“So, you lost your dad and your home.”
Alyssa nodded. “I couch surfed for a few months. But my friends all went away to college, and their parents got tired of having me crash on their sofas. Once spring came, I rented spaces at campgrounds. My dad and I used to camp. I had the 4Runner, all the gear, a nice tent, and everything. But then the campgrounds all closed for the winter.”
“When did you move into the cabin?”
“Three or four weeks ago. I don’t remember exactly.” Alyssa sipped her Coke. “I’d been sleeping in the 4Runner, but I’d have to wake up to start the engine every couple of hours because of the cold. I wasn’t getting much sleep, and the gas was getting expensive. I work part-time at the laundromat, but it doesn’t pay enough to rent anything bigger than a campsite. I’ve been trying to get a full-time job. No luck so far.”
“How did you meet up with Harper?”
“It got really cold that one week in February. I couldn’t stand it. I went to a shelter in Scarlet Falls. It’s run by a church. That’s where I met Harper. That was the first time I slept through the night in a month.” Her mouth flattened. “It was the day after payday, and someone stole all my money while I was asleep. I’ll never go back to a shelter.”
“That’s terrible.”
“That’s when Harper said we were better off sticking together and staying away from the shelters. I’d told her about camping all summer. It was her idea to use one of the cabins. She said no one would know.” Alyssa scratched her arm, picking at the skin. The sleeve of her sweater rode up an inch, exposing two pink scars that ran parallel to her veins. “It isn’t luxurious, but as long as we keep the fire going, we stay warm. I have my job, and Harper cleans offices a couple of nights a week. She makes more money than I do. I drive her around, and she shares her food. The arrangement works—worked.”
“Where does Harper work?”
“Different offices all over town,” Alyssa said.
“Do you ever drop her off or pick her up from work?”
“Yeah. The main office is in that industrial complex on the corner of Route 51 and Evergreen Road.”
Bree wrote down the address. “Can you describe Harper for me?”
“She’s about five seven or eight. She’s thin and has long brown hair.”
That description would also fit Alyssa, Bree noted. “There were cleaning products in the cabin. Did Harper bring those from work?”
“No.” Alyssa shook her head. “She bought them. Taking them from work would have gotten her fired.”
“You’re right,” Bree said. “Did you both clean the cabin?”
“Mostly Harper. She’s kind of particular. Maybe a little OCD.”
“What happened this morning?”
Alyssa had already walked Bree through the shooting back at the cabin, but Bree would make her tell her story several more times to check for inconsistencies. Lying was hard.
“I woke up thinking I heard a scream.” Alyssa took a long, steadying breath. “It was still dark. I didn’t know what time it was. But I saw that Harper was gone—and all her stuff was gone too.” Her voice changed, taking on an angry edge. “I didn’t know where she would have gone. She doesn’t have a car, and she picked one of the cabins farthest away from the office in case anyone stopped in there over the winter. No one would see us.” Alyssa’s eyes tightened. “I checked my backpack. My keys and wallet were gone. All my money was inside. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had until payday. Anyway, I thought she’d stolen my truck too, but it was still parked out front. I looked through the window looking at the backyard and saw a shadow. So, I went looking for Harper.”
She paused for a breath, but Bree remained silent. She didn’t want to interrupt the girl’s story now that it was rolling.
“I saw a figure in the trees. I thought it was Harper, and I followed. It wasn’t her. It was a man. Then Harper was there too. He pulled out a gun and shot her.” Alyssa swallowed and her face went sickly gray. She scratched her arm harder, her dirty fingernails digging into the skin, leaving pink trails. If she pushed any harder, she would draw blood, but she didn’t seem to notice the pain.
Bree nudged the Coke toward her, hoping to get the girl to stop hurting herself. “Did you get a good look at the man?”
Alyssa took a sip of her soda. “I was about thirty feet away from him, but it was dark.” Her eyeballs shifted away. “We already talked about this.”
“I was hoping you might have remembered more,” Bree said. “How old was he?”
