Page 125 of Secrets Along the Shore
Fogerty doesn’t answer. He just keeps staring that cold, soulless stare.
“I said, do you understand?”
When he makes no sound, I push away from the table, my chair grinding against the floor as I rise.
“Fine,” he says, shifting in his seat. He spreads his hands as far as the cuffs allow. “It’s your show.”
I pause a beat before sitting back down. As I do, there’s a violent pounding on the door.
“You good?” Officer Dalton bellows, a flicker of apprehension in his voice.
“We’re good,” I reply, not looking at the door, but instead keeping my gaze on Fogerty. After several moments, when Fogerty still hasn’t said anything, I raise my eyebrows. “Well?”
“I didn’t do it.”
“Do what?”
“Murder her.”
“Who said you murdered her?”
“Come on, Sophie?—”
“That’s Detective Walsh to you.”
He sniffs. “DetectiveWalsh…obviously if another girl’s body gets found off of 174, you people are gonna come looking for me.”
“Not necessarily. Could’ve been a completely different M.O. No reason for you to jump to that conclusion. Unless”—I narrow my gaze—“there’s a reason for you to jump to that conclusion.”
“I heard enough to know I’d be at the top of your list.”
“So why don’t you confess and save us all a lot of time and trouble?”
He taps the table with dirt-encrusted, nail-bitten fingers. “D’you stop to ask yerself why I don’t want my attorney here?”
“Crossed my mind.”
“’Cause I ain't gonna confess.”
Fogerty licks his lips. “Number Three was buried exactly like your girl this morning.”
“And?”
“Numbers One and Two weren’t. Ever wonder about that?”
“No,” I lie.
When Teresa Anders, the third victim, was found in a clear plastic tarp, it was a departure from the first two murders, where the victims weren’t wrapped in anything. The difference in the manner of burial didn’t give us much pause, because it made sense there would be a learning curve. We posited that Fogerty initially disposed of the bodies as soon as possible, not allowing himself time to do anything morethan simply leave them. It made sense that by the third murder, he realized burying the body deeper, further from the highway, and in something to minimize odor, would help avoid detection. But I’m not going to give him a foothold by admitting it.
Fogerty dramatically taps his fingers on the table again. “Well, ya’ should.”
“That fact doesn’t change anything. You’re right, we are looking at you for this morning’s murder. You could help yourself,”—I bob my head back and forth as if reconsidering—“maybehelp yourself if you were to confess?—”
“You’re not listenin’. I’m not confessin’. I’m tryin’ to tell you that you’re looking in the wrong place. My attorney wanted me to confess too. Was here first thing this mornin’ after he heard ’bout the new girl?—”
That little birdie sure gets around.I’ll have to talk to Tasha about our leak.
“—and that’s why I didn’t want him here. I told him what I’m telling you now. It wasn’t me. And if you find the fella that did it, you’re gonna find the real murderer of those girls I’m ’bout to go to prison over.”
