Page 49 of Missing White Woman

It was just like before. Same podium. Same background. Same collection of white guys in what looked like the same outfits. Police Chief David Something or Other was already at the lectern. His face looked different. Better. It took me a second to realize it was makeup. Nothing fancy. Just a little powder. Made me wonder if he’d also been watching A Brush With Billie.

“Are they going to name me?” I said.

Adore glanced back. Shook her head. “I made that clear to Calloway after you spoke to her.”

I didn’t respond. Just took in a breath, the remote in a death grip as I waited for whatever came next.

The chief cleared his throat and once again began. “Good evening. I’m Police Chief David King. I’m here to give you an update on the deceased woman found at approximately ten thirty yesterday morning at 110 Little Street.”

We all knew who it was. They needed to officially ID her already.

He continued. “Our department has been working around the clock on our investigation. Last night we shared a video of a woman being followed behind the house on the previous Monday evening.”

I wanted to hit Pause then. Run out of the room. Instead, I sat back and once again found myself waiting. I glanced over at Adore, but her eyes were glued to her phone, the movement of her thumb hinting she was checking comments or tweets.

“We asked for the public’s help in identifying the people in the video. And we were overwhelmed with the response. We must’ve had hundreds, if not thousands, of tips. So thank you to everyone who called the hotline.”

He wasn’t talking about me. Adore had Calloway’s personal cell phone. She’d picked up on the second ring, even though I’d been hoping to be sent straight to voicemail. I’d thought maybe she’d be suspicious of why I suddenly was sharing the info about the hoodie. That she’d use her police Spidey sense to know it wasn’t a coincidence my change of heart had come after Billie had gleefully shared that old photo. But if she did, Calloway hadn’t said anything.

I’d figured Calloway would want a photo of her own, one of Ty wearing the hoodie, Sade’s arms crossed casually over her denim shirt, staring expressionless right into the camera. But she didn’t. Just asked me to stick around in case they had any other questions and then thanked me for my help. She hadn’t mentioned what would come next. And now I was finding out along with the rest of the world.

“As many of you know, we’ve also been looking into the disappearance of a local woman who was last seen Monday night a week ago,” Chief King was saying. “Her name is Janelle Beckett. Thanks to a reliable witness, we were able to identify Ms. Beckett as the woman in the video taken on that same Monday night, a few hours after her sighting in Journal Square.”

He paused then, as if waiting for someone to come pat him on the back, like he wasn’t just reporting information that had been already shared, liked, and commented on online. But hearing it from the police hit different.

“Although 110 Little Street is an Airbnb owned by a corporation, our investigation was able to confirm that it was rented out starting Friday by one Tyler Franklin of Baltimore, Maryland.”

I didn’t think it possible to hold the remote any tighter, but my hands were whiter than the 1,000-thread-count sheets. It was the first time the police had said his name. I didn’t like how it sounded in the police chief’s mouth, as if it tasted like black licorice or candy corn.

Chief King continued. “That was just one of many things that have come to light. We also were sent proof Tyler Franklin has a past connection to Ms. Beckett. And we just heard from another reliable witness who identified Tyler Franklin as the man in the video. Although we aren’t ready to formally ID the victim from Monday morning, we do believe that crime is related to Janelle Beckett’s disappearance. We believe Tyler Franklin to be a person of interest in both cases. We’re asking that he contact us immediately. If you do encounter Mr. Franklin, please call the police. Do not try to talk to him or detain him yourself. We believe he may be armed and—”

The screen shut off. It was only after Adore turned to stare at me that I realized I was the one who had done it.

FIFTEEN

Not watching the rest of the press conference didn’t help how I felt. It was like the shark in Jaws. Not being able to see it just made things worse. I was so busy imagining what else the police chief was saying, I forgot Adore was even in the room until her phone beeped. I jolted back to reality, looking over in time to see her checking her phone. “I have a meeting in a half hour. I’m happy to cancel it.”

But I was shaking my head before she finished. “Go,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

I started to wipe my eye but caught myself. Just like that, I was back to lying. But fully committed, I got up to show her out, taking time to pat her shoulder as I walked by. “You’ve been with me nonstop. It’s the middle of a workweek. You need to focus on your job. Otherwise, who’s going to pay for the hotel?”

I turned when I got to the doorway and found her smiling. After a moment, she got up too. Followed me to the front door. She spoke just as I was opening it.

“Do me a favor, Bree. Delete your social media profiles.”

I said nothing, but she could sense my hesitation.

“Only thing you’re going to do is stalk the Justice for Janelle hashtag,” she said. “I know you want to see what they’re saying, but trust me, it doesn’t matter. Janelle Beckett will still be dead. Ty will still be the one who did it.”

I flinched hearing her say it, a part of me still wanting to object. To protest his innocence. Instead, I said, “Probably would be a good decision.”

Adore hugged me, then was gone. I watched her until she turned the hall corner. Then I went back to bed and picked up my phone. There he was again. Staring at me. Smiling. Except this time it felt patronizing. I stared in pity at the photo of me next to him. Thinking I was happy when I was just naive.

I went to the Twitter app, all ready to delete my account. But instead, I clicked on the magnifying glass at the bottom. #TylerFranklin was already the number-four search topic on Twitter, the NBA Playoffs the only thing preventing him from being number one. His name was trending with two others: #Justice4Janelle and “person of interest.” There were 11.6K tweets.

I wasn’t the only one who had Ty on their shit list. But instead of feeling happy about it, I was pissed. Yes, still partly at him. I had a right to be. But the other part was just as mad at the almost twelve thousand people who felt they needed to share their opinion. Some sentimental. Some ridiculous. All attention seeking.

Eleven thousand six hundred of us may have been mad, but only one of us had come down those stairs Monday morning. Only one of us had found a bloodied and beaten Janelle Beckett a few feet from the front door. Only one of us had seen the blood seeping away from her like it was just as scared of her as I was of it.

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