The Girl Who Saw Too Much (The Firth Twins' Series Book 1)

by Athena Floras

  Jonathan nodded. “My pleasure. I also have an ulterior motive for inviting you to dinner. I’ve collected all the public records and evidence transcripts from your father’s trial. They’re yours to bring home and review, or to chuck in the trash if you choose to do so.”

  Jonathan gazed at Eric wondering what was going through his mind.

  Eric frowned staring at the road ahead when he answered, “Thanks, Jonathan, for putting together the trial transcripts. We really appreciate all the thought, time, and effort you put into gathering the info for us, but we won’t use—“

  “Speak for yourself, Eric,” Jessica interrupted.

  When Jonathan observed her through the rear-view mirror, she was leaning forward with her hands resting on the back of Eric’s car seat. “I want the transcripts, Jonathan, as well as all the other evidence or data you have available for us. Thank you.”

  Eric turned his head to glare at her. “Why do you want them? It won’t change anything.”

  “I think it will. I was observing his behavior and expression very keenly when he spoke to us and I think there is a good possibility he is saying the truth.” She addressed Jonathan next. “I saw you nodding when he was trying to convince us of his innocence. You believe he didn’t do it.”

  Jessica was quite perceptive. He hadn’t realized he’d been shaking his head in agreement. “Yes, I do.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because each time I asked him to recount what he did the evening of the murders, his story never changed. He was always consistent in his responses even when I put him on the spot weeks and months afterwards.”

  “So you think he didn’t do it?” Eric asked.

  “No, Eric, I don’t. And I certainly don’t believe he is the psychopath the prosecution painted him to be.”

  Jessica tapped Eric’s right shoulder. “So do you still refuse to look at the transcripts?”

  Eric huffed then pinched his lips together before replying, “Fine, we’ll take the data you collected, Jonathan, and see what we find.”

  Jonathan grinned, his spirits had suddenly uplifted. This was definitely encouraging news. Maybe the twins would find the clues Jonathan had been searching for, for years but could never find to exonerate Robert Firth.

  Chapter 8

  Her hands were like magic. The way Jamie combed them through Eric’s hair was erasing all the tension from his neck and temples.

  His eyes were closed. His head rested on her lap. He could hear her soft breaths and smell the sweet strawberry-scented shampoo in her hair, which hung in thick silky ringlets just inches away from his face.

  This was perfect. Being with Jamie like this made all the negative energy that had encroached on his spirit when he visited his father dissipate. Jamie was his Florence Nightingale. She did for him what years of therapy and meditation hadn’t. She’d healed him and made him whole.

  He had loved Frankie with all his heart and when she died he thought his life had ended, that a part of him died with her. But that all changed when Jamie came into his life.

  He’d met her on a Friday morning at the diner near work. He and his partner Agent Wally Falkner had gone in for breakfast, a ritual of theirs they did every Friday morning to review the week’s investigation on the case they worked on.

  He hadn’t noticed the new nervous waitress who brought them two steaming cups of coffee. But Wally surely had.

  Wally had found her drop-dead gorgeous and if he weren’t happily married he would have asked her out. Instead he suggested Eric do the honors.

  Eric had declined. Although he found the waitress extremely attractive, he wasn’t ready to date. Frankie had been dead only nine months.

  Ten minutes later after he returned from a short trip to the men’s washroom, Eric had found a folded piece of paper resting under his coffee mug. He’d asked Wally what it was. Wally shrugged saying it was Jamie Ferguson, the new waitress’ phone number. Wally had asked for it for Eric.

  In fury Eric had lashed out at Wally. He hadn’t appreciated Wally’s meddling. In fact he resented it. Wally should have understood what Eric was going through.

  Eric had crumpled the paper without looking at it, intending to chuck it in the garbage at the exit. But he completely forgot about it once they got knee deep in the review of their case.

  Only when he’d returned to his apartment that night and emptied his pockets did he remember it. He’d opened it ready to toss it in the wastebasket in his bedroom when the beautiful penmanship caught his eye. He’d never seen the way the “J” was curled and looped in her name and found it quite interesting.

  On the spur of the moment he picked up his cell phone and called the number on the paper. When she had answered he was surprised to hear her shy tone. He’d expected to hear a provocative and probing voice. Instead she sounded as hesitant as he was feeling.

  Their conversation was awkward and under a minute. They planned to meet for coffee the next evening at a coffee shop near her place. When they’d met the next night, although it had started out weird, it certainly didn’t end that way.

  The date had lasted six hours. They had conversed about anything and everything, uncovering similar interests and habits. Jamie Ferguson was a remarkable, beautiful, smart and funny lady.

  Each and every minute they spent in each other’s company after that brought them closer and closer together. They became best friends, then lovers, and were falling totally and completely in love in just five short weeks.

  Eric lifted her delicate hand and kissed her palm as he stared into her enchanting violet eyes tonight. “Thank you,” he said. The dark black flecks in her eyes danced with each movement her pupils made.

  She grinned back, bending down to kiss him sweetly on the lips. “For what?”

  “For being here and cheering me up.”

