Jane opened the elegant wooden file drawer (Laurel Norton never would have had a metal file drawer in the house). The top drawer was full of printouts of her blog postings; she liked having a paper copy to read through when she wanted to revisit an article. Jane went through the drawers, and in the bottom one, stuffed at the back, was a file labeled Accident. It needed no further explanation. She felt a sickening sense of relief that it had been so easy to find. Initial news clippings, sparse on details, then “The Girl Who Doesn’t Remember” pieces by Matteo Vasquez. There was a sheaf of notes from the lawyer her mother retained when the Halls temporarily sued the Nortons (Cal Hall then dropped the lawsuit, suddenly, and at his lawyer’s advice settled immediately for the proceeds from the Nortons’ insurance company, with no punitive damages) and a set of medical reports and photos.
There were no transcripts of police interviews with Jane, because her mother had refused to allow them. As a minor, and under the protection of the Fifth Amendment, Jane could not be compelled to talk to the police. Not that she knew anything helpful to say to them anyway. There was also a complete file of Jane’s social-media postings, presumably pulled by lawyers for both the Halls and the Nortons, to assess whether or not Jane was suicidal or violent or lying about her amnesia, even though she was hardly on social media after the crash. She read through her scant postings before the crash: chatting with Kamala (who kept encouraging her to find a boyfriend), a few postings with Trevor and David about falling behind on a school group assignment, a single post with David about “working on their secret project.” Whatever that was—something for school, she guessed. No sign of depression, no drunken posts or selfies. No venting, no anger. Nothing to indicate she was thinking of taking her own life, or felt a desire to kill David Hall.
Jane took a fresh piece of paper from the drawer.
She wrote out a time line for Kevin from what she had been told, from the investigator’s reports and phone records, from the newspaper reporters who had talked to students at the high school and at least two people who had seen them out in Lakehaven that evening, and from the investigator’s more detailed notes of how the evening unfolded.
3:00—During our entrepreneurship class, where we had to turn in our phones for the class period, David passed me a note via Amari Bowman, who sat between us. I read the note and did not write a note back to him, but Amari, who was watching, saw me nod at him. I don’t know where this note is. After the crash, Amari told this to her parents, who then contacted the Halls. (This according to a note in the investigator’s file.)
4:05—School ends.
4:15—Trevor Blinn told police he saw David and me leave school together, in my car. He saw us walking to my car and he started to walk over to say hi to us but we appeared to be arguing or having an emotional discussion; this kept him at a distance. Before driving off in my car I apparently texted my mother from the car, telling her that I was studying with friends at the Lakehaven library and then going to a group study session for math, which I was having trouble with. These were both lies. Presumably whatever we were doing had to do with the note he passed me.
4:20—David texted his mother saying he was staying after school and playing basketball with a friend and then working with another friend on a science project, and would grab some dinner out. I don’t play basketball and we don’t have science together, so that was a lie.
4:30—Neither David nor I respond to after-school texts from Kamala Grayson. Kamala told the investigators that this was unusual.
6:00—David texted his mother that he was fine but might be late (not home until ten on a school night). He did not mention my name. Where we were for nearly the past two hours, I don’t know.
7:30—We ate dinner at Happy Taco off Old Travis, there was a cash receipt, time-stamped, found in my wallet. I paid for dinner. We ordered a taco plate, an enchilada plate, and two sodas. We sat in a back booth. Later the investigator got video from Happy Taco that showed us entering and then leaving shortly after 8 p.m. (Investigator took statement from HT manager Billy Sing.)
7:40—Kamala Grayson got a text from Amari Bowman (yes, same classmate from entrepreneurship) that David was with me at Happy Taco. The investigator had the texts in his report to the Halls:
David is here with Jane, they are sitting on the same side of the booth, whispering. Jane looks like she is crying. David is stroking her hair! WTH!
Kamala’s answer: I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. They’re old friends.
7:55—Kamala texts David: Babe what’s up?
7:58—He responds to Kamala: Nothing. Helping a friend with a project.
8:00—She responds: Not what I heard.
8:03—He responds: I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
8:04—She responds: No, David, we’ll talk now. You, Jane, Happy Taco?
8:06—He responds: Tell Amari I can see her texting you. Good night. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
She attempted to phone him, leaving seven voice mails (the last at 9:00 p.m., he never responded).
8:10—David gets a text from Trevor Blinn: Hey what’s up? Need to talk to you.
David never responded to Trevor’s text. Trevor did not call back or text him again.
8:15—I text my mother that library has closed but I am going to study at Kamala’s house.
8:43—In David’s pocket there is a cash receipt, stamped with this time, indicating that we bought a crowbar at Tool Depot in Lakehaven. Crowbar not found in car. Why did we buy a crowbar and where did it go?
10:12—9-1-1 receives call regarding car crash. Police and ambulance dispatched. No one saw the actual crash, but a man named James Marcolin living on ridge above High Oaks Road heard it, wasn’t sure at first if it was a crash, and after several minutes went across street down the hill and found the car. Only two other houses along ridge above road—one neighbor out of town, other neighbor did not hear. David died at the scene, half in, half out of the car. I was still in the car, buckled in, unconscious.
Ambulance arrived and crash investigation team arrived, I was taken to hospital. My mother and the Halls arrived separately at the scene, then Mom went on to hospital. I remained in a coma four days.
Six hours. What had we done? Where had we gone? Jane thought. According to the paperwork: Eaten a tearful dinner, bought a crowbar. That left a lot of time. An hour and a half later we were in the crash, heading away from home, heading to nowhere.
She kept writing, mostly from the investigator’s report:
Items found at the scene: My phone, just outside the car, screen broken. David’s phone, in his pocket, neither phone was making a call at the time of the crash. Also found: backpacks from school, a folding stadium seat, reusable shopping bags, empty bottled waters, library book. Found next day: suicide note that looked to be my handwriting, along with loose change from tray in car, this was down from the crash site, not noticed during the night.
She thought there would be more. There wasn’t.
The roads were dry; conditions were fine for driving. That said, thirty-nine percent of the fatal auto accidents in Texas involved only one car. Thirteen hundred dead a year. Jane’s accident was in that large group.
The suicide note pretty much sealed the deal in terms of Lakehaven opinion.