Death is in the Details

by Heather Sunseri

  “Right,” he said. He walked to the rolltop desk, shuffled through some papers, and came up with a key. He knelt in front of a safe on the floor, unlocked it, and pulled out a manila folder. “The commonwealth’s attorney stopped fighting me when I proved, through my attorney, that they’d withheld exculpatory evidence.”

  “Luke told me about the gas station video. I’m sorry, Ethan; I swear I never knew.”

  “No one but the prosecution and the cops could have known,” he said. “But that’s not all. The prosecution also didn’t turn over some of the crime scene photos—photos they decided had no impact on the case against me.”

  “They didn’t have the right to decide that,” I said.

  “Funny—that was my reaction as well. And, conveniently it seems to me, when I hired a new attorney for the appeal, he was told by both the prosecution and by the Paynes Creek PD that the crime scene photos had gone missing.”

  “Gone missing?” I thought of the photos I kept in a box at my trailer. Had I stolen the only copy?

  “Apparently there was a glitch in the system where the photos were stored. They claimed that since digital photography was still so new, they were working out kinks in their storage methods and lost a whole year’s worth of images.”

  I cocked my head. “That’s bullshit. Most entities have been operating with digital photography since the early 2000s.”

  “Well, anyway, the digital files were lost. Deliberately, I believe.”

  “So how did you get these?”

  “Because the prosecutor lied. They may have deleted the digital files, but they kept a physical copy. And a secretary dug them up and sent them to me.”

  “Why would some secretary risk her job to do such a thing?”

  “Do you remember Tabitha Green? She went to middle school with us, but transferred to a school in Lexington when we were freshmen?”

  “Yes. I didn’t like her.”

  “Right. Well, she didn’t like you either, and she believed you were responsible for my conviction. Apparently she followed my case closely over the years. She actually believed that you conspired with Uncle Henry to plant enough evidence to make me look guilty. She also knew I’d gotten saddled with a court-appointed attorney who didn’t know his ass from his face. So she sent me everything—the photos, the statement of the witness who saw me at the gas station, the time-stamped video. For the first time since I’d been incarcerated, I had hope.”

  I looked away briefly.

  “Everyone seems to have forgotten that I lost a parent that night, too,” he continued. “Not to mention everything else that mattered to me. But I haven’t forgotten. And no one wants to find the real killer more than me.”

  He handed the folder to me.

  I flipped through the photos one by one, fighting back the bile that threatened when I saw my mother’s and Eli’s charred bodies. There were photos of the remains of the house. There were shots of Ethan’s car, my car, and the insides of both vehicles. There were photos of the inside of the barn, and of the area around the fire pit.

  But I had seen all this before.

  Then I flipped to the last photo.

  “What is this? I’ve never seen this photo before.”

  I lifted my head, studied Ethan’s expression. It wasn’t smug, but it was confident—like he knew I would finally accept that he was one hundred percent innocent. But there was also sadness in his eyes.

  The photo showed what was left of one of the walls. It was damaged from fire and smoke, but some of the white shiplap showed through, and a set of decorative hooks had survived—the hooks where the family always hung their keys when they entered the house.

  I let my fingers roam softly over the photograph. I traced the keys that hung on the hooks: Mom’s, Eli’s… “Your keys aren’t there,” I whispered, though I knew that meant nothing. Not really.

  “Because I didn’t come home until after you—after the fire was already out of control. You were running inside the house when I arrived.” Ethan shuddered at the memory. “But that’s not the point.”

  I looked up, stared at him while replaying the scene inside my head and trying to see it from his point of view. I held up a finger just as he started to say something else. “I just want to make sure I’ve got this straight. You’d been drinking. You’d just forced yourself on me. You left me at the school, and then you… went to a gas station? Why?”

  He closed his eyes as I spoke, regret washing over his face. When he opened his eyes, he inched toward me just slightly, and I resisted the urge to step back. “Yes, we’d been drinking. I’d just done a horrible thing—a thing that will haunt me for the rest of my life. And…” he lifted his shoulders, “I needed gas.”

