the worry had crept into his voice. Brooke paused strategically before speaking.
Murdered at 17 Page 22