“I already told you it was dark,” Alyssa whined, frustration heavy in her voice. She set down the soda can and went back to raking her nails along the inside of her forearm. Did she need a mental health eval?
Bree eyed the parallel scars again. Her stomach twisted. Suicide attempt? “Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”
Alyssa brushed her hair away from her face. Her eyes looked haunted, and she refused to make eye contact. “I don’t think so.”
There’s a lie.
“Is there anything else you remember about him? A limp? The way he stood? Could you see the color of his skin?”
“He was white.” Alyssa’s face creased as she concentrated. “The hand with the gun wasn’t wearing a glove, and the moon shined on it. I saw a mark on his hand. It was big and shaped weird.”
“Weird?”
“I don’t know. Just weird.”
“OK.” Bree made a note. “Like a birthmark or tattoo?”
Alyssa nodded. “Something like that.”
“Right hand or left?”
Alyssa closed her eyes. “His right.”
“What about Harper’s things? Did she have them with her when she was shot?”
“She carried all her stuff in a backpack, like me.” Alyssa tilted her head as she thought about the question. “It wasn’t in the cabin, so she must have taken it.” Her brows lowered. “But she wasn’t wearing it when he shot her, so I don’t know where it went.”
Bree noted missing backpack. “Can you describe Harper’s backpack?”
“It’s gray.”
“Do you know the brand?”
“Osprey,” Alyssa said.
“What happened after the man shot Harper?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see.” Her breaths came faster, and her face flushed bright red. “I panicked and ran into the cabin and called 911. Then I grabbed the ax and hid in the closet.”
“Did he see you?” Bree asked.
“He looked right at me.” Alyssa shuddered.
“Did he follow you?”
“I don’t know. I think so. I didn’t look back.”
Why didn’t he pursue and kill her? Why leave a witness? Maybe he didn’t see where she ran.
Alyssa ripped at the skin inside her wrist.
Bree reached over and stilled her motions with her own hand. “You’ve hurt yourself before?”
The girl looked up. Humiliation, then fear, then resignation crossed over her face.
Bree pointed to the scars on the inside of her wrist.
Alyssa yanked her sleeve down over the scars. Her gaze dropped to the table. “When my dad was sick, I started cutting.”
“That must have been awful for you.”
Alyssa exhaled a shaky breath. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“There wasn’t anything you could do.”
“Yeah.” Alyssa’s eyes welled up, but she blinked away the tears. “That was the problem.”
“I lost both of my parents when I was young.” With Bree’s past, it was easy to imagine being overwhelmed by helplessness and vulnerability and also not having the emotional maturity to cope with trauma.
Alyssa met Bree’s gaze for one breath before glancing away. “The pain . . .” She tapped her chest. “When my dad died, I thought I was going to die too, like my heart was just going to stop. It hurt so much.”
Empathy and grief swelled behind Bree’s breastbone, the pressure increasing until it f
elt as if she couldn’t breathe.
“It does.” Bree had had siblings who’d experienced the same trauma. Alyssa had been all alone.
“How old were you?” Alyssa asked.
“Eight.” Even at thirty-five, the memory filled Bree with a hollow pain. She placed her fist over her heart. “It still hurts.”
For a moment, she was self-conscious of the camera running. Her chief deputy, other investigators, maybe the prosecutor and/or defense attorneys might eventually watch this interview, but Bree hadn’t said anything that wasn’t public. The whole world knew about her parents’ murder-suicide.
And that Bree and her siblings had been there when it happened.
One quick shiver passed through, an involuntary reaction to the memory.
Sometimes developing a connection with a witness or suspect took sacrifice. Bree had no issues with inventing a backstory to attain that connection, but this time it wasn’t necessary. The truth would work, though this interview would leave her raw.
Alyssa tugged up her shirtsleeve. Tiny pink scars crisscrossed the soft, pale flesh on the underside of her forearm. “Most of the cuts were really shallow.” She pointed to the two longer ones near the veins. “Except these two.” She swallowed. “I made these the day he died. I didn’t want to leave him at the hospital, but they made me go. I didn’t want to be at home alone either.” She traced a scar over her vein. “They bled a lot. I wanted to die that day too.”