  She glanced at his hair as she brushed his bangs out of his eyes with her hand. “You’re welcome, baby. I’m glad I can help. When I saw the stress in your brow, I knew something was wrong.”

  Amused at her comment, he waggled his brow. “How does my brow look when it’s stressed?”

  “Your eyebrows furrow into a bushy black caterpillar,” she joked, tapping the area above the bridge of his nose between his brows.

  “Huh, I never knew my eyebrows did that,” he remarked, rubbing the place she’d addressed.

  “You know if you tell me what’s bothering you, I might be able to help even more than just giving you massages and caresses.”

  He gazed up at her for a moment before lifting himself into a sitting position. If only it could be so simple. He’d like nothing more than to tell her everything. Keeping his deep, dark secrets from her was gnawing at him. If he wanted to take this relationship to the next level, and he so desperately wanted that, then he’d have to be honest about his childhood and the many years of therapy he’d gone through. But he wasn’t ready to do that.

  He didn’t even know if Jamie was prepared to hear it all. How would she look at him once she knew his father was a monster? Would she pity him or would she subconsciously fear he’d become a killer just like his father in the near or far future?

  They’d only been going out for five weeks. Although they were close, there was a lot they didn’t know about one another. It definitely wasn’t enough time to lay all his shit on her.

  “Does this have anything to do with Jessica?”

  “Why do you say that?” He frowned, taken aback by her question.

  “Because you’ve been edgy and distant ever since you told me your sister was coming to visit last week.”

  He shook his head and redirected his gaze to the coffee table facing him. “No, this has nothing to do with Jessica.”

  “Then what it is?”

  When he didn’t respond, she added, “Does it have to do with work?”

  “Yeah, it does,” he blurted out with relief. It was the perfect deflection. “It’s about a case I’m working on.”

  She sighed heav
ily before leaning over to kiss his cheek. “And you can’t discuss FBI work with me,” she whispered into his ear. Her breath tickled his earlobe and neck.

  He turned to kiss her warm, supple lips. “Exactly.”

  She nodded. “Okay, baby. I won’t push you on this.” She wiggled to the edge of the couch to get up.

  “Where are you going?” he asked worried that he’d pushed her away forever.

  She looked over her shoulder at him with sultry eyes. “I’m going to fill the bath for us. That’ll help you forget about work for a while.” She started to pull her red cashmere sweater over her shoulders as she walked away. The sexy sway of her curvy hips in the snug-fitting jeans made him drool.

  God, she is so damn beautiful.

  “I’d love that,” he purred while he stood. He eagerly followed her to the bathroom and Jacuzzi.

  Tomorrow he and Jessica had planned to visit one of the witnesses whose police interview and interrogation records they’d already reviewed. It was going to be a long and stressful day, but for tonight he was going to forget about his dying father and the murders he may or may not have committed.

  Jamie was all that mattered. He would make sweet, passionate love to her over and over again and feel happy and fulfilled just for a while.

  Chapter 9

  Jessica didn’t know what to expect while she dialed his number.

  Eric who sat beside her in the car reviewed the document. “It says here Al Wentworth was fifty-three when he testified for the prosecution at Dad’s trial.”

  “Uh-huh,” Jessica agreed while she listened to the phone’s ring.

  “So that makes him seventy-six now.”

  “And?” She waved her hand, urging him to get to the point. Someone would answer any second.

  “And how reliable will—“

  “Hello,” a deep male voice came on the line.

  She raised her hand to stifle her brother, then turned her head toward the side window to give herself more distance so any noise or movement Eric made would not distract her. She had to concentrate on what she said; every word was calculated.

  “Ah, yes, hi. Is this Al Wentworth’s residence?”

  The hesitant man answered, “Yes, who is this?”

  “Um, this is Jessica Firth. I was a neighbor of Mr. Wentworth many years ago. I was wondering if my brother and I could pass by later today to see him.”

  “He isn’t up to seeing visitors,” the man said curtly.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. We could come to see him when he’s feeling better,” Jessica suggested.

  “That’s not going to happen because what he has is never going to go away.” His voice was rising, which in turn tensed Jessica’s ear pressed against the phone.

  My brother and I just want to ask him some questions. It shouldn’t take long.”

  “Some questions? What kind of questions?”

  Jessica turned to look at Eric, who frowned, shaking his head. That expression of “I told you so” was annoying to observe.

  “We want to ask him a few questions about my brother Sam’s death. He was the one who found his body, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah, he called the police,” he responded.

  Curious as to whom she was speaking with, she asked,” Are you a family member?”

  “Yeah, I’m his son. Look, Ms. Firth, you’re wasting your time here. My dad has dementia. He barely remembers who I am. I doubt he’ll remember what happened twenty-three years ago.”

  This man remembered exactly how long ago the murder had taken place. If his father wouldn’t be able to help them, maybe his son could.

  “Then could we perhaps ask you some questions instead, Mr. Wentworth?”

  “No, you can’t. I have no time to answer any questions now or in the future. Goodbye, Mrs. Firth.”

  Before she could say something else to try to persuade him to talk to them, he hung up.

