Page 65 of Sinful Sorrow

“Yep. Someone known to the Wallaces on an intimate level. Someone who could swipe Patricia’s card, head out to buy the weapon, and then put the card back. But someone whose impulse control has not yet fully developed. A mature, thinking adult would know buying a very specific weapon, using a credit card, in a building wrapped in security cameras, isn’t the best way to commit a crime.”

“You’re saying your killer is young. Underdeveloped, mentally.”

“Uh huh.” Archer releases me, but only to step to the door the very moment a knock echoes from the other side. Pulling it open a few inches, he listens for a beat as Officer Clay murmurs. Nodding. Responding with a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ when appropriate.

Finally, he accepts a yellow envelope the size of a sheet of paper, and tucking it under his arm, he closes the door and turns back to face us. “Judge Mistleforth is still sitting in court. We don’t have a signature for the CCTV footage yet.”

“What the fuck?” Re-energized, Fletch shoves up from his chair. “Is he screwing with our case because it’s fun, or is he completely useless?”

“The answer isn’t no. It’s just… not yet. The docket is full and cases are stacking up.”

“No shit! We’re trying to add another to the pile. But we’re working too fucking fast for them? What are we supposed to do, Arch? Our killer is inside this building. Right now.”

“Wait.” I swing my gaze to the one-way glass and study the Wallace duo on the other side. “Who is your killer? Specifically.”

“They can walk out any moment they like,” Fletch adds. “They killed Naomi and her baby. Too fucking cowardly to hold the knife themselves. The least they can do is look into our eyes and face the consequences of their actions.”

“Judge is busy. There’s nothing we can do about it for now.” Archer peels his envelope open and peeks inside, narrowing his eyes as he scans the contents. He flicks from sheet to sheet, then pulls a single, lined page out and sets it flat against the yellow. “It wouldn’t be an anonymous tip if I signed my name at the end of this letter,” he reads. “So I won’t. I’m an equal opportunity snitch, and though this one is a minor and female, this particular crime is irredeemable in my eyes. You owe me a Snickers. I’ll collect someday. Go get your girl.”

“Sophia?” I move to Archer’s side, resting my shoulder against his arm, and re-read the handwritten note to ensure I heard what I think I heard. “She said she was too busy to get the files for us.”

“She pulled stills from the hunting store CCTV.” He slides the images out of the envelope and places them on the table for us all to see. A young woman drowning in a black Copeland Condors hoodie and sunglasses. She wears tight jeans and white sneakers. Carrying a book bag on her back, her name sewn into the fabric like this is all some kind of joke.

She knew then what she’d planned. She’d known it was wrong. She attempted to hide her identity, and yet, didn’t think ahead to shuck her bag off. Or, ya know, buy a weapon with cash.

“But why?” I look across again at another knock on the door. Then as Fletch tugs it wide and a man I’ve yet to meet, though his face rings somewhat familiar, steps through with an iPad. He looks at Archer with a grin, then to Fletch. But his smile falters when his eyes come my way and stop on the line of grainy images lined up.

“Aw man, you already found her.” He flips the iPad cover open and presents a digital sketch that almost completely matches those from the hunting store. “I just got done with Professor Jene. Seems I wasted my time.”

“Not wasted.” Archer takes the device and studies the girl whose eyes stare back, soulless. Her youth, thrown away. The future she could have had, tossed in the trash. “We need every piece of evidence we can find to hand over to the prosecutors. Jene confirms this is the girl who has been skulking around the college?”

“Yeah. He said she’d been by at least a dozen times in the last month or so. She looks young, Malone.” He exhales a long, sad sigh. “Really fucking young. What could she have possibly intended to come of all this?”

“Jealousy makes people do dumb things.” He collects the printed images from the table, sliding them into a stack, and accepts a printed copy of the sketch when the artist offers. “Underdeveloped brains make for impulsive decisions. Sometimes, desperate people will do anything to have what someone else has. Come on,” he talks to Fletch as he slides everything back into the envelope Sophia sent. He’s in full work mode, closing in on a case with a single-minded focus. But I know he speaks to me, too. “We’ve gotta tie this up and make an arrest. Premeditation makes this a thousand times worse.”

“She’s not gonna be tried in juvenile court.” Fletch opens the door for us to pass through.

“But, wait.” I stop everyone before we leave. Then I point toward Mrs. Wallace and her outspoken daughter. The one who helps her mother through her grief. The mouthpiece who speaks up when the other can’t. “I don’t understand why. What did Naomi have that our killer wanted?”

“A way out, probably. And a grudge against the kid in the Ghost-face mask.” Archer gently wraps his hand around my arm and leads me to the door. “Your oldest sister has it made. Rich boyfriend. Full ride scholarship. She’s gonna have a career and a bank account that never touches the red. Better yet, she’ll marry for love, and not obligation. Mason will go pro in the NBA. He adores the hell out of his girlfriend. And now they’re having a baby, too. All of it, to a fifteen-year-old brain, looks perfect. Because she’s not yet old enough to understand the effort that went into the grades that qualified for the scholarship. She’s not old enough to comprehend just how hard Naomi would have to work to raise a baby while maintaining those grades. She wasn’t grown enough to understand the slog, only the rewards.”

“And being raised right next door to the Morgans,” Fletch inserts, “obsessively watching what they had, witnessing the story-book romance, not only between Naomi and Mason, but what appeared to be a happily ever after between Brent and Kallie, too. While your house is falling apart and your dad is never home, because he’s picking up extra shifts to pay the bills.”

“It could be argued that she was jealous and wanted what her sister had,” Archer finishes. “Or simply, the pregnancy might’ve been the straw that broke a desperate camel’s back.”

“I’m gonna go get Gordon Wallace and his youngest daughter,” Fletch decides, moving into the hall and starting back the way I already walked today. “We have to finish this.”

“She was at the haunted house that same night,” Archer murmurs. “She paid her entry fee and headed through, just like others before her. I have that on the security footage, too. I figure that’s when she swapped the prop for the real thing and walked away. The fact that this whole thing could have gone wrong, or the victim could have been someone else, wouldn’t have registered to a fifteen-year-old. She couldn’t think that far ahead.”

“She could get an expert witness to testify to her underdeveloped brain.” I stop on the other side of the hall and fold my arms, glancing to the right and lowering my voice as Fletch comes back with the remaining Wallaces. “Anyone with half-decent knowledge of biological development could testify to her inability to think through her actions.”

“And maybe that’s what they’ll do.” Archer silences as the trio come closer, watching when a haunted Gordon Wallace passes, the tips of his fingers pressed to his daughter’s back to lead her.

While she walks in dead silence. Stony faced.

A killer in cold blood and with sociopathic tendencies.

“A similar expert witness could testify that she shows no remorse,” he adds once they’re far enough away not to hear. “And Naomi’s murder was savagely pre-meditated. Heather snuck the card from her mother’s purse, skipped half a day at school to go to a hunting supply store, not the closest store to her home or school. She hid the weapon inside her house for more than two weeks. Then hid it again inside the haunted house, creating a trap where not only her sister and niece would be murdered, but also setting up someone else to do the crime, thus ruining his life too. Whatever her reasons, she committed to them, knowing more than a single life would end.”

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