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.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47 (Reading here)
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88