Page 37 of Just Right

Cami didn't know if she believed that James McCallum was suddenly choosing to cooperate. This was too much of a turnaround. And he was too much of an unstable character. She could see, from the deepening crease in Connor's forehead, that he thought exactly the same.

Still, she was glad that James was talking. She wanted to know what he had to say.

James took a deep breath and began, "I want to ask you to try to understand why I did what I did. The original crash, the original accident, it destroyed me. Look, I was on the edge anyway. I had problems. I’m not going to hide it from you, because I am sure you can find out if you don’t know already. I'd been taking drugs. I'd been associating with people in the underworld. It was my job to do it. I had to investigate them. That's part of what being a journalist is about. But I started getting drawn into things. I became involved.”

"I understand you were not a stable character," Connor agreed.

"And then, that accident. It was hideous. I didn't know the family at all, but when I tried to start doing the research, it brought so many of my monsters to the fore. I was in a dark place. I was in a very dark place."

He gripped his forehead. He was sweating. The room wasn't that warm. Either he was seriously traumatized, Cami thought, or he was guilty. She had no idea which one it was.

"You're saying that having to report on this accident changed you?" Connor said. Cami could tell that he was trying to get a grip on exactly what this incident had meant for the troubled journo.

"It was the trigger. I was having problems before that, but they were worse after. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I couldn't work. I tried. I really did. I tried to get my job done. I tried to report, but I couldn't. It was like that accident tripped a switch in my mind. I was too busy thinking about it, obsessing about it, to focus. I know, it was unhealthy. But I couldn't help it. I was ill. Mentally. And I’m still not well."

"So, are you saying that from the time you were asked to report on this accident, you were no longer fully mentally functional?"

"Yes."

"What about your memory? Any gaps?"

Cami liked how Connor had led around to that.

"Of course there were gaps. I was on all sorts of substances I regret now. There were plenty of gaps. I couldn't cope. I couldn't handle it. I was seeing the accident replayed in my mind. I was seeing the family going off the bridge. I was seeing them die."

His voice broke. He rubbed his face with his hands. "I . . . I wasn't the same after that. I kept having nightmares. I couldn't get it out of my mind. I thought I was going crazy. I had fights with people. Took things too far. I took drugs to try to forget. I tried to keep going, to hold onto my job. But it was impossible."

James's body slumped. He had covered his face with his hands. He was rocking back and forth. Cami had a sense that he was genuinely trying to convey the depth of his distress. She really wanted to believe there was something to that.

Connor, on the other hand, wasn't going for it. "So, did your memory improve in jail? Or did you still have memory gaps after you were released?" he asked firmly.

Cami saw where this was going. Connor was not going to allow James's flawed recollections to substitute for actual physical evidence from his phone. Especially if he had in fact followed those location pins. Perhaps he'd identified people on social media who resembled the victims and who were easy to find and then he'd used his mapping app to trace them. There might be a record of that. If that was the case, then no wonder he'd thrown his phone away.

Connor was serious about this. He would not be swayed by sentiment and a guy who kept trying to avoid the issue. Cami was impressed.

"I had difficulty remembering because I was confused. On days when I was confused, it was worse. On days when I was calm, it would be better," James tried to explain. Now, perspiration was actually rolling down his cheeks. He wiped it away, staring at his wet fingers with a strangely blank look.

"So, I have to ask, where were you on the days and times when the murders were committed?"

"What . . . what are those days and times?"

"Let's start with late last night. Say, sometime from late afternoon to midnight. Can you account for your time then?"

"That's a big stretch of time."

"Can you account for it?" Connor was relentless.

"No. I didn't have anything going on yesterday. I drove around for a while. I was confused yesterday. Yesterday was not a good day. I was feeling very stressed. Regretful."

"So, you can't account for your time all day?"

"No. I can't. And I wasn't high. I've been clean since prison. I'm not stupid. But I . . . I guess I can't say where I was."

Connor's frown intensified. "You can't say where you were. Okay. Let me ask this, then. What were you doing in the days leading up to the first murder? Say, three days ago? Four days before? Is there any time in the past week or so that you truly had good recall?"

James's expression faltered. "I don't think so. This has been a very bad week. I know I had a parole check-in. That was on Monday morning. My parole check-ins are Mondays, and I know I mustn't miss them."

As she listened to James's stammering account, Cami started to feel a surprising emotion.

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