Page 47

CHAPTER 47

TWO OFFICERS STOOD NEAR Troy in the squad car, one leaning against a tree smoking a cigarette, the other texting. I was ten yards away when the one who was smoking got a radio call; he listened, then nodded to me. I slid into the back seat beside Troy. He looked even more deflated than he had the last time I’d seen him, when he was bleary-eyed and slamming the door on an angry mob. His hands were cuffed to a bolt in front of the seat, so he wiped his wet eyes on the shoulders of his shirt.

“I found a note,” he told me. He grimaced, shook his head. I knew and he knew that whatever he was about to tell me was ridiculous.

“Just say it,” I said.

“I found a note,” he repeated. “Just sitting there in my kitchen. It was ... it was after midnight. I heard a noise, so I came out, and there was this note on the kitchen island. All it had written on it was a location.”

“Troy.”

“They have the note.” Troy squeezed his eyes shut. “The police. I left it in the car.”

“You’re trying to tell me,” I said, “that whoever killed Daisy snuck back into your house last night and left a note in your kitchen telling you where to find her body?”

I waited. Tears ran down Troy’s face.

“I knew I couldn’t bring the note to the police. Not until I knew what it referred to. I knew the police weren’t watching the back of the house, otherwise how could I have — ”

“Troy!” I roared. “Stop!”

He wouldn’t look at me. I punched the metal grille dividing the front of the squad car from the back. The skin on my knuckles split. The pain was good. I hit it again three more times, roaring curses. I wanted to hit Troy. The temptation was overwhelming.

“They’ll have the note,” Troy repeated softly. He was speaking to no one. “I left it in the car when I ... when I ran to see if Daisy was ... ”

I got out. The patrol cops watched me march back up the road to the crime scene. Brogan saw me coming and peeled away from a conversation he was having with a photographer.

“Was there a note?” I asked.

“No, Rhonda,” Brogan said. “We searched his person. We searched his car. We searched the scene. I even had two officers walk the trail back toward the highway in case it had flown out the car window. There was no note. There was never a note.”

I turned and walked away. I followed the dirt path back through the three checkpoints, turned right, and headed toward the off-ramp from the highway. When I was out of sight of the officers, I crossed to a concrete barrier, sat down in the shade of it.

I took out my phone and texted Baby. Tell me exactly where you are right now.

She sent me a pin for 101 Waterway Street, Culver City.

I calculated the time it would take me to get there, told her I was on my way, and ordered an Uber. I put the phone away and sat back against the concrete barrier.

Then I cried for Daisy Hansen.