She thought of that night, the way the slick shards of moonlight glinted off his eyes, even though his face was mostly obscured by his hood. Sawyer remembered the way he pulled it up so only a few licks of his dark hair showed; she remembered the way the too-long sleeves curled over his knuckles. She remembered that he was wearing that black hoodie as she jogged away from him, the beer bottle sailing past her left ear.
And now that black hoodie was in the back of her car. Sawyer squinted, trying to remember. How had Kevin’s hoodie ended up in her car? It was lying in a crumpled heap half under one of the seats and she had dismissed it at the time, but now the thought nagged at her.
She flipped through the rest of the documents in the file, pausing briefly on her interview with Detective Biggs, her breath hitching in her throat when she saw the next interview form enclosed—Haas, Logan.
It was dated a full month before Kevin’s death, and Sawyer squinted at the handwritten page, the photocopy imperfect, ink fading.
“Kevin bullied Logan,” she mumbled to herself, laying the paper down flat. “That wasn’t news.” Sawyer turned the paper over, noting that the attending officer was Stephen Haas.
She pushed Kevin’s file aside. It caught the corner of the stack, and the whole group flopped off the table, pages scattering and falling gracefully to the slate flooring. Sawyer leaned over to pick them up, snatching up first a handwritten incident report from Maggie’s file.
…attempted break-in the night before; authorities were called but no intruder was found on the premises…
…subject reported a run-in with a student at Hawthorne High School [Junior Sawyer Dodd] earlier that day. No follow up reported…
Another page floated down, landing delicately on the floor. Sawyer’s stomach lurched as she read the typewritten header—SUBJ: Amendment to M. Gaines’ Autopsy Report and Statement.
Sawyer continued to read:
J. Hugh, M.E. Crescent County
It is my professional opinion that subject M. Gaines was asphyxiated with a belt (approximate 1” width) cinched around her neck. Assailant assaulted Gaines from behind; pre-mortem bruising indicates assailant aimed the cinched area downward either deliberately or due to a height discrepancy. Once subject was subdued, assailant pushed fabric “gag” down her throat (also pre-mortem). Bruising around the trachea is consistent with these findings.”
Sawyer shuddered and pushed the page aside with her foot, just enough to expose one line from the paper underneath:
First on the scene: Officer S. Haas.
Stephen was the responding officer every time.
Could he…?
Sawyer’s mind started to race. She thought about Logan, slight, shy. His hands trembled when he asked her out. Was he her admirer? Was Stephen covering up for his little brother?
Sawyer shuddered, dumping the files in a hasty stack on the table, and jumped when the phone rang. She grabbed the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Sawyer, oh, thank God.”
Heat raced through her. “Oh, uh, hi, Dad.”
“I have been calling you for a half hour. Have you been home all this time? Do you know the police are looking for you?”
Sawyer considered hanging up the phone and running upstairs to her room, diving under the sweet-smelling covers on her bed. Instead, she started to shake. “I didn’t do anything, Dad. You know that, right?”
Andrew blew out a long sigh. “Your mother will be calling you soon. I don’t have her flight information yet.”
“Mom’s coming?”
“Sawyer, she’s an attorney. You’re in some pretty deep trouble here.”
Sawyer pinched her lips. “Is Tara with you?”
“No, that’s why I’m calling. She’s not answering her cell phone either. She barely made it to work before they sent her home.”
Sawyer looked around the still house. “I don’t think she’s here. Oh, wait. I see her purse. She didn’t say anything when I came in.”
“She’s probably asleep. Do me a favor, just check in on her—don’t disturb her, she needs her rest—but have her call me when she wakes up.”
A sob lodged in Sawyer’s throat. “Aren’t you coming home now?”
“I can’t, Sawyer, not right now. I’m sorry. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
“You know that I didn’t do this, right, Dad?”
But the only answer that came was a dial tone.
Sawyer ran up to her stepmother’s room and held her breath, knocking gently. “Tara?” she whispered.
There was no answer, so Sawyer pushed the door open cautiously, poking her head in. “Tara?” she asked again.
The bedroom was pristine, and Sawyer cocked her head when she heard the rush of the shower. The door to the bathroom was shut and locked, and Sawyer knocked hard. “Tara? I’m home. Dad wants you to call him when you’re done, okay?”