Page 45 of The Girl and the Lies

“Another wig fiber,” I say.

“So we’re looking for someone who is going to pretty great lengths to conceal their identity,” Detective Fuller says. “Where do we go from here?”

“Keep looking,” I say. “Try places you don’t usually think of. Get me a print, a receipt, something.”

“Check the seat adjuster,” Boris says, coming around the side of the building again. “I’ve had some people tell me that the driver’s seat in that car is a little tricky, and sometimes it will fall a bit backward so the driver has to use the adjuster to get it back up. They might have done that.”

“That’s great,” I say. “Thank you.”

The team checks the lever and comes up with a thumbprint. It’s a long shot, considering how many people have driven the car, but it’s something.

I’m up early the next morning missing my Sherwood neighborhood and the predawn jogs I take when I can’t sleep. The neighborhood is so still during these hours that the sound of my feet hitting the sidewalk sounds loud in my ears and I’m sure I’m waking up the neighbors as I run past. Sometimes I get a chance to wave at a particularly intrepid gardener up before the sun to battle weeds and fight pests out of the flower beds and away from their kitchen gardens. Usually, it’s just me.

I take a walk around Bellamy’s neighborhood, but it doesn’t have the same feeling. I remember when I lived not far from here, in the house my father still lives in. Back then I couldn’t have imagined living anywhere else, much less that I would have found my way back to Sherwood and been happy to relocate there.

Back at the house, I make coffee and sit on the back porch looking out over the small backyard as I think about the case. The dangling threads are bothering me. I’ve found myself on paths that have led nowhere, but there has to be something there. The fingerprint found in the car at the lot is being run through the databases today. If it belongs to someone who has been arrested before, it will come up, and we’ll have a possible suspect. But there’s a chance it was left by someone who has never been fingerprinted. Then I’ll be in the same place I am now.

Eric comes out with his own coffee and sits down in the chair beside me. We catch up for a little bit, talking about everything but the case as he seems to be trying to give my brain a break from thinking about it, though I know he’s very aware it’s next to impossible for me to think about anything else when I’m engrossed in a case as intense as this one.

Just as he’s getting ready to leave for work, my phone rings. I look at the screen and see Ander Ward’s number.

“Hey, Ander,” I say. “How are you doing?”

I’m fully aware of how ridiculous the question is. His wife was just murdered, and he’s learning to navigate the world as a widower. But as Xavier would describe it, it’s one of those things you just have to say.

“Agent Griffin, I don’t know what to do,” he says. His voice sounds tense, like something is really frightening him.

I pull my feet down off the table in front of me, sitting up straighter.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I ask.

“The media is swarming my mother’s house,” he says. “I don’t know how they found out that I’m here, but the front yard is full of them, and their cars are blocking the road. They’ve been out there for a while. I need to get out to go to work, but I can’t go out there with them there.”

“To go to work?” I ask, shocked that he’s even considering going into the office twenty-four hours after his wife’s brutal death. “Do you really think you should be going to work today?”

“I need to. I wasn’t planning on it, but I can’t just sit around here. It’s driving me crazy. I can’t stop thinking about Sabrina, and I can’t stand it. I need something that will give me a purpose and take my mind off of all of that. But now I can’t get out of the house because of all the reporters and cameramen,” he says. “Should I go out there and talk to them?”

“Absolutely not,” I tell him. “Hunker down, and do not go outside unless you absolutely have to. If you do, just walk to your car without saying anything. I don’t want you making any kind of statement or giving any details about anything. We really need to keep as much information as possible contained, especially this early in the investigation. We don’t want details being leaked. We don’t want this turned into a sensationalized media circus. That can compromise an investigation and cause serious repercussions.”

“I won’t say anything to them,” he says. “But you should know that Tracy plans to.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“She called me last night to give her condolences and let me know that she wasn’t going to have Sabrina’s death be glossed over. She has already booked a talk at a local church and was planning on talking about Gideon’s death, but now she is going to add Sabrina to it as well.”

“Shit,” I mutter. “All right. I’m going to have to talk to her about that. You just stay where you are. Let her know that you aren’t coming in this morning. Keep the curtains closed, and don’t go outside. I’m sorry to ask you to essentially trap yourself and your mother in the house, but right now it’s the best thing for both of you. Dealing with the media is a stressor you really don’t need right now. If they start getting aggressive, coming to the door or anything, call the police.”

“I will,” he says.

“I’ll talk to you soon.”

Eric looks at me strangely as I end the call. “What’s going on?”

“That was Ander Ward. He’s staying at his mother’s house for a little while, and apparently, the media tracked him down. They are surrounding the house and trying to get him to come out and talk about his wife’s murder. He was planning on going to work today, but he can’t get out of the house. I can’t believe he would even be thinking about going to work.”

“I can,” Eric says. “If something were to happen to Bellamy or Bebe, I wouldn’t be able to function without having something specific to do. I go to work every day. It’s familiar. It would be my first instinct to just keep with my routine so that I wouldn’t sit around the house and completely fall apart. I don’t know for sure if I would actually be able to do anything when I got to work, but that would be what I would immediately think of. And you would too.”

I know he’s right. I’ve dealt with my fair share of painful losses, and every time, I’ve found solace in leaning into my work. It gives me a sense of meaning and clarity and helps me to feel like I’m doing something in the world rather than just sitting by and letting it happen to me.

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