  “You needed gas.”

  “Yes. I needed gas, as pedestrian as that sounds. And that need for gas was the only thing that prevented me from arriving home before you… and possibly saving our parents’ lives. I don’t know.”

  “Or maybe the choice to stop for gas was what saved you from being killed too.” My voice lowered to a whisper.

  “Maybe. But take another look at the photo. You’re missing something very important.”

  I looked at the photo again. There was another item hanging on one of the hooks. “A dog leash.” We didn’t have a dog, but I immediately recognized the leash. My heart rate sped up “I don’t understand,” I said weakly.

  Ethan placed a hand on my arm. “I think you do.”

  I shook my head. “What you’re saying can’t be true.” But even I heard the disbelief in my voice.

  “You and I both know that Aunt Leah and Uncle Henry sometimes came over with Scout, their crazy border collie, and when they did, they always hung the leash there. This proves that one of them was there that night—and that they left in a hurry, because they wouldn’t have left without the leash otherwise. It could have been either one of them, but one of them is the fire chief. And who better to know how to commit arson, then plant evidence to make it look like someone else had done it?”

  I looked down. What Ethan was saying scared me—but he was only half right. And he was wrong about the most important point.

  That’s not Scout’s leash.

  The leash hanging on the hook was brown leather, with a handle that had been needlepointed in navy, featuring small brown dogs with orange collars. I recognized that leash. Aunt Leah had made it. She’d been into needlepointing back then, and she liked to give belts, key chains, and other items as gifts. We’d all received a handmade gift the previous Christmas.

  My hand began to shake as I touched the photograph of the leash. “I don’t understand,” I said again. I stumbled slightly. Ethan held tighter to my arm, steadying me, then helped me to the leather sofa.

  “Listen, I know Henry and Leah were there for you after the fire. And I have no idea why Henry would hurt our parents. But he was there that night. I’m sure of it.”

  I couldn’t speak. I had no words for what Ethan was suggesting. Or for what I saw in the photo. “This is a lie. You’re putting thoughts in my head that are impossible.” There was little conviction behind my words.

  Ethan sat next to me. I flinched when our knees touched, so he scooted away just slightly. “Look at me, Faith.”

  I kept my head down. I didn’t want to look at Ethan; I couldn’t. That leash should have given the police another person to investigate. But they didn’t. All the other evidence pointed at Ethan, and they never considered anyone else.

  “Faith.” Ethan slowly reached his hand to my cheek and turned my head. “Look at me.”

  I lifted my head, studying the intent expression on his face.

  “I did not kill our parents. But someone did. And someone is threatening your safety now. I don’t know if they’re the same people, but I want to help you find out … if you’ll let me. Henry knows more than he’s told you. He was there that night. And for whatever reason, I think he deliberately steered the arson investigation to point to me.”

&
nbsp; “And once the police believed you had started the fire…”

  “It wasn’t that big of a step to pin the murders on me.”

  I stared at him for three more seconds, then stood abruptly. “No. This photograph means nothing. Uncle Henry wouldn’t have kept information from authorities. He’s a good man.”

  Ethan stood as well, toe to toe with me. He was a full head taller. “Okay. Let’s say you’re right. But can you now at least admit that I did not murder our parents? And having admitted that, you have to wonder who did—and who’s stalking you now.”

  I shook my head. “Just because the story from that night is complicated, doesn’t mean you’re not the one who’s tormenting me now.”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “I have to go.” I grabbed my coat and my purse. “Can I take this?” I held up the photo.

  He nodded. “Please don’t run out angry like this.”

  I had my hand wrapped around the doorknob when he spoke again.

  “I’m here for you when you realize I’m right. And I’m not going anywhere. I will prove to you how sorry I am, and that I’m not the one who ruined your life. We can be a family again.”