“Did you go to the ER?” Bree asked in a gentle voice.
“No, I wrapped my arm, and the bleeding stopped eventually. The cuts weren’t deep enough to kill me.” Alyssa’s voice sounded regretful. “I couldn’t even do that right.”
The girl had gotten no help after her father died, and she’d at least considered suicide. Was Rogers right about this too? Did Alyssa make up the whole story in a plea for attention? Was the discovery of the body at the boat ramp a totally unrelated coincidence?
But how could she explain the boot prints, tire tracks, and shell casings?
No assumptions.
The evidence would lead her investigation.
“When can I get my 4Runner?” Alyssa asked. “And my other stuff. I really need my phone. I have to call work. I have to go to work.”
Alyssa’s vehicle had been towed to the municipal garage.
“You can use the phone here. I’ll get Marge to get you an outside line. You can have all of your stuff back as soon as the forensic techs have processed it,” Bree said. “When are you scheduled to work next?”
“Wednesday, from noon to eight.”
“OK. You should have your 4Runner back in a couple of days.” Bree didn’t mention that Alyssa didn’t have a driver’s license. She’d said that Harper stole her wallet. But it would be impossible to obtain a replacement license without proof of identity and residency. Since Alyssa was homeless, she would not be issued a new license. But this was not the time to bring that up, not when Bree needed her cooperation.
Bree was in no rush to release the vehicle. She suspected as soon as Alyssa had wheels, she’d disappear. As long as Bree was holding her vehicle, clothes, and phone, Alyssa would likely stay put.
“But I don’t have anywhere to stay.” Alyssa’s voice rose. “Or anything to wear.”
“I appreciate how inconvenient this is for you. How about I put you in a hotel tonight, and we see how much progress the techs have made in the morning?”
“I don’t know.” Alyssa picked at her forearm.
“It’s just for a night or so.” Bree had no ability to hold the girl against her will, but she also didn’t want to lose touch with her only witness to a shooting, especially when she didn’t know if Alyssa’s case was related to the dead body at the boat ramp.
“OK, I guess,” Alyssa said in a reluctant tone.
“Good.” Bree also thought the girl could use a hot shower and a clean, warm bed. She hated to think of her out on the street again. “Speaking of your phone, could I have your access code?”
“Why? I hardly use it.”
“It has GPS, right?”
“Yeah,” Alyssa said. “But I use it as little as possible.”
“Who do you call?”
“Mostly work. Lately, Harper too. That’s about it. I don’t really have anyone else to call.”
“You said Harper had money.”
“Yes. From her job.” But the confidence had dimmed in Alyssa’s voice. Was she thinking of aspects of Harper’s behavior that didn’t quite add up? “It’s all my fault that Harper is missing.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I didn’t help her.” The girl shifted in her chair, as if unable to get comfortable—with her body or her actions. “I saw him shoot her, and I hid. Like a coward.”
Maybe she ran before the shooter saw her. Maybe she just didn’t want to admit she’d abandoned her friend that quickly.
“You called 911,” Bree said.
“But I should have done something.” She inhaled a long, quivering breath.
“Like?”
Alyssa’s brows lowered in a troubled look. “I don’t know.”
“What do you think would have happened if the man who shot Harper caught you?”
“He would have shot me too.”
“And then who would have called for help?” Bree pointed out.
“No one.” Alyssa’s voice sounded as small as Kayla’s.
“That’s right. So, no one would be looking for Harper right now. You and she would both just have vanished.”
But Alyssa didn’t seem reassured that she’d done the right thing.
Bree understood. She knew what survivor’s guilt felt like because she felt it every day. Bree hadn’t even been there when her sister died, but she should have been. Now Bree was alive, and her sister wasn’t.
