Page 87 of Missing White Woman

“Bree, you okay?” Billie gently tapped me with her elbow, her eyes still focused on the phone in front of us.

“I’m sorry. I just… It’s hard to think about seeing her body, lying there like that. It was the last thing I expected when I came downstairs that morning.”

“I can only imagine. Take us through the night.”

I took a breath, and then I did, the words tumbling out without much thought. “It started with playing hooky from work. Me and Ty. I was supposed to leave last Sunday, but we decided I should stay longer since he’d had to work so much while I was here. Our last conversation before bed was about breakfast the next morning. And I thought he was going to say he loved me. We hadn’t said it before. But he stopped himself.”

Now I wished he’d said it if only so I could say it back to him. It would be a lifelong regret no matter how this all turned out.

I kept on. “Finding Janelle wasn’t the first time I woke up. That was around four thirty. Ty wasn’t in bed. I assumed he’d gotten up to work. I went to get him. I know you’ve seen the pictures of the house, but it doesn’t do justice to how big it is. The main bedroom is on the fourth floor, and you couldn’t hear anything below. I didn’t know what was going on when I went down the first set of stairs. Could barely make out a light on in the kitchen. I called out—and the light went off. And I figured he was coming to bed, so I went back up to the bedroom. I realized later that this was when she was dying. And that maybe, just maybe, if I had gone downstairs, I could’ve saved her life.”

The first tear hit then, rushing out of my eye like a waterfall and making its way down my cheek. I didn’t wipe it away. Didn’t touch my Billie-powdered face at all. Instead, I just kept talking, staring at the iPhone but not really seeing it. “But I didn’t. I went upstairs and I went to sleep again. For hours. While she lay there. Bleeding. And when I did finally wake back up and go downstairs, I found her. But it was too late. I noticed her shoe first. Then I noticed the blood. The hair.”

I felt like if I reached out right then I could touch the body. The waterfall had turned into an ocean and it was only then I attempted to wipe my face. I realized Billie was finally looking at me as if no longer caring about angles or the best way to manipulate an audience of millions.

I struggled to get the next bit out. “Her hands were by her head, and I’d like to think Janelle fought back. That she was brave until the end, fighting for her life while I slept upstairs—instead of helping her. And even after I saw her, I didn’t help. Didn’t think to even call for an ambulance just in case. No. I just freaked out. Managed to somehow get outside, where I ran straight into a neighbor, who was able to call 911.”

“Drew.” Billie knowing Drew’s name is what brought me back to the present. “Where was Ty during all this?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t wake up again until ten, and he’d told me he was going to work. So that’s where I thought he was—until the detectives told me he hadn’t gone in.”

“That must’ve been a shock.”

I nodded. “I also thought he’d never been to Little Street until the day I got there.”

Billie’s eyes widened. “So he lied to you as well. You think he did it?”

I took Adore’s advice and didn’t respond right away. I’d been expecting this question, but still it was hard to answer. Ty wasn’t perfect—he’d lied to me over and over, and he’d even admitted he fucked up in that last message.

But he wasn’t a murderer.

I didn’t care how intimately he had known Janelle. He didn’t kill her. I opened my mouth to say so too when Adore cleared her throat so loudly we both looked over. Billie turned back to me. I finally spoke.

“I think the Tyler Franklin I thought I knew wouldn’t do it.”

TWENTY-SIX

The rest of the conversation was a blur, but it must’ve gone well. Adore didn’t feel another need to interrupt, and she was smiling when Billie finally stopped recording and turned the ring light off.

“Two hundred thousand people watching,” Billie said. “Not bad at all.”

The crinkle was back.

I didn’t say anything. Didn’t do anything. Just sat there, face still placed at the perfect angle. I’d done it.

Finally shared what had happened. Spoken from my heart. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting—to feel accomplished? Victorious? Empowered?

Instead, I felt exhausted on all levels, and like all the water had left my body. My throat felt dry and my eyes itched.

And I was ready to go home. “Thank you again,” I finally said.

I went to grab my handbag when Billie spoke once more. “You know that jerk who told me about your conviction tried to contact me again.”

Adore and I exchanged a look. Keith. “About what?” I said.

“The night you got arrested,” Billie said.

I cringed. Having just relived the worst night of my life, I didn’t also want to rehash the runner-up.

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