Page 137 of We Are All Guilty Here

“Dad!” Adam screamed. “Dad! Get the lawyer! They’re trying to murder me!”

Walton stood silently by while Brett shoved Adam out theside door. Emmy could still hear Adam screaming for help as he was escorted up the driveway.

“My Lord.” Walton steadied his hand on the counter. His head was bowed. He’d deflated like a balloon. He couldn’t look at Emmy when he asked, “Is it that other girl? Paisley Williams?”

“Paisley Walker.” Emmy inserted some gentleness into her tone. “I’m sorry, Dr. Huntsinger. I think Adam had something to do with her abduction.”

“This is my fault. I should’ve never hired that lawyer.” Tears dropped onto the floor. He still couldn’t look at her. “Is there anything I can do now? Could she—could she still be alive?”

Oddly, some of the tightness left Emmy’s chest. Both Walton and Alma had stopped helping with the Madison and Cheyenne investigation once they’d realized they could possibly be responsible for sending their son to death row. Maybe now with Paisley’s life on the line, they would make a different choice.

She asked, “Can you and your wife answer some questions for me?”

Walton took a raspy breath. He knew what she was really asking. “It’s not me you want. Alma’s always been closer to Adam. He always confided in her. It was just easier between them. Maybe I wanted too much. Asked too much.”

“Paisley could still be alive.” Emmy tried not to push him too hard. “Her parents, Elijah and Carol, they’re desperate to find her. Their hearts are breaking. She’s their only child.”

Walton took another raspy breath. “I don’t know that Alma will agree to speak. She’s always doted on Adam. Never seen the bad, only the good.”

“Would you ask her?” Emmy tried to make it easy on him. “I could make some coffee or tea. We don’t have to talk about Adam if she’s not comfortable with it. I can answer any questions about what’s going on and why he was arrested.”

The neutral offer pulled him over the line. “Alma’s Sanka is in the cabinet by the sink.”

Emmy watched Walton shuffle back up the hallway, take a left toward the stairs. The orange-branded jar was in the same cabinet as the coffee cups. Emmy only knew about the instant coffee because her aunt Millie drank it by the gallon. She grabbedthe kettle off the stove. Started to fill it at the kitchen sink. Her gaze wandered to the window.

The backyard was overgrown where the shed had been. Only the stained concrete slab remained. Emmy could still remember the absolute terror as she’d busted through the rotted wood hoping, praying, that she would find Madison alive. Then Gerald was holding her. Virgil was looking down at her with concern. The heat inside the shed had been so intense that they were all soaked in sweat.

She placed the kettle on the stove, turned on the gas. Emmy leaned her hands on the counter. She looked down at the detritus from Adam’s pockets. Wrapping papers and cigarettes. An Android phone. A red nylon man’s wallet with the Georgia Bulldogs logo.

Emmy suddenly tensed.

The tickle. The bad feeling. TheDon’t Feel Right.

She stared at the wallet, but she didn’t see it. She was back in the foyer twelve years ago. Gerald was climbing the stairs. Walton motioning Emmy back toward the kitchen to find the basement key. His black Samsonite suitcase stood beside the door. A colorful golf umbrella was hooked through the handle. A red nylon man’s wallet was sticking out of the zippered pocket. The Georgia Bulldogs logo was printed on the front.

It was the exact same wallet that Brett had taken out of Adam’s back pocket and dropped on the kitchen counter moments ago.

Emmy had to swallow the spit that had pooled into her mouth. She checked the hall to make sure Walton wasn’t on his way back to the kitchen. Her fingers felt clumsy when she carefully peeled apart the Velcro. She waited, listening for sounds in the house.

Nothing.

The wallet had sixteen dollars in cash. A receipt for a pack of cigarettes and gas from the station up the street. No credit cards. No photos. The plastic sleeve for the driver’s license had yellowed over the years. The photo was barely visible. She had to break open the plastic to get it out. Emmy checked the dates. Adam had been forty-nine years old when the license was issued.He’d measured six-feet two-inches and weighed 190 pounds. The license had expired while he was still on death row. The address belonged to the house she was standing in.

All of the obvious explanations fell apart as soon as she could think of them. There was no way Walton had used the cheap nylon wallet for twelve years. Even if Adam had found the wallet lying around, there was no reason to put his expired license inside. He’d been out of prison for less than a week. The plastic sleeve had pressed against the license for so long that the print had transferred onto the inside.

Emmy studied the license photo. Adam was unsmiling, almost hostile. His hair was dyed jet black. There wasn’t even gray at the temples. His face was already lined, the skin pockmarked from acne. He could easily pass for a man seventeen years his senior.

And a man who was seventeen years his senior could easily pass for Adam.

Same thick glasses. Same unnaturally dark hair. Same wiry build. Just yesterday, Emmy had mistaken Adam for Walton when he’d stood at the door talking to Gerald. She could easily see a harried TSA worker at the airport making the same mistake.

Emmy felt her jaw clench. She drew in a strained breath. Tried to check herself. Was it really this simple? After twelve long years, after pulling Cheyenne and Madison out of the pond, after losing her father, after pushing herself to the point of exhaustion in the quest to find Paisley, was it really as simple as a cheap nylon wallet? And was it all down to a single clue that Emmy had stated at least three times over the last few hours?

Every time Adam had been arrested, he hadn’t had his license on him.

Was that because Walton was using his son’s ID to cover his tracks? Was Adam telling the truth about being framed? Was Dale Loudermilk’s accomplice actually Dr. Walton Huntsinger, a white male who worked in a skilled position that required education and training? Whose job brought him into frequent contact with children? Who was a trusted member of the community? Who was married with a family of his own?

Emmy positioned herself in the kitchen so that she could seeinto the empty hallway all the way to the foyer. She dialed Cole’s number on her phone.

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