  Shaking her phone while she glared at the screen, she cursed. “Thanks so much, asshole!”

  Eric crossed his arms over his chest. “What did you expect? They’d welcome us with open arms?”

  “I just wanted to ask them a few questions, that’s all. I shouldn’t have called and said who we were. We should have simply shown up at their door and stuck out our FBI badges.”

  “Are you serious? Pretend we’re working on an official case? We’d lose our jobs if we got caught!” He growled, then rubbed his face with his open palms. “Look, Jess, I understand you want to solve this once and for all, find out if he’s actually guilty or innocent, but I’m not going to jeopardize my job or my life to do it. It isn’t worth it.”

  Anger curdled her blood. Her brother just wasn’t getting it. “It’s more than that, Eric.”

  They had brought all the transcripts and data Jonathan had collected for them to her place last week. She was the one doing the initial research. Anything that looked fishy or caught her attention, she sent to Eric to review.

  “It was my testimony that was the final nail in his coffin. Without it the prosecution had no case. “Did you see the police interviews and interrogation records I sent you?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “You realize Officer O’Malley’s questions were suggestive. To a seven-year-old me, they could have influenced my responses.”

  “Yeah, but you said it was the gist of what you remember happening that night.”

  “I don’t know anymore,” she said tapping her index finger on her chin.

  “What do you mean?” Eric asked twisting in the passenger’s seat, folding his left leg under his right.

  “Have you ever heard of false memory?” she asked.

  “Yeah, it’s when your brain remembers certain moments in a time period and makes up other happenings to fill in the gaps between them. Your brain is actually fooling you into believing all those things happened, the real and the made up.”

  “Exactly, which is what I think happened with me. Officer O’Malley’s suggestive questions influenced my memories from that night. I think what I actually saw that night isn’t exactly what I remember seeing that night.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, if you read what I said in the beginning of the interview, I said I saw Dad touching the axe. But by the end of the interview, I said he was standing over Mom’s body, the axe over his shoulder as if he was ready to hack her with it.”

  “And that’s the image you remembered?” he probed.

  “Yep.”

  “I don’t get it. If Officer O’Malley’s questions were suggestive, then why was the interview admissible in court?”

  “Jonathan had argued that very fact at Dad’s trial. But the prosecution rebutted that it was similar to statements I’d made later on in other interviews conducted with different officers. The judge then motioned that is was admissible.”

  Eric pointed to the ignition key when he said, “Start the car.”

  “You want to go to the Wentworth’s house and see if showing up at their doorstep will change Al Wentworth’s son’s mind to talk to us?” she asked, hopeful her brother was finally joining her on this bandwagon.

  “Nope, that would be a total waste of time today. We’d probably antagonize his son further and he’ll never let his dad talk to us. I say we wait a week or two until he calms down and pay them a visit then.”

  “Sounds good.” She turned the ignition. The engine turned over twice before starting. Soon it was time to trade in her 2003 Corolla for a newer model. She hated to part with it. She’d had it for so many years. But sooner or later the transmission would give out and that would be the end of it.

  “So where are we heading to if not to see the Wentworths?” she asked.

  “Let’s head down to the Whitewater Police Department. Officer O’Malley probably doesn’t work there anymore, but maybe we can get some info on who exactly Deputy Rosemary O’Malley was.”

  “How would that help us in our investigation?” Jessica was confused. Where was her brother going
with this?

  “Well, I’m curious to see what type of person people who knew her and worked with her will paint. Was she a model deputy or not? How much experience had she when she conducted that interview with you? Is her inexperience to blame for how she conducted it, or were her suggestive questions deliberate to manipulate your testimony? And if they were, then why was she trying to manipulate you? What ulterior motive could she possibly have?”

  “Way to go, bro. That is a brilliant idea.”

  Jessica tapped the steering wheel excitedly. With Eric’s brains and her inborn intuition, they could move mountains if they wanted.

  If someone had deliberately tried to incriminate their father, sooner or later the Firth twins would figure it out.

  Chapter 10

  Eric stared at his sister, eyes wide, in frustration. They had been stewing in the makeshift waiting room of the police station for the past forty-five minutes.

  They sat in uncomfortable metal foldable chairs that numbed Eric’s ass and hurt his lumbar. If Eric had to bet, he’d swear the Whitewater Police Department lied about the building being under renovations. The rest of the building seemed unaffected. Only the waiting room had half painted, plastered chip rock and paint canisters scattered about.

  There wasn’t any smell of fresh or new paint he could detect and the wall that had been painted white had smudges on it as if whoever had started this paint job abandoned it many months ago.

  Jessica leaned over to whisper into Eric’s ear, “They are purposely making us wait long.”

  Eric nodded peering at the stout policeman hiding behind the front desk. The high counter obstructed their view of the officer, but both Jessica and Eric had caught him peeking over the top of it every once and a while with a look of annoyance that they were still there.

  He stood, rolled up his sleeves, and uttered from the side of his mouth so only she could hear. “Yep, I think it’ time we pull some strings.”

  He stormed to the counter and leaned over it frowning. “When is the sheriff coming?”