by D. L. Wood
Dear Diary,
We finally had it out—a horrible fight over how he thinks I’m making him feel like nothing. Like he doesn’t matter, which is crazy! I told him he’s being ridiculous, but he stormed off and he hasn’t called me since. I waited for him at the shed like we planned, but he didn’t come. I really need to talk to him…
July 7, 1995
Dear Diary,
He finally called and we are still fighting. I told him that I want to talk it through but he says there isn’t anything to talk about unless I’m ready to tell everyone. I don’t care about other people knowing. I just know what my parents will do if they find out. They will not take it well. Especially not my dad. But he promised to meet me tomorrow at the shed. It’ll be easy for me to slip away and no one will know. I have to make him understand and we really need to talk about everything, not just us. I really need to know what he thinks.
July 8, 1995
Dear Diary,
IT’S SO HOT. I can’t stop sweating. I found those purple thistles near the road…
So this weekend, Kendall and I are definitely going to the movies…
He and I are supposed to meet after I get off work this afternoon. I’ve lied and told Mom I’m spending the night at Kendall’s so I don’t have to go home after work or be home by curfew in case this takes a long time. I might actually spend the night at Kendall’s, but I’m not going to ask Kendall about it yet, because I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t want her asking questions if something changes. Kendall’s mom won’t care if I just show up late. She’s pretty cool that way. I’m so worried that he won’t show up at all. What if he doesn’t? What if he breaks up with me? I don’t know what I’ll do without him. He has to meet me…he just has to…
The last entry was only half a page, likely written just hours before Jennifer breathed her last. The diary didn’t name names. It didn’t spell out precise motives. But it offered suspects and secrets and proof that there were others beside Dr. Beecher who had ties and issues with Jennifer, and maybe even reasons for wanting her dead.
In short, it changed everything.
9
“This changes nothing,” Chief Killen said, dropping into his desk chair.
Sitting in the chair opposite him, Dani clenched her fists, trying to maintain her composure. It was barely eight thirty in the morning and she had rushed over to the station to share what she had found, expecting that he would be surprised, shocked, concerned—anything other than this. Anything other than indifferent.
“How can you say that? It changes everything!”
“Not according to the D.A.’s office.”
Heat gathered at Dani’s collar. She held up a hand and began counting on her fingers. “There’s a secret boyfriend she was fighting with. An apparently damaging secret she was keeping about someone that she was considering exposing. And, that someone seems to have begun stalking her at the end. All this just days before she was murdered. How does that change nothing?”
Chief Killen leaned back, his chair giving a hearty squeak. “Because the D.A. says none of it’s exculpatory. It’s a closed case. And you know this isn’t the first time we’ve had someone else to look at—there was that field hand, the migrant worker the caretakers hired that summer who took off right before she was found. But the evidence linked Jennifer to Dr. Beecher, not to the migrant worker and not to some boyfriend or stalker, either.”
“But this gives them two other suspects that—according to the file you gave me—no one ever knew about. How can the D.A. be sure there isn’t evidence out there linking them to the murder, if no one even knew to look into them before?”
Chief Killen’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Okay, now you listen to me. You bulldoze your way in here to tell me all these things you’ve read in the diary—which, by the way, we’re not even gonna discuss the fact that you made a copy and kept it without asking—”
“There’s no law against that.”
He cocked his head. “Tampering with evidence?”
“Can’t be evidence if it’s a closed, solved case.”
Chief Killen sniffed hard, inhaling so that his chest fully expanded before exhaling a deep, impatient sigh. “I said we aren’t going to discuss it. Now, that file I gave you, that was supposed to help you get closure, not help you reopen this whole thing. I’m gonna need that back. Now.” He held his thick hand out expectantly.
“I don’t have it with me.” It wasn’t a lie. It was locked in the trunk of her car.
He dropped his hand. “Then get it to me as soon as you can.”
“How can they just let it go like this? They aren’t going to do anything? What about Dr. Beecher? His lawyer?”
“They don’t have to do anything because it isn’t exculpatory. All it does is mention other people in her life—basically a teenager and some other potential troublemaker who was probably one too, some kid cheating on his girlfriend or something. Just a bunch of high school drama. It doesn’t say either of them tried to kill her, or that ‘if I end up dead, so-and-so did it.’ It doesn’t prove that Dr. Beecher didn’t do it, or say he was out of town that day or erase all the hard evidence that got Beecher convicted in the first place—fingerprints, soil samples, eyewitness testimony—”
“But if the jury had heard—”
“But they didn’t.”
“So now what? It’s just over?”
“Dani, it’s been over. For a long, long time. Just not for you.”
“What about the diary? What’ll they do with it?”
“It’ll go back to Jennifer’s parents eventually. I doubt the D.A.’s office will keep it long.”
Hard determination steeled in Dani. “This isn’t right. It isn’t fair.”
Chief Killen softened. “I know you think that, but you’re wrong. Justice was served. The law was upheld. You know how this works better than anybody.”