  Thirty

  My tires spun along a patch of ice as I raced out of the Spotted Cat parking lot. The wet roads had frozen over again as the temperature dropped. But I would face my uncle tonight. I would force him to tell me the truth. There had to be an explanation for what was in that photo. And for why Ethan had been charged with a crime he clearly did not commit.

  I did my best to watch out for the slick spots as I drove, but I was angry and distracted. I squeezed the steering wheel, my knuckles whitening. And I remembered…

  I remembered that night so clearly. How the fire shot from the windows when I drove down the driveway. The crime scene photos showed that I had left my car door open.

  I had believed that Ethan was already home, because that’s what the investigators told me in the hospital two days later. But that wasn’t part of my actual memory. I didn’t see his car, because my attention was entirely on the flames. I just sprinted from my car and into the house without thinking. My memory told me nothing about Ethan’s presence, one way or the other.

  When I spotted Mom on the kitchen floor, I screamed for her to get up. I kneeled next to her, begged her to wake up and get out of the house. I was in shock—from the events of the evening or from seeing my mother and Eli trapped inside our burning home, I wasn’t sure. But she and Eli both just lay there, lifeless. Eli’s face was swollen and bloody, and my mother’s head lay in a pool of blood. Investigators would convince me later that Mom and Eli had been beaten by Ethan in a fit of rage.

  Even as flames leapt to my jacket, I stood firm, yelling at my mother and coughing from too much smoke. I fought every flight instinct, forcing my body to ignore my mind’s desperate pleas, accepting that I would die before leaving my mother’s side. Between what Ethan had done to me and the sight of my mother’s lifeless body, I simply didn’t care.

  And then Ethan circled his arms around me, not caring that the fire would kill him, too.

  But the fire didn’t kill either of us. He carried me from the burning house like I weighed nothing. He smothered the flames on my clothing with his own jacket, and he held me until fire trucks and an ambulance arrived.

  He repeated so many times as we lay in the dirt, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Over the years, I never knew which part he regretted most. Raping me, or killing our parents?

  Now I knew.

  On this cold, icy night, as I neared my uncle’s house with these fresh memories on my mind, my body shook. Uncle Henry had lied. There was no other explanation. He had to have known Ethan was innocent—and yet he pointed the authorities at Ethan anyway. And he did it to save someone else.

  But what if Uncle Henry denied everything? What proof did I have?

  I pulled over to the side of the road to process my thoughts. I needed a better plan than to just run in with accusations that would ruin our family forever. Maybe I was stalling, but I wanted to be sure. I wanted the rest of the crime scene photos I had taken from Uncle Henry all those years ago. I would confront Uncle Henry with all of the evidence I had and with the photos of the victims I’d stolen from him.

  I turned my vehicle around.

  It was dark, and the clouds covering the moon and stars made it even darker out on these country roads with no street lamps to light the way. The rain had turned to freezing rain; the road was getting covered in ice. And less than a mile from home, I fishtailed. The back end of my vehicle began sliding faster than the front end, and I spun out of control. Fortunately, no one else was on the road. Unfortunately, I spun into a ditch. I was already suffering from a concussion, and I couldn’t imagine the additional jolt helped—but I was otherwise unharmed.

  I tried to pull back onto the road, but it was no use—my tires just spun. I was stuck.

  On the verge of tears from frustration, anger, and fear, I pulled out my phone. My first instinct was to call Uncle Henry. I knew he or someone from the station would be able to pull me out. But I simply couldn’t call him, not under the circumstances. And I couldn’t call Finch, either. What would I say to him? Just come out and tell him what the photo suggested?

  What I should do is call the police. They’d send someone out to help me. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Chief Reid’s role in the case against Ethan all those years ago. He was the lead investigator on the case; how could he not have known about all the exculpatory evidence? The gas station video, the witness, the photo? Yet he had been the one who had explained to me, who had convinced me, how it was possible that Ethan had had time to commit the murders.

