Juniper sipped from the cup as she hurried toward the Jericho Police Station. It did much to fortify her as she prepared to meet with Everett on more formal ground. She didn’t know what to expect. Was this a routine Q&A? Or was Officer Stokes going to drop a bombshell? The thought of new evidence, of the Murphy case being cracked wide open and spilling secrets like a rotten egg, made Juniper’s pulse quicken. She just couldn’t decide if it was in anticipation or fear.
Juniper let herself in the front door of the police station and discovered a small, tiled entryway with a single, unassuming desk. No one was behind it. Against one wall was a line of four blue plastic chairs, and Juniper considered sitting there to wait, but the clock above the desk told her it was already twenty after twelve. She had to be back at the library at one so that Barry could take his lunch break, and she wasn’t going to be a minute late. She would not be indebted to Barry any further than she already was.
Instead of sitting down, Juniper walked around the desk and peered into the hallway behind it. “Hello?” she called. “Everett? Is anyone here?”
No answer. No movement at all. There had been a police cruiser parked in front of the squat building, but Juniper had no idea how many cars and officers Jericho employed, and frost on the windshield made it seem as if the cruiser had been parked there for a while. Maybe overnight.
“Hello?” she said again, louder this time. When there was still no answer, she started down the hall, peeking in the rooms that faced each other across the narrow space. A dark kitchenette with a stained coffeepot and a box of bakery donuts on the table. A small, messy office with piles of paper stacked on every available surface. Juniper had been here before, had been questioned in a conference room that she could barely remember because she had surely been in shock at the time. What had she said? She couldn’t even recall that. But no doubt Everett possessed a complete transcript and had pored over her every word. The thought made her angry.
“Officer Stokes?” Juniper called one last time, irritated that he had forgotten their appointment and that she would have to walk back in the cold without first having a chance to eat her grilled cheese and warm up a bit. But just as she spun on her heel to go, a door wrenched open at the very end of the hall.
“Juniper.” Everett gave her a half smile and eased the door shut to the room he had just vacated. “Sorry to make you wait. I was working on something and got caught up, I guess.”
“Jonathan’s case?”
His smile faded. “You’d be surprised at how busy we are. Jericho isn’t as innocent as it used to be.”
“It wasn’t innocent then.”
“Fair enough. Let’s meet in here. It’ll be easier for you to eat at a table while we talk.” Everett stepped across the hall and motioned that Juniper should follow him into the conference room. Juniper could picture it: Glass insert in the door. Two folding banquet tables pushed together, and cheap office chairs scattered around. It had smelled of Lysol and body odor the last time she had sat picking at a bit of snagged plastic on the arm of her swivel chair.
Juniper wanted to tell him no, but she walked dutifully over the threshold and plopped into the seat nearest the exit. She busied herself with taking the lid off her soup and unwrapping the grilled cheese from Cunningham’s while Everett retrieved a thick blue folder and a ballpoint pen and chose a spot across from her.
“Thanks for coming today,” he said by way of introduction. “Again, I’m sorry the front office wasn’t staffed. I’m alone here over the lunch hour.”
“No problem.” Juniper took a bite of her sandwich and wiped her fingers on a napkin. She hoped she appeared casual, collected. In reality she was feeling anything but. Talking to Everett had seemed innocuous when she agreed to it only yesterday, but now that she was in the same conference room where she had been interrogated about Jonathan, his connection to the Murphys, and his whereabouts on the night of Fourth of July, she had completely lost her appetite. Still, it would be telling if she left her food untouched. She took another bite.
“I just wanted to clarify a few details with you.”
She nodded. Swallowed.
“Where were you on the night that Calvin and Elizabeth Murphy were killed?”
Juniper nearly choked on her sandwich. “Excuse me?” she said, between coughs into her napkin.
“I’ve upset you.”
“No,” Juniper argued, taking a swig of her soup. It was the only liquid she had. She longed for a bottle of water but wasn’t about to ask. “You surprised me. I didn’t realize I was a suspect in your new investigation.”
“I never said you were a suspect.”
Juniper had to admit, this guy was good. He was studying his notes, or pretending to, but when she least expected it, he snapped his eyes up and gave her the full brunt of his attention. It was a great way to catch her unguarded. She steeled her features.
“What are you saying, Officer Stokes?”
“Please, call me Everett. I’m saying that there’s a discrepancy in your timeline that night. See, you were at the Pattersons’ party”—he ran his finger across the page and tapped something that Juniper couldn’t see—“from approximately nine until nearly ten. Several witnesses saw you there. With your brother.”
Juniper nodded but didn’t say anything.
“And then it says you drove home by yourself but met up with your brother and Sullivan Tate at your farm to watch the fireworks.”
“Yes,” Juniper said, but her mind was reeling. What had she said? What time did she arrive at home and who was supposed to be where, when? She folded her hands on her lap so that he wouldn’t see them tremble.
“Can you see the fireworks from your farm?” He smiled at her suddenly. “I mean, you’re a ways out of town. There have to be better places to watch.”
“There are. But we can see well enough. We wanted to avoid the crowds.”
“Sorry if I’m making you nervous, Juniper. I just want to clarify a few details.” He turned another page and scanned it. “So you watched from the back of Jonathan’s truck. Together. And then Sullivan left for home around ten thirty and you went inside.”
“That’s right.”
“And your brother…?”
“Heard the gunshots and went to the Murphys’ farm.”
“But you didn’t hear them.”
“I was in the shower at the time.”
“So Jonathan placed the 911 call at…”
Juniper’s palms began to sweat. She hadn’t talked about any of this for almost fifteen years, and she couldn’t remember how exactly she had accounted for each minute. What had Sullivan said? Jonathan? At the time they made sure their stories matched, but it was hard to separate fact from fiction with Everett staring at her. He didn’t blink. Pure determination. He was trying to prove something, but she didn’t know what.
“I don’t remember,” Juniper finally said.
“Ten forty-one,” Everett said. “That leaves eleven minutes unaccounted for.”
“I was showering,” Juniper reminded him. “Sullivan was driving home. Jonathan was probably doing chores. And we weren’t glued to our watches. I have no idea what time Sullivan actually left and I went upstairs. It could have been ten thirty-five or forty.”
“Yeah, that’s what the investigating officer said at the time. You were”—he put air quotes around the words—“?‘a bunch of kids who had been drinking and couldn’t be specific.’ But eleven minutes is a long time, Juniper.”
She held his gaze and lifted her chin a fraction of an inch. “What are you saying?”
Everett ignored her question. “Sullivan was home by ten thirty-five. That has been corroborated by both of his parents. And the Tate Family Farms are in the opposite direction. His timeline fits.”
“Mine doesn’t?”
“You and Jonathan are each other’s alibis for eleven minutes.”
“You’re assuming the timeline is accurate.”