Page 38 of Jon's Helter Skelter Cold Case

She tilted her head back to look up at him, not letting go of the hug. Something of a feat, as he was a good six inches taller. “You’re doing better.”

“I am. Lots better. My parents came by yesterday and visited me. Your dad did, too. We signed an agreement so he’d represent me.”

I was delighted to hear the news. I knew he was in good hands there.

Abby bounced a little on her toes. “He told me so last night. My dad’s the best. I’m glad you agreed.”

“Trust me, I was glad for the offer.” Letting go of her, he held out a hand. “Jon, Donovan, great to see you.”

I shook his hand, making my own evaluation. He did look better. Like he’d been sleeping better, his lines calmer. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why. “We’re hoping to run a few things by you, get your take.”

“Sure, anything I can do to help.”

We all settled around the table and I pulled out the list from my messenger bag. “First, I don’t know if anyone’s said this to you or not, but all the evidence they found was fake.”

His brows compressed. “Fake?”

“Psychically made,” Donovan clarified, relaxing next to me. “As in, a psychic made it on the spot. The GPS history, the weapon, even the blood. None of it’s real.”

“I’ve had three different psychics confirm this.”

Dwayne looked like someone had just smacked him on the back of his head and his brain needed a second to reposition itself. “Damn. I knew something had to be off, as I didn’t do any of what they accused me of, but still…just, damn. I didn’t expect it to be made up like that.”

“Trust me, none of us did. We’ve done some research on what kind of psychic types are even capable of doing it, as well as who’s in the area who fits the bill. There’s apparently a few who can manage this, although I’m not sure if it’s a complete list.” I slid the list of names over to him so he could peruse it. “Anyone leap out to you?”

Dwayne pulled the sheet closer and examined it for a long minute before slowly shaking his head. “No. No, I don’t recognize any of these people.”

Dammit. I’d been hoping for something.

“Did your sister have anyone interested in her? A stalker or anything?” Abby asked.

“No, not that I know of. And we had no secrets between us. Tylesia would have told me if someone was bothering her.”

Had a feeling that would be his answer, but I was glad Abby asked.

Dwayne’s frown indicated he was thinking hard. “There were people who showed interest in her, but she always kindly turned them down. No one got any traction with her. It’s why I’m still so confused on why this all happened. Tylesia just didn’t do anything to warrant an attack. She didn’t have enemies who hated her enough to wish her dead.”

Most of the time, murders were open and shut because whoever did the killing was obvious about their motivations. This was one of those rare times when it wasn’t the case. I didn’t actually want this case to be the outlier—made it harder for us to solve.

Dwayne’s eyes came back up to mine. “What now?”

“We’re still digging for clues,” I assured him. “I’m sending the weapon to a friend of mine, an FBI agent who is a Tracer. I’m hoping he can get a lock on the person who made it. In the meantime, we’re turning over every rock that looks even remotely suspicious.”

“We’re close to having enough of a case to overturn your verdict.” Donovan gave him a reassuring nod. “We can prove at least half of the evidence used against you isn’t real, after all. The rest is so circumstantial it shouldn’t have held up in court to begin with.”

Preach. “Even if we never figure out exactly what happened to your sister, I’m confident we can get you exonerated and out of here.”

“I’ll take the win, but…” Dwayne looked between the three of us, smile sad. “I’d really appreciate it if you can figure it out. I’m not sure if I’ll ever sleep well until I know what happened to Tye.”

Fair. In his shoes, I’d be just as obsessed with finding out what happened to my sister. “Trust me, we’re all very motivated to figure this out. We’ll do our best, man.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

14

With everything going on, the week flew by, and before I knew it my dinner with Simin and Eshaal was upon me. I was nervous as hell, and I couldn’t even explain why. The phone call with Simin a week ago had done a lot to reassure me, but I still harbored this nervous feeling about seeing them face-to-face. She’d said she wanted to see me healed—and I was, but the scars were still there. Would she be disappointed? Or sad to see sucha stark reminder of that painful day? I didn’t know how I’d react if she was.

I sat in the parking lot of the restaurant where we were set to meet Simin and Eshaal feeling like my stomach was trying a new origami knot. Thankfully, Jon had driven us here because there was no way in hell I could have focused on the road.

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