  I scrolled through my phone and dialed.

  Luke answered on the first ring. “Are you okay? Why did you ditch the officers I had on you? They’re only there to protect—”

  “Can you come get me?”

  He must have sensed the desperation in my voice, because his tone changed immediately. “I’m on my way. Where?”

  “On the side of the road.” I described where I was, and promised to leave my parking lights on.

  I could hear him getting in his SUV. “I’m on my way. Want to tell me what you were thinking by ditching your protection?”

  I leaned my head against the headrest and closed my eyes. “No.”

  “What if he had hurt you again?”

  I sighed. “Just come get me before someone crashes into me.” I hung up.

  I knew he’d just been trying to keep me on the line to make sure I was safe as he drove, but I didn’t want to talk to him about Ethan. Of course I’d ditched my tail before meeting with him; Ethan wouldn’t have talked to me otherwise. He didn’t trust the police, and why would he? The police had put him in prison once already—wrongly—and he’d lost eleven years of his life.

  I wondered what kind of person Ethan would have become if that hadn’t happened. Would I still hate him the way I do now?

  I did still hate him, didn’t I?

  He’d ruined me in so many ways. And then he left me to grieve for my mother alone. Sure, I had Finch, but he was away at school, and he remained distant for years after the incident, not coming home from vet school very often.

  I’d felt deserted. If it hadn’t been for Uncle Henry and Aunt Leah…

  Headlights flashed against the back of my closed eyelids.

  Luke had gotten to me quickly.

  “Wonderful weather we’re having this year,” he said as he helped me out.

  I rolled my eyes.

  A gentleman, Luke walked me to the passenger side of his SUV. “Should I call for a tow truck?”

  I looked back at my SUV. It was farther off the road than I’d thought—little chance of anyone crashing into it. “I’ll do it in the morning. It’s not going anywhere.”

  He got behind the wheel. “Where to?”

  “My place.”

  He pulled back onto the road
. “You gonna tell me what Ethan had to say?”

  I stared straight ahead. “Eventually.” I knew I needed to trust Luke, and I would. But as painful as it would be, I needed to be sure first.

  Luke was quiet the rest of the way. As he pulled to a stop in front of my trailer, he finally broke the silence. “I could charge you with obstruction of justice.”

  I closed my eyes, attempting to come up with a way to stall him. Deciding I needed to keep things as lighthearted as I could, I turned in my seat. “You could. But then I would never sleep with you again.” I intended to say that with a touch of humor, though I heard none in my voice.

  “Is that an invitation?” As he asked the question, his gaze fixed on my trailer. His jaw hardened, and he reached for his weapon. “Stay here.”

  “What? Why—” And then I saw what he had. My trailer door stood wide open.

  He climbed out of the vehicle and, keeping his gun pointed toward the ground, walked toward my trailer.

  “Shit,” I said, getting out and following him.

  “FBI!” Luke announced. “Come out nice and slow. Show me your hands.”

  My trailer was as dark as the night sky, and the only sounds were Luke and me breathing.

  “Get the flashlight from my glove box,” Luke ordered.

  I ran back to the vehicle and retrieved a Maglite. He took it, shined it into the trailer, then stepped slowly up the steps. “I’m coming in! And I will shoot first and ask questions later.”

  I listened for any sounds, including the sound of Gus. My heart thumped loudly in my chest as I waited for the all-clear from Luke.

  He appeared in the doorway several seconds later. “It’s empty, but the place is a mess.”

  While Luke called it in, I shouted for Gus. “Gus, I’ve got some fish with your name on it!” I had promised Gus a long time ago that I would never say, “Here, kitty, kitty.” She just didn’t seem like the type of cat that would enjoy being treated like a wimpy little kitten her whole life.

  When Luke hung up, he helped me look for Gus. He pointed his flashlight under the trailer and yelled for Gus like she was a dog. “Here, Gus!” he called, then whistled the way I’d heard Finch call for his dogs in the past.