She said a silent prayer that Harper hadn’t met the same fate, and that Alyssa would have an opportunity to alleviate her guilt with a long conversation with her friend.
“I have some other news for you,” Bree said.
Alyssa’s forehead creased.
“You know we used a K-9 to follow the shooter’s trail?”
The girl nodded.
Bree continued. “We found a body. Not Harper’s. A man’s.”
“The man who shot her?” Alyssa asked, eyes wide.
“No. This man was dead before you called in the shooting.”
Alyssa’s forehead furrowed. “Then who is he?”
“We don’t know—yet.” Bree watched her closely but saw no signs of deception. The girl looked genuinely confused. “You don’t know anything about another man who might be missing?”
Alyssa shook her head.
“OK. I don’t have any more questions right now. I’m going to leave you here while I find you a hotel room and finish up some paperwork. Are you hungry?”
“No, but why are you being so nice to me?” The girl’s expression became guarded.
Bree gambled with the truth. “I want you available to answer more questions. As our investigation proceeds, I’m going to need your help.” Bree hoped she’d find Harper alive, but if not, she might eventually need the girl to identify the shooter.
“OK.” But Alyssa’s eyes grew worried, as if she had seen the shooter more clearly than she’d admitted.
She was the sole witness to a murder, and thanks to reporter Nick West, everyone knew, which made Alyssa a potential target.
CHAPTER TEN
By the time Matt walked into the sheriff’s station, it was nearly dinnertime. “Hey, Marge.”
Marge left her desk and approached the reception counter. “Where’s Brody?”
“Home.”
“I heard he was limping today.”
“Yeah.” Matt hadn’t realized how accustomed he’d become to having the big dog with him most of the time. “Nothing’s broken. He’s on painkillers and seems to be resting comfortably.” But Matt would still worry. Brody was a huge part of his life. “The vet is co
ncerned about arthritis, though, in the shoulder where he took the bullet.”
“Poor boy.” Marge’s eyes went soft. “I’ll bake him some homemade biscuits. He’s a hero.”
“He is,” Matt agreed. “I’m here to see the sheriff.”
Bree had left a message asking him to stop by ASAP.
“Go on back. She’s expecting you.” Marge stepped back and buzzed him through the door that separated the lobby from the rest of the station. Like everything else about the department, building security was outdated. If someone really wanted to get in, all they had to do was vault over the counter.
He walked past the main room, where Jim Rogers was working on a computer. His eyes narrowed as Matt approached. Before Matt reached his desk, Rogers got up and strode away, heading for the rear exit.
Jackass.
You’d think Matt was the one who had shot Rogers, not the other way around.
Matt knocked on Bree’s office door.
“Yes,” she answered.
Matt opened the door.
She looked away from her computer. “Matt, thank you for coming.”
Matt eased into a chair facing her huge desk.
“How is Brody?” Bree asked.
“OK. Home resting.”
“But you look worried.”
“He’s not getting younger,” Matt admitted to himself as much as to Bree.
“I’m sorry.”
“Did the ME ID the body yet?” Matt settled into the cushion. Part of him wanted the answer to his question. The other definitely did not. He dreaded the thought of telling Mrs. Whitney that her grandson was dead. He wanted to find the boy alive. But Bree hadn’t asked him to come to the station for a social visit, as much as he wished she had.
“No. I’m still waiting.”
He breathed but knew the reprieve wouldn’t last. Eli’s medical records should have some means of identifying the body. Matt pushed it out of his mind. There was no point obsessing over something that hadn’t happened yet. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. Is everything at home all right?”
She sighed. “The kids are having trouble adjusting to life without their mother. I’m also sorry I blew off our dinner.”
“I understand. The kids come first. Let me know if I can help.” Matt knew the real reason Bree had moved to Grey’s Hollow was to raise her sister’s kids. She’d made it clear months ago that she didn’t have the time for anything beyond a casual relationship. Matt had been the one to push. He respected her priorities, but he wasn’t sure he could do casual—not with her.
See Her Die Page 7