“Yeah, I think that’s the problem,” she said, shooting out of her chair so that it almost fell over as she stomped to the door, her back to the Chief.
“I’m gonna need that file back.” His words were gentle, but firm. Dani stopped with her hand on the knob for just a moment, then twisted it open without responding and stepped through.
“And don’t do anything stupid with that copy that doesn’t exist, you hear me? I mean—”
But she didn’t hear the rest, his words drowned out by the door slamming behind her.
“Boston?”
Dani stopped mid-stride, jerking her head to the right to see Chris Newton coming from the breakroom, holding a muffin in one hand and a “Jerry’s Body Shop” mug in the other. She glared at him silently.
“Whoa,” he said, and walked tentatively to her, his eyebrows rising, forming tiny lines across his forehead. “You look like you’re ready to kill someone.”
“Not funny.” She knew she had no excuse to be short with him, but she was just so angry, she couldn’t help it. Keeping her temper in check wasn’t really her strong suit. It wasn’t always fair, but when she got riled up, it just sort of…bubbled over…onto everyone around her. It was one of the things she disliked most about herself, and a heady guilt immediately set in.
Instead of backing off, or looking offended, his face scrunched up, a hint of amusement behind his eyes. “Not trying to be funny. Just making an observation. I am a detective, after all. I’m trained to spot people out for blood.” Then something shifted, his countenance darkening. “Wait, did something happen last night after I left? Did someone come back to your house?”
“What? No, nothing like that.” His concern melted her obstinance and giving in, her shoulders slumped. “They decided not to do anything with the diary. And the Chief confirmed there wasn’t any physical evidence in the shed at all.”
Chris grimaced. “That’s what we heard back this morning. Sorry, Boston. I know you wanted this to turn out differently.”
A familiar fire kindled in her belly. “It’s just that they’re wrong. They are so w
rong. The diary mentions other people who could have been involved, who could have had a reason to want Jennifer dead. And they’re just going to let it go.”
His eyes widened. “Other people? Really?” He pulled her over to his desk and lowered his voice. “What other people?”
He listened intently as she explained.
“Uh, huh. You know,” he said, walking over to a chair and dragging it to a spot beside his. He motioned for her to sit, and he followed suit. “You told me that you didn’t get all the way through the diary. So, the first thing I have to ask is how you managed to read the rest of it, given that it’s still sitting in the D.A.’s office?”
“You can ask a question, Detective, but I can choose not to answer.”
A bit of a grin peeked out from the corner of his mouth, but he reined it in quickly. “So, the information in the diary—the prosecution really believes it’s not exculpatory?”
She nodded. “They don’t see that they have any obligation to hand it over to Dr. Beecher or to reopen the case on their own. They’re just giving the diary back to Jennifer’s parents.”
Chris’s charcoal eyes held Dani’s for several moments, as if he were mulling something over. Then he gently grasped her forearm and a thread of electricity coursed through Dani.
“Come on, I’ll walk you out,” he said, rising in tandem with her and walking by her side to the exit, through the lobby, then out the front door.
Even this early in the morning, the air in the parking lot was thick with moisture, promising another grueling day of temperatures forecasted to be near one hundred degrees. Chris veered off to the left, leading her down the sidewalk a good bit, away from the door and out of earshot of anyone who might come in or out.
“Obviously, I wasn’t around when all this went down years ago,” he said, “but there are still people here who worked that case.”
“And?”
“And I got the distinct feeling yesterday that those people do not want this case reopened. Period. No matter what that diary says.”
“What people?”
His eyebrows rose.
“Chief Killen?” she ventured, disbelief in her voice. “No, no way.”
“He was one of the investigators on the case.”
“So?”
“So, he wouldn’t want to find out thirteen years later that he missed something which could’ve kept an innocent man out of jail. Can you imagine the fallout? The embarrassment?” Chris prompted.
Doubt wriggled in her stomach as she considered the effect that outcome would have on the Chief. But it only lasted a second. “No. He wouldn’t do that.”
“You know the current district attorney was the prosecutor in that case too?”
“Are you suggesting they’re conspiring to keep this quiet?”
He shook his head. “Conspiring is too strong a word. I’m suggesting that these people have personal reasons for wanting this case to stay closed, no matter what’s in that diary. And since it seems like there’s nothing in the diary that definitively clears Beecher anyway, it makes it easy to justify a decision to leave things as they are.”
Though he was doing a thorough job of explaining the reasons behind the D.A.’s decision, he wasn’t doing much to give her hope. “What’s your point?” she asked.
He leaned in, inclining his forehead toward hers. “My point is that I think you’ve run up against a brick wall. I think you’ve done all a person could do to try to make sure the right thing was done here—and maybe it’s time to leave it now.”
He was so close that she could see minuscule flecks of grey in his deep, dark irises and the beginnings of whiskers on his jawline where his shave hadn’t been quite close enough.
“Well, thanks for the words of wisdom,” she said, stepping back.
He grasped her arm again, his fingers warm on her skin. “But I also wanted to tell you that from where I’m standing, I see it the same way you do. It doesn’t seem quite fair. And if there’s anything I can do to help, anything I can…smooth over or grease…I will. You just have to ask.”
