Page 102 of Trapper Road

“When she asked to borrow my phone to call a friend, she used it to take photos of herself in my bathroom and then sent them to herself, along with the other texts. Then she deleted the evidence off my phone, so I wouldn’t have any idea. I was completely blindsided by the entire thing.”

There’s a brief moment of hopefulness in his expression that I might believe him. It quickly fades and is replaced by weariness. He knows how ludicrous he sounds.

“So, you’re saying she made it all up,” I ask, wanting to make his accusation clear.

“I am,” he says, voice hard. “She set me up. I was accused of production and transmission of child pornography and threatened with decades in jail. But Chief Parks offered me a deal. He said the victim didn’t want to face a trial or anything like that. She didn’t want any records of what happened to her and just wanted it all to go away. In the end, I agreed to leave town and promised I’d never try to work with kids again or attempt to work for another church.” He snaps his fingers. “My dreams of being a youth minister gone just like that.”

It’s a remarkable story, but also a very convenient one. Which is more likely: this man took advantage of Juliette, or she took advantage of him?

I ask the obvious question. “Why didn’t you fight the charges if you were innocent?”

He laughs, but there’s nothing pleasant about it. “Look, we all know how it would have gone. She’d have made her accusations, the entire town would have turned the spotlight on me. They’d scrutinize every interaction, anytime I ever had a drink or hung out at the bar — any date I’d ever been on — would be dragged out into the open and looked at as proof that I’m some sort of sexual predator. My ex-girlfriends would have become targets, my parents.

“They wouldn’t have found anything — I didn’t do anything wrong. But that wouldn’t matter. Once an accusation like that’s been made, it never goes away. And look, I get it. I’m a feminist too. I’m in favor of believing women — I think for too long women’s claims of sexual assault and harassment have been ignored or brushed off. But that’s not what happened here. She wanted to destroy me, and she came pretty fucking close to succeeding. In many ways she did succeed. I mean look at where I’m living,” he says bitterly. He waves his hands at his surroundings. “You think this is what I wanted in life?”

He’s right. My natural inclination is to believe Juliette’s version of the story. It’s completely plausible, and also incredibly sad. A girl with a crush on a young man in her life, getting in over her head. It happens all too often.

But the thing is… I don’t think he’s lying. Which means he’s either telling the truth, or he’s told himself the same story long enough that he’s convinced himself it’s reality.

And if he’s telling the truth, that will necessitate a seismic shift in my understanding of Juliette. “What you’re saying makes Juliette sound like a sociopath.”

He shrugs. “I’m not sure that’s not accurate. They exist.”

I agree, but I’ve seen nothing in all of my research to indicate anything remotely likely with Juliette. If she’s this manipulative, this willing to destroy a man’s life and go to great lengths to do so, there would have to be indications of that kind of behavior elsewhere in her life.

While my gut wants to believe him, I’m not sure how much I can trust that right now. It would be so much easier if there were some sort of evidence I could rely on. “Do you have any proof of your version of things?”

He shakes his head. “My word against hers.”

“Is there anyone who can verify your side of the story?”

“If what you say is true and Juliette is dead, then no.” He grimaces and stares down at his hands, as if the reality of the situation has just hit him. “I guess I always thought that one day she’d regret what she did and come forward. I hoped that maybe I’d get my life back. But if she died, that means the truth died with her.”

He sighs and sits back. “Look, I get it. You don’t believe me because you don’t want to. It doesn’t square with the way you view the world. No one wants to think women make up these kinds of claims. But it happens. Statistically, you know it does.”

I know he’s right that false accusations happen. It’s uncomfortable to acknowledge that fact. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you.”

He clearly doesn’t believe me. “It doesn’t matter anyway. All it takes is an accusation to ruin someone’s life. Everyone remembers the accusation. No one pays attention months or years later when the investigation is complete, and it turns out the facts didn’t support the claim and the guy is exonerated. His life is already ruined.”

He hasn’t shown any indication that he recognizes me or knows who I am, so there’s little chance he knows about my past. He can’t know that I spent a year in jail facing false accusations that I helped my ex-husband murder those women. He can’t know that those accusations still dog me. Not just from the sickos obsessed by Melvin and his legacy, but from people who only read the headlines when I was arrested and never bothered to learn that I’d been acquitted.

Those false accusations have impacted every area of my life: my name, where we live, my job, my sense of security.

Maybe that’s part of what makes me believe him. I recognize something similar in him, the anger and helplessness in the face of injustice. It’s a hard thing to be falsely accused of something. You have truth on your side, but suddenly truth stops mattering.

That’s the hardest part, really: knowing you’re right but no one else caring.

I think of Trevor’s grandmother and her absolute belief in his innocence. Her frustration that the police didn’t want to listen to her. Her terror that no one ever would.

“You think Juliette might have done the same thing to this kid, Trevor? The one accused of kidnapping and murdering her?”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t put it past her. Honestly, I’m just glad she didn’t come after me again. The minute the Gardenia police showed up on my doorstep and told me she was missing, I panicked and assumed she’d set me up again. Thank God I had an alibi, or I’d be in jail right now.”

I frown, remembering him mentioning before that the Gardenia police had contacted him. There wasn’t any record of that in the file. If there had been, I would have been able to track him much more easily. “The police never mentioned talking to you in the investigation reports.”

He doesn’t seem to see this as odd. “Why would they? The ruled me out as a suspect, no need to drag the past back into the light.”

Still, it doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t like that the police kept something like that out of the file.

---