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“Thanks, Amanda.” Holly surveyed the wall of file cabinets in the small, windowless room in the basement of the Tacoma Police Department. “And for letting me come down on such short notice.”
“No problem. I need to go make a few calls—we got a new homicide this morning, which means I’m up for the next one—but I’ll come back down once I’m done. The files can’t leave the building, but if you want to photocopy anything, you can use the copier upstairs. Just put everything back when you’re done.”
“I will. Thanks.” Holly turned to the detective, who stood several inches taller than her, even in flats.
“You’re lucky you called when you did. We’re running out of storage space, so all the closed cases prior to 1985 are going to be moved to the city archives later this week.” A beeping filled the room, and she glanced at the pager at her hip. “Shit. I gotta go.” She made for the door and threw Holly a glance over her shoulder. “Can you find your way out if I don’t make it back?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
Holly watched Amanda disappear down the corridor before searching for Diana’s file. She’d met Amanda when she’d been researching her third true crime novel, and they’d stayed in touch.
Once Holly found the right file cabinet, it took five minutes of sifting through tightly packed casefiles before she found Diana’s. She took the thin file to a small folding table against the wall.
When she opened the file, her eyes caught on Diana’s last name—Carter, not Prescott. She’d never taken Clint’s last name, which was why Holly hadn’t made the connection when Andy told her the last name of the suspect who’d taken the polygraph in 1985.
Holly read through the autopsy report first. While her broken neck and head injuries seemed to match what she’d read in the paper, Holly was surprised to see Diana had sustained other injuries that hadn’t been mentioned in the article and couldn’t be explained by her fall.
Diana had a linear red mark on her stomach as well as a bruise on her forearm. Holly studied the postmortem photo of Diana’s arm lying atop the metal autopsy table. The bruise was oval shaped, the size of a large finger or thumb. Holly flipped to the examiner’s report of the injuries on the next page.
The bruising on the right forearm appears consistent with an injury sustained approximately 48 hours prior to death, aligning with the husband’s statement that he grabbed her arm to prevent her from drunkenly falling over their indoor stairwell railing two days prior to her fatal fall.
Holly popped a stick of gum into her mouth as she contemplated the examiner’s words. Next, she turned to the toxicology report. Her jaw fell open, causing her gum to almost fall onto the page before Holly clamped her mouth shut. Diana’s blood alcohol level was 0.05 the night of her death. That was hardly the picture Clint had painted of Diana getting drunkenly depressed and jumping off the balcony. She’d been under the legal driving limit and likely had only one drink.
Holly flipped to the detective’s summary report, which was less than a page. Some tension eased from her shoulders as she read through the report, relieved to see the detective had, at least, interviewed all the neighbors and consulted a handwriting expert to compare Diana’s handwriting to the suicide note found at her home. A paper fell to the floor. Holly picked it up, her pulse spiking when she saw it was a photocopy of Diana’s handwritten suicide note.
Clint,
I can’t keep going like this. It’s too much. I need to be free of it, of you, and of everything. By the time you read this,We’llI’ll be gone. Goodbye forever.
D
The investigator had added a postscript at the bottom of the report that theorized that Diana had likely planned to kill her son, then herself, but had changed her mind and altered the note.
Holly couldn’t believe it. It was plain as day. Clint had to have altered the note, not Diana.
Diana hadn’t planned on killing herself. She was leaving Clint—and taking their son with her.
Holly rifled through the pages to study the markings on Diana’s stomach from her autopsy photos. Seeing the linear red marking, Holly drew in a sharp breath, nearly inhaling her gum.
Diana hadn’t jumped from that balcony. She’d been pushed.
Chapter 37
JOHN
Behind the wheel of his dad’s Ford Fairmont, John dug a hand into the nearly empty bag of ruffled potato chips as he sat across the street from the house he’d been watching for the last hour. He’d seen movement more than once inside the front window, so he knew someone was home.
There were no cars in the driveway, which meant one had to be parked in the garage. A few stray puddles on the street reflected the overcast sky, hinting at more rain on the way. John finished what was left in his can of Coke, wishing he’d thought to bring a book. Although, it was probably better that he hadn’t. He needed to stay focused.
He popped another chip into his mouth, glancing at the handwritten, anonymous message lying on the passenger seat. He’d written the note before leaving school, then ripped it from his spiral notebook. He tapped his foot, ignoring the growing pang in his bladder from drinking two Cokes since he’d gotten there. If nothing happened in the next hour, he’d have to leave to find the closest public bathroom.
John reached into the bottom of the bag and stuffed a handful of broken chips into his mouth. A few fell onto his sweatpants, and he looked down to pick them off. Movement caught his eye out the passenger window. He lifted his head to see a petite, older woman being dragged down the sidewalk by a large dalmatian on a taut leash. John sighed, getting beyond bored.
He dropped his gaze to his backpack on the floor of the passenger seat. He didn’t even have any homework. All his teachers were too distraught over the news that spread around school that afternoon to divvy out any assignments.
John reclined against the headrest.He checked his watch. If they didn’t go out soon, he’d have to leave his note on the front doorstep after dark, which would be a few hours from now.
The groan of a garage door opening across the street drew John’s gaze. A gray sedan with two men in the front backed out of the driveway. They had to be Tommy Reed and Holly’s ex-fiancé.