His overture caught her off-guard. There was an earnestness in his tone that made it clear he wasn’t just giving her a line. He wasn’t just trying to connect or…flirt with her. He meant it. The intensity rippling off him was palpable, and Dani believed that if she had asked him to help her do what she was going to do next, he would have, without question.
But she wouldn’t do that to him. She wouldn’t put him in that position.
“Thanks, Chris. Really. It’s nice to know someone in there is on my side. Even if there’s nothing else to be done.”
They stood there for a moment, the space between them both slightly awkward and charged, until finally she stepped toward her car, wobbling a bit as her foot dropped off the sidewalk onto the pavement.
“I, um, probably should go. Lots to do today,” she said as she backed away, swinging her arms out and in, her hands meeting in a soft clap.
“Oh, right. The reunion,” he said.
Oh, right, the reunion! She held her face steady, hoping to hide any indication that the reunion was not the errand she had been thinking about. “Yeah, gotta go help Sasha,” she agreed, leaking a bit of extra cheer into her voice. “So, I’ll, uh, see you around?” she asked, side-stepping farther into the lot.
“By the way,” he called as she went, “I’m sending those extra patrols around your house. I know what you said, but better safe than sorry. I just didn’t want you to be surprised if you saw them.”
Normally, she would have been perturbed by his overriding her insistence that she didn’t need the extra protection. Normally, a man ignoring her assessment of a situation—especially her assessment of a security situation as an experienced, knowledgeable police officer—and replacing it with his own would have made her ten shades of angry. But it didn’t, which greatly surprised her.
“Fine,” she replied, trying to sound at least a little annoyed as she opened her driver’s side door. “But I still say I don’t need them.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Chris said indulgently, then tossed her a little wave before heading back inside.
Dani watched him go, then dropped into the driver’s seat. She exhaled a cleansing breath in an effort to dispel her lingering anger over the state of things, then started the car, redirecting her focus to her next stop, which had absolutely nothing to do with the Skye High Class of ’98 Reunion.
10
The regular visitation room at Trenbow Prison, forty miles south of Skye, just off Highway 344, was exactly what one would expect based on television and movies: a long, narrow room, with a plexiglass partition, and handsets on either side to allow the visitor and prisoner to communicate with some semblance of privacy, though all the conversations were recorded for security purposes. At the moment, Dani was the only visitor. Her hard plastic chair was probably older than she was. She had only been sitting in it for ten minutes, and her back was already talking to her. That was on top of the mild headache from the overpowering smell of chemical cleansers permeating the room, layered over something stale and fetid, as if someone had sprayed a ridiculous amount of disinfectant around, but had not actually cleaned anything.
Had this been a scheduled visit on a preset visitation day, Dani would have been able to see him in the larger community visitation room with tables and chairs and no glass, with all the other family and friends who were visiting loved ones. Then there could be hugs and hand squeezes and human connection to remind him that he was not all alone in this world. That he had not been forgotten. At least not by her. But it wasn’t a scheduled visit. It was an impulsive, spit-in-the-face-of-propriety move that meant she would be stuck with this partitioned room.
The gums in her mouth hummed, vibrating the way they did whenever she was truly anxious. Seeing him always brought so much back: the terror, the grief, the shock, the guilt, the sadness, the anger—but she endured it, because it was worth it. Especially this time.
After s
everal minutes, he finally stepped through the steel door at the rear dressed in the standard-issue orange uniform of the prison. He made his way to the cubicle opposite her, pulled out the plastic chair and sat, a warm smile on his face as he laid the alligator-clipped stack of copies on the counter in front of him. He lifted the handset on his side. “Hey there, Danielle,” he said, his deep voice a bit buzzy as it came through the earpiece. “How are you?”
Dr. Beecher never called her by her nickname. With him it had always been “Danielle,” even though her own family called her “Dani.” Her heart melted just looking at him—this man who had been like a second father to her. Her own father had been wonderful, but because he was paid by the hour at the garage, there had been a lot of hours he was gone. Dr. Beecher had stood in the gap.
A quick appraisal revealed he had put on a little weight, stretching the uniform a bit, and his salt-and-pepper hair was longer than she remembered. Not too long, just less like a crew cut than before. His round face was as kind as ever, but there was something different about his light brown eyes. Today, instead of the dim, resigned version, they were alight, brimming with hope.
She lifted her handset, feeling a smile crease her face. “Hi, Doc.” She never had been able to bring herself to use his first name, despite his insistence. “You look really good,” she commented. “Things must be better than they were in March.” In fact, she couldn’t remember him ever looking this well.
“You could say that. But how are you? How are you doing with packing up the house?”
She had told him on her last visit that she would be back in July to deal with the estate. Leave it to him to ask about that first, before anything else, even with Jennifer’s diary sitting in front of him.
“I’m fine. It’s...going well, I guess. But I came here to talk about that,” she said, pointing to the stack of papers in front of him.
