“The Tates,” Juniper supplied, and India tipped her head in acknowledgment. “Weighted equally?”
“No.” India grabbed a tablet off the end table behind her and flipped through a couple of screens until she found what she was looking for. “I wrote up psych profiles on the entire Tate family. Of course, this is all speculation, considering I’ve never interviewed them about it and all I have to go on is hearsay and reputation, but it’s better than nothing.”
Juniper put her wine down on the coffee table.
“The way the murders happened would indicate a crime of passion,” India said. “There was no forethought in this—at least, I don’t believe it was premeditated.”
“What makes you say that?”
“It’s far too sloppy to be planned out. First of all, it happened outside, well after dark, on a holiday. Whoever killed the Murphys couldn’t have known that they would be awake or even home on the night of the Fourth. If the murders had been orchestrated by some criminal mastermind—or even a newbie hack—he would have chosen a different date and time. Why not wait until the following night when he knew they would be in bed together? Why not learn their patterns and schedules and make a safer choice?”
Juniper’s Reddit profiler had said something similar, but it was fascinating to hear how much thought India had put into everything. She knew Jericho. She knew the people who lived here. Juniper felt adrenaline spike in her chest.
“No,” India continued, “whoever shot the Murphys did it spur of the moment. Something set him off. Something compelled him to make a terrible choice.”
“Him?”
“Statistically speaking,” India said matter-of-factly. “Is it possible that it may, indeed, be a woman? Sure, but I doubt it. So let’s talk about bullet trajectories. The first bullet hit Calvin in the shoulder.” She reached out to put a single finger to the place on Juniper’s shoulder. It was just below the bone in the soft meat at the far edge of her collar. Juniper stifled a shiver. “Could have been a lethal shot, but it missed the axillary artery by a couple millimeters and exited out his back at a downward angle. What does that tell us?”
“The killer was taller than Cal?” Juniper guessed.
“Good girl. And not an excellent shot. Although, let’s give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that it was dark. Now, when Cal didn’t instantly go down, our killer realized his mistake and shot again, this time puncturing the chest and obliterating his left ventricle. Ninety-four percent of patients with penetrating thoracic injuries die before they reach the hospital, but I doubt Cal even made it another minute.”
Juniper’s head was swimming, and her vision felt a little clouded around the edges.
India noticed. “I’m going too deep,” she said, setting the tablet aside and taking Juniper briefly by the hand. “I’ll dial it back, okay? I know you knew these people. I know you loved them.”
“I did,” Juniper managed.
“Then I’ll keep it simple. I think that whoever killed Cal was someone he knew. Someone who could walk onto his property undisturbed—who could come within a few feet of him without causing alarm. Someone who knew that Cal kept his gun in the glove compartment of his truck and felt no compunction grabbing it and killing Cal with it. Someone who was taller than Cal, and who was probably shooting out of anger or desperation, not premeditation.”
“Besides Jonathan’s and Cal’s, there were no fingerprints on the gun,” Juniper reminded India, but India was already shaking her head.
“That’s easy. It’s much easier to dispose of gloves than a gun. Or a cloth, handkerchief, you name it.”
“And Beth?”
“Collateral damage. She must have come outside when she heard the shots, and the killer had no choice but to finish her, too. I think she recognized him.”
“So you don’t buy the stranger theory.”
India sat back. “You mean that someone passing through randomly knocked them off? Absolutely not. It’s ridiculous, but I understand that it’s easier to imagine evil existing outside Jericho than in.”
“We’re back to the Tates.”
“Annabelle is too short,” India said, ticking off the Tates on her fingers. “So is Wyatt. That leaves Franklin, Sterling, Dalton, and Sullivan.”
“Your best guess?”
India sighed. “Beats me. The papers were already filed in court, the Tates—and the entire county—knew that the Murphys were suing them. And like it or not, the Tates were going to win. They had more money, better lawyers behind them. So a crime of sudden passion doesn’t quite fit. And they all used each other as alibis. Except Sullivan.”
India didn’t need to say it, so she tapped one manicured finger against her pursed lips and waited for a response. Juniper held her tongue.
Juniper was Sullivan’s alibi, and he was hers. That had caused some confusion, a few raised eyebrows, but it was easily explained away because Jonathan was the linchpin that linked them together. They held fast, a cord with three strands that had remained unbroken for all these years. Even though that night drove them so far apart they were now virtual strangers.
Juniper felt the fire seep out of her veins. She was left empty, a little chilled. She was back at square one.
“What we need is a witness.”
“What?” Juniper crossed her arms over her chest, trying to ward off the familiar dark spread of despair.
“Somebody who saw something,” India said, her eyes suddenly flinty. “Heard something. County Road 21 isn’t busy, but on a night like the Fourth of July there would be people traveling home from town. Nearby farmers still up. Neighbors enjoying the fireflies and a warm summer night. Your farm was just around the corner from the Murphys’, wasn’t it? I think your parents still live there.”
Juniper didn’t like what India was insinuating. The would-be criminal profiler was a couple seconds away from asking: “Where were you at ten thirty on the night that Cal and Beth Murphy were killed?”
“You know,” India mused, “I think a witness would crack this whole thing wide open. I just don’t understand why no one is talking.”
Eager to divert India’s attention away from herself, Juniper quickly asked: “What about Carver Groen?”
India held Juniper’s gaze for a long moment before responding. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Officer Stokes still considers him a suspect.”
“Everett?” India laughed. “He absolutely does not. You know who he is, don’t you?”
Juniper felt her stomach clench as she watched a smile play at the corners of India’s lips. “No,” she admitted.
“Everett Stokes is Carver Groen’s cousin. Things were bad for Everett at home, so his Aunt Roxy—Carver’s mom—took him in, and he lived with them for as long as I can remember. When Carver admitted to the murders, all hell broke loose. Roxy said she couldn’t handle it all, so Everett was forced to move back in with his own mom and stepdad.”
“I had no idea.”
“It’s not a happy story,” India said, bringing one knee up and wrapping her arms around it. “The state removed him from their care after just a couple of months. He left Jericho his sophomore year of high school—we were in the same class—and bounced around foster homes, from what I understand. Nobody could believe it when he came back here wearing blue and a badge.”
Juniper’s mouth had turned into a desert. She lurched for her wine and took a big swig. It didn’t help.
“He didn’t tell you about his connection to the murders?” India said.
Juniper shook her head.
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Yes.”
India sucked her teeth for a second. “You need to know he’s on a witch hunt. Whoever killed Cal and Beth Murphy also ruined his life. He wants to pin this on somebody once and for all.”
“Jonathan?”